I couldn’t see her appreciating the pigskin option, but it was the closest to human skin, and that was how I’d been trained and I intended on teaching her what I had learned.
Still, if that didn’t work out, there was no denying her skill as an artist, and with mine as a tattoo artist? We’d be a knockout.
❖
Saint
The second we pulled up at the clubhouse, Keys muttered to his sister, “I’ll take you to Lucie.”
Kenzie didn’t exactly look overjoyed at the prospect, because Lucie liked very few people and Kenzie wasn’t one of them. Still, she trudged along after him once he’d shot me a look and said, “I’ll be five minutes. Wait for me?”
I only nodded, knowing full well where we were going—the tattoo parlor.
I wanted the details on when that had happened. We’d gone from dealing with the fact that Ama wasn’t going to go to RISD one day, to the fact she was working at the parlor. Sure, I guessed it was a good fit considering her gifts, but…
My nose wrinkled as I thought about her working with Ink. Anyone with fucking eyes knew how she felt about him. He was her goddamn hero, and even if I was jealous, I had to be grateful to the bastard for saving her. He’d been the one to end that cunt Sanchez, and he’d been the one, in her eyes, who’d been her savior.
Still, the idea of them working together all the time?
Yeah, it rubbed me raw, especially since I’d decided to stop fucking around and make my move. The feeling that it might be too goddamn late was unnerving, and the five minutes I had to wait while Keys sorted out his sister felt way too long.
When he returned, his face was tightly lined with irritation.
“What’s wrong?” I called out.
“She just pisses me off.”
I blinked at him. “What did she say?”
“Asked me if I was going to go panting after Ama.”
“What the hell happened? She flinched at every second noise, and now she’s being a bitch again?” We stared at one another for a second. “Think she played us?”
“Can’t play those bruises,” he rasped, running a hand over his head. “Fuck, I feel like a bastard for even questioning this shit, but something ain’t right. She pulled a complete one-eighty.”
She’d done more than that.
Jesus.
From cowering to catty in less than a day, it was beyond messed up.
“Fuck, Lucifer is gonna be pissed if—”
“Both Lucifers are gonna be pissed,” Keys grumbled. “Where’d the Prez go, anyway?”
“Headed straight to the clubhouse. Think he wanted to clear shit with Wolfe.” I rubbed my chin. “Will probably call church soon. Get everyone on board with the potential shit storm heading our way.”
Keys blew out a breath as he absorbed that and, unsurprisingly, changed the subject, “We going to see Ama?”
“Sure are.”
I hadn’t even dismounted, so I just watched as he climbed on, strapped on his half-helmet—something we all wore with gritted teeth—and started his engine. I followed behind him, dipping my chin at the prospects manning the gates.
Hell’s Rebels was one of the largest MCs this side of the border. Mostly because it was boring as fuck around these parts and a lot of kids rebelled by coming here to Prospect. Not many dropped out, to be fair, and we had a lot of lifers who preferred this way of living to shoveling horse shit on a dude ranch or cutting off bulls’ balls on the family ranch.
Couldn’t blame them.
Here, at least, you got paid for the miserable jobs—paid well. Plus, it wasn’t all just runs. There was plenty of work on the books. We had our own garages—two in this county alone—and then there was the factory that produced slick ghost guns, as well as the fact Dagger and Axe were trying to talk Wolfe into starting a micro-goddamn-brewery.
Life was always varied, never boring, and the level of commitment we all had with one another surpassed that of blood. We were family by choice, and that mattered a whole hell of a lot more—Kenzie was case in point. We gave her our loyalty, and yet, she might have been fucking playing us.
Didn’t matter if a bitch was raised in the MC, I swear, Dillinger was right. Couldn’t trust a woman or an automatic weapon.
Of course, the second that thought crossed my mind, I felt bad. Ama wasn’t like that. But most girls weren’t like Ama either, so I wasn’t sure what that even goddamn meant.
As Keys cranked his throttle wide open, he jerked me from my thoughts as he took off with a roar that told me Kenzie had said more than what he’d shared with me—he was wicked pissed. I took off after him, loving the blurring of the roadside, the burning bright sun overhead, and the glowing blue sky as we dominated the road that would take us from the clubhouse to the nearest town of Jonsson. Sure, I’d been seeing similar sights for the past day, but there was nothing like owning your own roads, flying down highways that belonged to your territory.
The fact that Keys’ ass had to be aching like a SOB told me how badly he wanted to see Ama. She was like human Prozac, made most situations better.
Lips twitching at the thought of telling her she was a walking, talking anti-depressant, I had to admit to being relieved when the sign of Jonsson’s population popped up in the near distance. I was ready to stretch my legs too.
Jonsson wasn’t exactly Corpus Christie, but it was big enough to have a couple fast food chains, not just mom-and-pop restaurants. As we passed the Mexican mom-and-pop place, though, my stomach rumbled and I let Keys continue on to Black Ink so I could grab us all some takeout—it felt like hours since we’d last eaten.
The place was a regular of ours, so they knew my order and had it ready in ten minutes. I made it to Black Ink with the food still steaming and headed inside the tattoo parlor to find Ama and Keys sitting at the booth, while Ink worked on a dude who looked like he was having barbed wire wrapped around his bicep—Ink was a fucking awesome artist.
I headed over to the booth with my goodies, and Ama, spying food, clapped with glee. “Mexican?”
Grinning at her, I declared, “What else?”
Ink snorted behind me, and to his client, asked, “Want a taco?” That he recognized the logo on the paper bag said it all, Taco Toni was infamously famous in Jonsson. Their food was beyond epic.
The guy grunted, but his nose twitched as he studied the bag with avaricious eyes. “Fuck, I’d kill for one, but my wife has me on this goddamn keto diet. Fucking torture, I swear.”
Ink laughed and carried on with his work. I took that as all the permission I needed to start eating in the tattoo parlor.
Getting all the stuff out of the bag, I placed it on the table and let Ama do the rest. Kind of sexist, maybe, but Ama could be particular when she chose.
“Since when did you work here?” I grumbled under my breath as she divvied out the tacos al pastor to us all, leaving some in the foil for Ink when he was done.
“Since today. It’s my first afternoon,” she said brightly.
The look Keys sent me as he dug into his taco said he was as unhappy about this development as I was.
Seeing her bright features, though, I had to admit her happiness eased my annoyance. Of course, that disappeared when I saw the state of her throat.