I can tell I’m in the south simply by her speech; she has the drawl, of course, but how she strings words together is another dead giveaway. Momma M wouldn’t let us get away with that, but we still occasionally slip some in, at least when we’re not with her. She hands my license back to me and I return to my seat to see Patsy going through a photo album. “What are you looking at?” I whisper.
“This is some of the work he’s done. Look, CeeCee. Like I said, the man’s a damn genius!” I glance at the pictures and am awed at what I’m seeing. A glimmer of hope lights deep inside and for the first time, I feel like maybe this won’t be a wasted trip.
As we wait, I think about the years of therapy that I went through. My biological mother is vile; there’s no other word to describe someone who would treat their own child like absolute shit! Although I now know that I’ve got value and worth, those old lessons have made me somewhat introverted. I don’t like huge crowds and stay away from anything that remotely looks like drama. Patsy, on the other hand, is outgoing and loves to be around others. The disparity between the two of us often makes me wonder why we’re still friends.
“I’m nervous, Patsy,” I murmur.
“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about and besides, I’ll be with you every step of the way,” she states.
“CeeCee?” A deep, melodious voice interrupts my musings and I look up only to stop and stare.
He’s gorgeous.
Absolutely fucking gorgeous.
Mr. Tall, Muscled and Tattooed stands before us, his biceps bulging beneath the T-shirt that’s molded to him almost like a second skin. He’s wearing a ballcap backwards and has what looks like a soft, close-cut beard framing a face that I could easily stare at for the rest of my days. His penetrating gaze catches my eye and I find myself smiling. “I’m CeeCee,” I state, standing. “Is it okay if she comes too?” I ask, pointing at Patsy.
His smile lights up the room as he nods. “Y’all follow me.” Well, hello squats, I think as I follow him into a room, watching his firm ass move in his worn jeans. He’s definitely a mighty fine specimen, from the top of his head to the tip of his motorcycle boots, and I realize that he’s the kind of man that the books I read talk about. Definitely one hundred percent alpha. Yet, there’s a kindness that surrounds him as he leads me over to his workstation. “Have a seat there, okay?”
I sit where he points and Patsy plops down in a chair next to me. “I’m Patsy, her best friend,” she says, holding out her hand. He shakes it, grinning.
“I’m Loki. What exactly am I covering up, CeeCee?” he asks, turning to me.
“I-I have scars from cigarette burns,” I mumble, shame causing my face to flush. That’s right, my mother used me as her human ashtray and the burn marks left behind cover my chest, upper back and upper arms. She was always careful to do it where clothes would cover them and until that fateful bath, no one knew the hell I endured.
He must sense my unease because I see something flash across his face before compassion shines in his eyes. “I need to see them if that’s okay.” I nod as I place my purse at my feet. Because I thought he would probably want to see them, I dressed accordingly. Slipping my shirt over my head, I take a deep breath. I’m now in a camisole that has a shelf bra and while I’ve still got more clothes on than when I swim, I feel self-conscious, exposed.
His touch is gentle as he moves around me, causing me to relax. This is probably why he’s one of the best; I see no revulsion on his face, only care and compassion. “Do you have them anywhere else?” he asks.
Gulping, I nod. “Yes,” I whisper. “On my breasts.”
He crouches next to me and tilts my chin with his finger. “This is a safe place, CeeCee. I see people at their absolute worst so there’s nothing you can show me that will freak me out, I promise.” Why I feel an almost immediate connection with this man is something I’ll think about later. Right now, as his scent surrounds me and his voice infiltrates my senses, I feel safe. Secure.
The only people outside of Patsy and Momma M who have seen these scars are the doctors. I inwardly cringe when I remember how invasive the exams were; they wanted to ensure that none of my mother’s ‘friends’ had violated me. “I’m right here, CeeCee,” Patsy soothes, rubbing her hand down my back as old memories try to suck me into an ugly abyss.
Nodding at the two of them to show I’m alright, I slip the camisole over my head, baring my chest to his gaze. There aren’t as many on my breasts and most are underneath, thank goodness. Of course, that has more to do with the fact that I wear a C almost D cup so with that much flesh, stuff is bound to hide. Still, it’s enough of a turn-off, at least in my mind, to keep me from dating anyone seriously.
He stands and replaces the gloves he was wearing before he comes to me once again. “I need to lift them, okay?” At this point, my words have vaporized so I nod. I can feel my face flush even more when he lifts first one breast then the other because my nipples react. Whether it’s from his touch or the fact it’s cool in his room, I don’t know, and I refuse to examine it any closer. Once he steps back, he turns so he’s facing the wall and says, “Go ahead and get dressed again. We’ll talk about a few ideas that I have as well as any you two might have thought of.”
I quickly slip my camisole and T-shirt back on, grateful to be covered once again. “Is - will you be able to do anything?” I ask. I hate the fact that I’m stammering, but at least I haven’t started stuttering. That only happens when I’m heading toward a panic attack, which is not the case here. Patsy shoots me a look and I shake my head at her to let her know I’m okay.
