Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “Maybe half an edible for you, Sir.”

  I chuckle.

  Once I’ve packed a bag of clean clothes and one of my sacred Black Sabbath concert T-shirts as a surprise for Bren, I beckon her to me with two fingers.

  She slides off the bed fluidly. Despite her hip injury, the impact she’s had over the last couple of days, seriously strenuous fucking, and the hour ride down, she moves without wincing. My strong girl. When she comes to me, I fold her against my chest and kiss those sweetly upturned lips.

  “Real talk, girl.” I see her brace herself. “Come on, real talk’s not that bad.”

  She pinches the air between her fingers.

  I flick her nose ring until she smiles. “I’m checking in. Yesterday when you offered to give me time to focus on Naomi, I asked you then if what you were really saying was that you needed distance from me and my family problems. I’m asking again. Is that what you were saying then or is it something you need now?”

  She gives me a soft smile. “No, Sir. I was saying that it’s okay to prioritize your daughter if you need to, but I don’t need space. I like spending time with you. This last week has been . . . more than good. I can’t remember the last time I spent so much time with anyone and had so much fun. Going back to work tomorrow is going to suck.”

  “Well, I know a Beck and Call Dom you can call on.”

  “I’d really like that, Sir.”

  “I appreciate the offer to move in with you, girl. I know this place is a little cheerless. I don’t want to crowd you, though. We’ve been moving fast, you and me, but you’ve been coming to me in your own time. I don’t want that to change. Will I be in your hair too much if I move in?”

  She chews her lower lip and I see her chewing it over in her mind. No shadows creep into her eyes. Those warm, melted chocolate eyes stay bright and clear. “No, Sir, I don’t think so. Other than your thing for rearranging my sock drawer, you’re easy to live with.”

  “Your sock drawer is an abomination.”

  She grins. “I really like coming home to you and spending quiet time with you. Almost as much as I like the scenes and daily anal. I thought doing this twenty-four-seven would be really hard and I’d be bucking your commands all the time and feeling resentful, but I haven’t felt that way at all. Even that psycho spanking the other morning, it was . . . good. No, not good, but you know what I mean. It settled me and made me feel safe.”

  I claim her mouth again, kissing her deeply until I feel the connection flowing strong and sure between us again.

  “I know you don’t need a daddy, girl, or a bodyguard. I know you’re strong and independent and capable. I don’t want to take any of that away from you. I just want to be the man who has your back when you need it.”

  She slides an arm around my neck and hugs the breath out of me. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Okay, enough mushy stuff. Let’s collect your shadow and get going. Trains can be a pain this time of day.”

  She cuddles into my side as I pick up my bag and head out of the bedroom. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “Feed him a lot.” We were both a little surprised at how much Taco put away at breakfast. Especially since he said he’d eaten already. Kid’s a black hole. I probably was, too, at that age, but I don’t remember it and Naomi never ate more than a bird. I’m glad Bren has a healthy appetite because I don’t think I could watch that again. “Have I mentioned how much I like your relationship with food, girl?”

  “My relationship with food? Like the way I date broccoli, Sir?”

  I snort. “I like that you eat like a person instead of a bird. I like your cooking even when it strips all the skin off my tongue. In fact, I think tonight’s a good night for taste-bud stripping. Should we eat at that place you mentioned in Bed-Stuy?”

  “Miss Eve’s? Yes, Sir!”

  I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “That’s a date, girl.”

  *****

  Taco lives up to his name after dinner at Miss Eve’s, which is taste-bud stripping, but the curried goat is one of the better things I’ve ever eaten. Brenna has a watermelon and mint drink to wash down her oxtail stew and after appropriating most of it on the basis that I’m her Sir, I wangle the recipe out of Miss Eve because I’d be happy to drink it every day, forever. And I don’t even like watermelon.

  I don’t like the smell that emanates from Bren’s bathroom after Taco’s third trip in to yark up his jerk chicken, either. We let the kid have the couch, where he lies groaning quietly with his arms around his middle, while Bren and I bleach her bathroom.

