“Is that a hickey?” I hissed at her, the taco in my hand crumbling as I squished it like a bug in my fist.
Her eyes flared wide at the question, but her hand patted at her throat—in the exact spot where the fucking love bite was.
“Shut up, Saint,” she retorted, her gaze darting to her food as her hand continued to cover the bruised skin.
Keys scowled. “Who do we need to beat up?”
Ama being Ama scoffed, “Since when do I need you to beat up every guy who kisses me?”
“Every guy?” Keys ground out. “This happens often?”
Of course, Ama failed to realize that she cut Ink a glance when Keys had asked her that particular question, which was clue enough as to who had given her the hickey.
The fuck?
When had that happened?
First this shit with the tattoo parlor, and then Ink and her hooking up?
Christ, her dads were going to fucking kill him, and I’d be in the front row to watch that go down.
Then, when Ama twisted to glower at Keys and probably shower him with her outrage, I saw it.
On the table.
“Jesus Christ, Ama. Did you do that?” I reached forward with my clean hand and picked up the drawing. I looked around to see if there was a photo nearby, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out this work was for a portrait, and when I saw it, then glanced at the sketch again, my mind was even more blown away.
It was so fucking good that for a moment, I forgot that she and Ink had made out.
Which was saying something.
Keys whistled under his breath when I showed him. “That’s some of your best work, babe.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and her hand dropped from her throat, revealing the hickey which, of course, put me right back into the frame of mind to go on the fucking rampage.
“You think?” she inquired softly, and the hesitance in her tone told me how nervous she was.
God, talk about my fucking kryptonite.
“It’s like the picture but better,” Keys pointed out softly. “It’s crazy good. Where did it even come from?”
She shrugged and hunched her shoulders slightly as she mumbled, “It just flowed.”
“Well, it flowed like magic,” I replied, so fucking proud of her that I was a mixture of emotions I wasn’t sure how to control.
I was angry over the kiss, confused about what had prompted Ama to start working here, annoyed over Kenzie, awestruck by Ama’s talent, proud of what she could do, and also raging at that fucker Aaron Sanchez for holding Ama back to the point where she was staying here instead of heading to RISD.
I wasn’t hungry anymore, not with this shitty cocktail of feelings rumbling around in my gut, but still, I shoved the food at her and grumbled, “We should eat before this gets cold. No point in wasting it.”
She grabbed the plastic fork and began cutting up the tacos into pieces like the monster she was. Keys and I snorted at the sight, but said nothing as we bit into our meals.
It took her twice as long to eat what we did, but I was used to watching her eat. Even found it a turn on, if I was being honest.
As I studied her, I asked, “Ink gave you that, didn’t he?”
I caught a sight of her bright pink cheeks before she dipped her chin and stared at her meal like next week’s lottery numbers were buried on the plate.
“Ama?” Keys prompted softly. “Did he?”
When she didn’t reply, I wondered what the hell was going on. She shared everything with us, but somehow her world had changed while we’d gone on that fucking run.
I was supposed to be the one putting hickeys on her throat.
Not fucking Ink, dammit.
18
Ink
As I handed the client the aftercare instructions and received payment for a simple but well-done job, my phone buzzed and I saw it was from the Prez.
Wolfe: Get back here now. Emergency church.
When Saint and Keys’ phones didn’t ping, I knew it was just for the council.
Me: Be there ASAP.
Wolfe: Not soon enough.
Brows furrowing, I grabbed my stuff from behind the counter and headed over to the booth where Ama and the guys had been sitting since they had shown up.
“I have to get back to the clubhouse.”
Ama tipped her head to the side. “Why? The shop doesn’t close for another four hours.”
“I have to get to church.”
Though Saint’s and Keys’ eyes widened, they didn’t say a word—they knew not to. Ama, who also knew not to but did any way, inquired, “But why?”
“What happened on the run?” I asked the others.
“Nothing. It was pretty peaceful for a nine-hour trip,” Saint replied. “Lucifer was—”
“The Knights’ Prez came with?” I blurted out, at the same time Ama squealed, “Granddad’s here?”
Even as my lips twitched at her excitement, my brain was working overtime trying to figure out what was wrong. Still, the best way to know what was going down was to haul ass, so I inquired, “Look, do you mind closing up, Ama?”
“Of course not, but I don’t know how to work the alarm.”
“I can show you how to switch that on now.”
She shuffled out of the booth and followed me to the alarm system. I showed her how to activate it, then when she was there, murmured, “Do me another favor?”
Her eyes were big and bright as she stared up at me. “Of course.”
“Hang out here for a while. Until after closing, maybe. Until I text.”
Her brow puckered. “Why? I want to see Granddad.”
“I know, but I have a weird feeling.” Sheepishly, I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s my first day of being allowed to protect you without having to sneak around it, let me get away with it this once?”
Though she narrowed her eyes at me, she nodded. “Okay. But text when you can. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Then, she stunned the hell out of me by leaning up onto tiptoes and pressing a kiss to my mouth. One that was impossible to translate as friendly.
I let her get away with it because I didn’t have time not to, and when she’d finished, her eyes were hazy with need and she looked so fuckable right then, I couldn’t get mad. Instead, I tapped her on the ass and warned her, “Behave.”
She pouted but nodded, and then retreated to the booth where Saint and Keys were, undoubtedly, still reeling from that very public PDA.
I didn’t look back though, just headed out into the still hot sun, leaving her to deal with the fallout—one that was of her own making as she couldn’t have outed us much more blatantly.
Taking a quick glance around, I noticed that everything was copacetic, and the street was relatively tidy, pretty, and neat. Our presence prompted that, because any taggers knew we’d rip their nails off if they made a mess. See, we had an image problem. We liked to keep things friendly with the town council, keep shit clean and well managed around our perimeter, and they usually left us alone.
If taggers started showing up, even though they had nothing to do with us, we’d get the blame.
Politics sucked, but they were a part of our life too, and they were the part of the MC I usually dealt with.