Well, okay is a relative term. I’m not about to freak the fuck out because some man I just met had his hands on my boobs. The smile he gives me is almost radiant as he says, “Yes.”
Exhilaration crashes through my heart at his one word and I feel tears well up. “Patsy,” I breathe out. Out of everyone, she knows how much these scars bother me. I can’t change the past but staring at the remnants every damn day is wearing on my soul.
“I know,” she replies, her voice as choked up as mine.
Loki
The minute she stood when I called her name, I felt a connection. I’ve lost count of the number of people I’ve tattooed, but I know this for a fact; no one has ever affected me the way she did just by looking at me.
I think I’m fucked if this is how Poseidon and Trident felt when they met their women. I know she’s embarrassed by her scars; her golden skin is flushed a deep, rosy pink. What she doesn’t realize is that I honestly don’t see the ‘parts’ per se, I see a canvas waiting to be molded into something beautiful.
“Did either of you have any ideas?” I ask, sitting down on my stool with a sketchpad in hand.
“No, not really,” CeeCee replies. I can tell that she’s shy, likely due to her scars, but honestly, I’ve never had a woman impact me like she has; she’s like an angel, with light, curly blonde hair that goes to her mid back. Her features are delicate and she’s petite, with a rocking body behind her oversized T-shirt and jeans. I suspect that she’s spent most of her life trying to blend in, so she’s not seen.
I plan to change all that, if she’ll let me.
“I have one,” I state. “It will be a big piece but will hopefully incorporate what I see in you.”
“What do you see?” she questions, leaning forward. She licks her lips and I feel my dick harden. Fuck me. That’s never happened in all the years I’ve been tattooing.
I don’t answer right away; instead, I start drawing. Since most of her scars are contained to her upper body which I suspect was so they could be easily hidden, I think the idea that started forming the moment I saw her will work. After a few minutes, I turn the sketchpad around so she can see. It’s a crude drawing at best, but I suspect from the gasps out of both of them that they understand.
“Angel wings?” she murmurs, reaching out for the pad. I hand it to her and watch as her fingers lightly touch both drawings. Th
e wings will start at mid back and wrap up and around her shoulders, covering her breasts to sit just below them.
“Yes. For the scars that are deeper, I think I’ll put tattered feathers there with splashes of color to show that there’s new growth,” I state. Already my mind is humming, wanting to get started, but this is a big project, and she needs to think about it carefully.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” she questions.
“Honestly, it’s going to depend on you. Initially, once I create the transfer and put it on, I’ll do all the outlining. Or, as much as you’re able to handle at one time, that is. I may also freehand the feathers once I do the main transfer.” Some clients can lie on my table for hours, nearly asleep, while I work. Others require frequent breaks. Since this is her first-ever tattoo, I have no idea which type of client she’ll be. “Then, we’ll let that heal and start on the shading as well as the coloring. We can use either regular colors or watercolors, but somehow, I think watercolors would look best based on your skin tone.”
“I trust your judgment since you have the skill and ability. When can we start?” she questions. I can see the excitement in her eyes which has me wishing we could begin today.
“Can you give me a few days to fully draw it up? We have your information on the forms so when it’s done, I’ll call and have you come back in to approve it and if you have time that day, we can get started.”
“Thank you, I think that’ll work. Oh, I guess I need to know how much it’s going to cost.”
“There’s no charge, CeeCee. I never charge for a tattoo like this,” I inform her. I see she’s about to protest and continue. “My shop brings in enough business that I can afford to do this in honor of my mom. She’s still alive, but I got into this field after leaving the Navy because of her.”
“Then I’ll await your call,” she says, standing up and holding out her hand to me once again. While I take it in mine and shake it, the reality of the matter is that I want to pull her into my arms, cradle her close, and tell her she’ll never be hurt like that again.
As we walk to the front, her friend trailing behind, I catch a subtle hint of lavender in the air and realize that it’s her. I’m not one for overpowering perfumes, but whatever she’s wearing is so elusive and minute that I suspect unless someone is as close as I am right now, they’d never notice. “I’ll talk to you in a few days, CeeCee,” I promise. She nods as she and her friend leave.
“Boss man, I think you’re hooked or something,” Judy, our receptionist, says with a smirk. “Since when do you do tattoos for free?” Since it was an initial consult, my door was open, so she overheard what I told CeeCee.
I glare at her which does nothing at all because she starts laughing. “I’ll have you know that I do gratis work now and again. Granted, it’s mostly for breast cancer clients, but something tells me that she desperately needs this done to be whole.”
Chapter Two
Loki
Pulling into the clubhouse, I sigh. Even after hiring Kaya and Canyon, I’m still working ten and twelve-hour days, making me exhausted. I see that everyone else is here and am grateful that Poseidon said church could wait until I got done today. I lock my helmet in my saddlebag before stretching to get all the kinks out. Time to handle my ‘other’ job, one that I take as seriously as the next brother.