  “You think it’s the spice or a stomach bug?” I ask her quietly while I scrub down the sink.

  “I think his guts hit max capacity after the tuna sandwich and meatball sub he scarfed down three hours before dinner.” Bren makes a face as she wields a toilet brush. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat so much in one day.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t forget the bag of Doritos.”

  “How could I? The jar of salsa he ate them with was older than Bebe J. I told him it was expired.”

  “Well, if he survives the night, I’ll send him for groceries tomorrow.”

  “Does he, like, answer to you? Because I don’t know anything about how motorcycle clubs work, but I kind of got the sense that prospects only answer to the guys wearing the leather that doesn’t say ‘prospect’.”

  “You’d be right, but since Cinder lent him to us, I’m assuming he’ll do what I tell him.”

  “I guess that doesn’t extend to me? He didn’t pay me any mind about the salsa.”

  “Mmm.” I wipe down the sink with a rag from Brenna’s rag bucket. “I’m generalizing here because I don’t know the Oidhri that well yet, but most MCs are more . . . traditional in their philosophy about men and women.”

  “Misogynistic. You can say it, Sir.”

  I give her ass a smack. “Plenty would say our relationship is misogynistic.”

  “They’d be wrong, Sir. It’s got nothing to do with gender. If I didn’t like dick, I’d still be looking for this, just with a woman.”

  “I’m damn happy you like dick, girl. I haven’t asked you because I figured if it was something you wanted, you’d tell me, but have you been topped by women?”

  She nods. “When I was training, some of the Blunts Dommes topped me.”

  “What’d you think?”

  “That I prefer dick.” She flushes the toilet with emphasis.

  That’s reassuring. “Would being topped by a woman now, without sex, be pleasure or a punishment?”

  She strips off the gloves she was wearing to clean the toilet and leans against the wall. “Neither? I’m not sure how to explain it, Sir. I think I’d just be kind of sad you weren’t topping me, and I’d be waiting for the scene to end.”

  I wash my hands before running my knuckles down her soft cheek. “That’s beautiful, girl.”

  “I really like our scenes, Sir. I like it when it’s just you and me in scene, and I like it when you display me in front of other people. I haven’t always felt that way. I used to hate group scenes because I felt like I didn’t have my Dom’s full attention. It was probably petty of me, but—” She lifts her shoulder. “Anyway, I don’t feel that way with you. Even when I can’t see you, like when I was in the pillory at Blunts, I can feel your attention on me.”

  “Good. I always want you to know you’re the center of my world, little goddess.”

  She gives me a sudden, brilliant smile. “I’m really glad you didn’t go find another goddess after our first scene, Sir.”

  “Would that have hurt?”

  “So much, I can’t even tell you.” She scratches at the back of her head. “Ten said something to me the other day. He said neither of us is built for monogamy. I don’t know about him. Maybe he’s not. But I feel like I am. Maybe I wasn’t always. Maybe it’s like you said: I’ve grown beyond what I used to want. It’s something I need now, Sir. It would really, really hurt me if you topped some
one else.”

  The warmth blooming at my chest at hearing how much she wants to be with me and me alone is offset by a niggle in my gut. “When did Ten say that to you?”

  Bren rubs her forehead. “That’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. After I met with the chairman, Ten ambushed me in the hallway. He was really pissed that I resigned without talking to him first. He threatened to belt me and when I used my safe word he ignored it—”

  “He what?”

  “Yeah,” she says slowly, her eyes dropping to rest somewhere on my chest. “It wasn’t good.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No. He just smacked his hand with his belt and told me to get on my knees. But.” She blows out a long breath. “It scared me. Maybe I overreacted—”

  I catch her chin and bring her eyes up to mine. “Don’t second-guess yourself like that, girl. If you were scared, you had a reason to be. You know the man well. It sounds like he was way the fuck out of line. Do you want to take it up with the club? I will support you one hundred percent.”

  “No. I just want to avoid him for a while. But thank you for the offer. And thank you for believing me, Sir.”

  “Girl.” I pull her to me and press her to my chest, sinking my nose in her buttery-smelling hair to block out the smell of bleach. “Of course, I believe you.”

  She tucks her face into my neck. “Sir, you said you’re going to help Master Logan with the house subs. You should know that the house subs haven’t always been believed about stuff like this. Sometimes with reason. A couple of the subs have a bad habit of crying wolf to get out of punishments. But it is a two-way street. Not all of the Doms are great about safe words.”

  “Has Ten ignored your safe word before?”

  “No, Sir. I wouldn’t ever have scened with him again if he did. But other subs haven’t been so lucky. I know Cappa and Shannie have talked with Master Logan about it already.”

  “Thank you for the head’s up, girl. I’ll follow up on that with Logan. There are a number of things that concern me about the house subs.”

  “Like what, Sir?”

  I run my hand over her hair. “You want to start this conversation now?”

  “Maybe not right now.” Bren laughs. “Although we may be up all night with him.”

  “No, we won’t be. You need a good night’s sleep before work tomorrow, so at midnight, we’re shutting the door and going to sleep. If he pukes again, I’ll get up with him.”

  She lifts her eyebrows at me. “Really, Sir?”

  “Mm-hmm. I took my turn with night feedings and when Naomi had colic. I’ll take my turn with the puking teenager.”

  “Wow, Sir, that’s very progressive for a geezer.”

  “You little smartass.” I grab a rag out of the bucket and snap it at her ass. She high-tails it out of the bathroom laughing.

  *****

  To say I miss Bren the next day is the grossest of gross understatements. Taco’s not bad company, particularly once he stops puking. I drag him out on a run after Bren heads downstairs to work. He shuffles along gamely for three miles before I take pity on him. Once he’s in the shower and I’ve done the breakfast dishes, I sit at Bren’s tiny dining room table and stare at the book I’ve been reading without the slightest urge to open it. It not that the book is bad. I’ve been enjoying it. But I’ve been enjoying it cuddled up with my dirty girl. Sitting here alone, it has no appeal.

  Fully aware of how utterly pathetic I’m being, I take out my phone and shoot her a text.

  Do you need a fancy coffee yet?

  The gray dots don’t immediately begin bouncing. She’s probably busy. I know the lady who wanted a city scene picked Bren’s sketch with all the fantasy creatures and was coming in this morning to start it. With a sigh, I pick up my reading glasses and my book and try to sink back into Michelle Obama’s early years.

  When my phone pings, I drop the book like a hot coal.

  It’s not Bren, though. It’s a text from Logan.

  Are you free? I could use a second pair of eyes and ears.

  I am free, although I wish I wasn’t.

  For a couple of hours, I respond.

  Even if Bren doesn’t need a coffee, I want to be free for her lunch break. And Taco will probably need to be fed again by then, although I’m not overly optimistic about him keeping it down.

  Can you come here? Max has computers set up.

  I scratch my unshaven chin. Logan doesn’t care how I look and by the time I’m back, Taco should be out of the shower, although he’s been in there for at least twenty minutes already, so fuck knows how long he’ll be. Civilian.

  On my way.

  I throw on a clean T-shirt and sweatshirt so I don’t stink Logan out, although it wouldn’t be the first time and the cat may have beat me to it. I knock on the bathroom door and shout to Taco that I’m going to Logan’s and he should call if he needs me. On my way out, I say the same to Nicky, who is manning the shop’s front desk, only in quieter tones. I can hear the buzz of the tattoo machine from Brenna’s station; I don’t want to disturb her if she’s deep in her zone.

  It’s another golden fall day. New York seems blessed with a surplus of these days. I’ve visited Logan enough times to know I’ll be missing Florida’s sunshine by late December. Having a long ride to that sunshine to look forward to eases any regret for moving north. And I’ll have a spicy, sassy sammie to cuddle with as the days get colder. That thought puts a spring in my step; I jog the six blocks to Logan’s despite my earlier run.

  Since Logan’s expecting me, and since I’m trying to get used to the idea of this house being our house instead of his, I let myself in with the keyless entry. Logan’s office door is closed but I can hear his voice. I knock before opening the door and entering.