Once inside, I see that there are boxes of pizza on the bar counter, so I switch directions to grab a few slices. “We figured you’d be hungry, brother,” Poseidon states as I open each box to see what’s available. “Grab a beer too and head on into church.” I nod, my focus on snagging carbs. My plate now piled high, I snag a beer that Nate, one of our prospects, hands me before I turn in the direction of the room we use as church. I see Dutch standing outside, so I juggle everything and grab my phone to toss in the box. The only time we have them in church is if one of the old ladies is out and about. We started that after Gianna was assaulted at her consignment store. Poseidon said never again would one of the women who lived here be in fear like that, although he also mentioned she kicked those motherfuckers’ asses, something I witnessed first-hand.
I grab my seat next to Poseidon and wait as everyone else trickles into the room. “Long day again, huh, brother?” Specks asks as he sits down, his ever-present laptop in front of him.
“Yeah. I think it’ll ease off once folks see that Kaya is more than capable of doing what I do,” I remark around a mouthful of pizza.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to talk with your mouth full?” Atlas queries.
I flip him the bird, swallow, then retort, “Whoever said I was polite, asshole?” I actually do have manners, but hunger won out. At least my mom isn’t here to see me behave in this fashion; she’d smack me upside my head.
“Alright, alright. Let’s get down to business,” Poseidon demands, banging his gavel. Once we’re all quiet, he starts going through shit. “While it appears that with those fuckers behind bars that the vandalism has stopped, I still want to relocate the club down to St. Mary’s. Brooks, let me know when you’re up for another trip to see if anything has opened up.”
“Got it, Pres,” Brooks says. “Give me a few weeks? Just got back and need to check on a few of these skip traces that have come in. They look like they’ll bring us a pretty penny if we can nab them.”
Specks looks up and raises his chin, letting Poseidon know he has something to say. When Poseidon nods, he says, “Got some leads, brother. Will shoot you the latest coordinates so you can take off in the morning. The sooner we get these bastards back behind bars, the sooner the area they’re in will be safe once again.” I grimace; sounds like we’ve got a few hot ones and I’m glad that because I run the tattoo parlor, I don’t often help with the PI business.
“Loki, are your new hires doing okay?” Poseidon asks.
“Kaya and her son arrived last week, found a place to stay, and she seems to be settling in okay now that her boy is enrolled in school. As y’all know, Canyon is also now prospecting for us, and he has taken over most of the walk-in traffic, as well as the piercing jobs. Judy has updated the website and we’re planning to run a flash art sale next month to draw in new customers.”
“What about you?” he questions.
Sighing, I take a long pull from my beer then state, “Got a new client today. I think I’ve talked about her before but Jesus, I actually met her and her best friend when they came in for her consultation.”
“What’s so different about her?” Trident asks.
“Everything,” I mutter. “Fuck, I’m not talking about it because I’m no fucking pussy.” My words have the room ringing with laughter.
Poseidon leans in close and whispers, “You found her, didn’t you? You found your one.” I nod but don’t verbally reply. It’s enough I’m admitting it to begin with since I typically keep shit close. No particular reason for it, it’s just how I’ve always been. I know my brothers will have my back so it’s not that I don’t trust them. I guess it’s because growing up with no siblings, I didn’t have anyone to share secrets with and my friends weren’t there after high school. All I’ve had for the past fifteen years or so are my brothers.
Eight of us spent twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three-hundred and sixty-four days a year together and when you live like that, you get to know more than their likes and dislikes. You learn their mannerisms, their smells, how long it takes them to take a fucking shit. However, you never turn your back on them when they’re in need. They’re forevermore your brother. I would die for any one of them and know they would for me without hesitation. There aren’t many people who can say that, yet I’ve got seven men around this table who are that to me, and the new men who are prospecting, while they didn’t go through hell alongside us, will be the same, of that I have no doubt.
“Moving on, how is the bar doing?” Each brother who oversees a business goes through their respective numbers, causing us to cheer when we realize that this month
’s cut from the businesses will be substantial.
“We keep this shit up and I’ll be quitting the hospital,” Trident states. “Hell, I could do that now, quite honestly. Well, on second thought, with the news that Gianna gave me, I probably need to keep working a little bit longer.” Laughter once again rings through the room because he found out that they were expecting while on the way to their honeymoon destination. They just got back from their month-long trip, although I know that Poseidon kept him in the loop about what was happening with the club.
“Yeah, I don’t foresee any one of us giving up any of our outside endeavors,” Poseidon replies. Of course, in reality, only Trident works outside of the club businesses. The rest of us are entrenched, which is perfectly fine. He still does enough to warrant what he receives and I for one will never raise any objections.
“How is that program working for her?” Specks asks Trident. Gianna opened up a consignment store with the contents of her closet, then got friends from her former social circle to either donate their old dresses or put them up for consignment. Specks created a program that helps her track the inventory, when it sells and how much is owed if it wasn’t a donation. She even has our two former club girls, Tessie and Riah, working for her now. Not that either of them were ever really typical club girls. Now, however, they ‘work’ for the MC keeping the clubhouse clean, cooking, that kind of shit. When one of us needs relief, we handle it on our own. I kind of prefer it that way. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with some clubs having that, I just don’t want to stick my dick where my brothers have been is all.
Loki's Angel: A Poseidon's Warriors MC novel - Book 3 Page 2