  Logan’s at his desk with three screens arranged in front of him. Grainy, black and white footage shows on each monitor. I grab one of the guest chairs and pull it around to sit next to him.

  “What are we looking at?” I ask.

  “External cameras at Blunts’ sister club, Sacrum. Unfortunately, their CCTV system’s a decade out of date and there are no cameras at all inside the club. That’s something I’m remedying. But while I’ve been working there, I’ve notice some . . . irregularities. Things that are places they weren’t yesterday. Stuff gets moved around all the time during scenes, of course, but I think it’s more than that. I think someone’s going in and out when the club’s closed. Want to watch some CCTV footage with me?”

  For the brother and son who has offered me his family, his home, and is now trying to sneakily draw me into his business without pushing?

  “Sure.” I settle into my chair.

  “Emmy’s just making tea and coffee. You want something?”

  “It’s not the turmeric tea she fed Bren the other morning, is it?”

  Logan grunts. “I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s really hot on the anti-something properties of turmeric.”

  I chuckle. “Coffee would be great.”

  Logan calls through the open door on the other side of his office that leads to the kitchen. “Baby doll, coffee for Mac, please. You know how he takes it?”

  Emily’s sweet little face pops around the door. “Hi, Master Mac. Milk, one sugar, right?” At my nod, she gives me a grin that tells me she’s been spending too much time with Bren. “I have really nice oat milk. The brand Cynnie recommends. We’re reducing dairy. Is that okay for you?”

  “Sure, sweetie.”

  When she disappears, I give Logan a side-eye. “Reducing dairy, huh?”

  “She’s killing me,” he grumbles.

  “Probably just the opposite.”

  “Eh. You try drinking tea with oat milk.”

  I pat his back in fake sympathy, although I don’t actually mind oat milk at all.

  “I know you’re humoring her just to show me up,” he grouses.

  “Absolutely. Let’s see this footage, huh?”

  Logan grimaces bu
t taps each screen to start the playback.

  An hour later, I take a break when a text from Bren comes in. Even at quadruple speed, which is as fast as we can watch the footage without it all becoming a blur, we’ve got days of footage to watch. No wonder Logan wanted another pair of eyes.

  Nicky says you’ve gone to Logan’s. Everything okay, Sir?

  I call her instead of responding.

  “Hey, girl. How’s the tattooing going?”

  “Good, Sir. The line work’s looking good already. She wants to keep going with the shading since she’s handling the pain well. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, girl. Do you want to have a late lunch?”

  “I’m cooking!” Emily chirps from where she’s standing at her funny desk with her headset on.

  Brenna chuckles. “A late lunch sounds great, Sir. Two-thirty too late?”

  “Fine by me. D’you have time to come here? I can bring it to you if not.”

  “I’ll come there.”

  “Not sure if you should bring Taco or not. Emily might not have enough food in the entire house to feed the black hole.”

  Bren laughs. “Probably not. He’s gone out anyway. I think to find food.”

  “Okay, my girl. See you at two-thirty. If you get too needy between then and now, call me.”

  “Thank you, Sir. And thank you for the text this morning. It made me smile. Ugh, that’s sappy, isn’t it?”

  I grin into the phone even though she can’t see it, because I still can’t get the hang of this video-calling thing. “I like your sap, girl. See you in a couple of hours.”

  “See you then, Sir.”

  Chapter 19

  It’s the moments of distraction that get you.

  I’m seriously freaking distracted as I walk the six blocks to Logan and Emily’s. It’s the best kind of distraction: my head is filled with thoughts of Mac. Even though our first meeting was a little rough, introducing me to his daughter is a huge step. It’s even better because it feels like Naomi and I could actually be friends. We spoke last night, and I took her on a virtual tour of my shop this morning while I was setting up. When she’s not running on the treadmill, Naomi’s funny and chill to talk to. It’s an awesome display of Mac’s trust that he’s introduced me to her when we’re still so new, but it’s not the only one. He keeps fitting his life to mine in ways I never imagined I’d want.