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I keep my head held high as I walk around the apartment, picking things up and making more room for the two men who are sitting back on my sofa, watching fucking baseball. I could go over there and knock that remote out of their hands, and knock the attitude right out of them, but I’m not going to do that.
Instead, I go about my business, trying to act like I can’t feel Tatum’s eyes on me as I move.
My phone rings from the kitchen counter, distracting me, and I walk over, right past the television, and pick it up. I see Alarick’s name flashing across the screen, and, being the pathetic female I feel like right now, I put it on speaker and answer it with a, “Hey boss.”
Tatum’s eyes flick my way, but I pretend like I don’t notice. Petty? Of course. Do I care? Nope.
“Got a client for you,” Alarick’s rumbly, very sexy, very masculine voice says, filling the room.
Anyone listening to it can tell just by hearing that voice that he’s a god damned warrior or a man.
I melt hearing it, and I’m not into Alarick like that.
“You do?” I ask, shocked, considering Callie was my first client and he didn’t say a great deal about the work I did, so I wasn’t sure if I did good or if I royally fucked it up.
“Yeah, one of the club members needs some new ink. He’s keen to let you give it a try. You good to come in now?”
“A club member?” I squeak.
“Yeah, problem?”
“Nope. No. Of course not. I’ll come in now.”
He hangs up without a goodbye, typical Alarick. I glance over at Tatum, who is watching me, his eyes narrowed.
“I have to go into work.”
“You tattoo people?” he asks, genuinely shocked.
“Yeah, I do. I just got a chair. I work for ... ah ... a biker club.”
Tatum’s eyes flash with something, and then he says, “No shit.”
“Anyway, I have to go.”
Tatum stands, grabbing his phone and keys and saying, “I’m coming with you.”
My eyes get big. “I’m going to work, Tatum, I’m not bringing you.”
“Sure your boss won’t mind me sittin’ and waiting. You’re in danger, after all, that’s what we’re here for.”
I clench my jaw. “If I say no, you’re not going to have it, are you?”
“Nope. Let’s go.”
I exhale and he follows me out, telling Ethan to let Tanner know where we are. I tell him I’m not riding with him, that he can follow me in his truck, and he agrees. I get into my own damn car and start driving to work, praying maybe I’ll lose him in the traffic somewhere.
A girl can only dream.
~*~*~*~
WE ARRIVE AT THE SHOP at the same time, and I exhale loudly, frustrated that I didn’t, in fact, lose him in the damned traffic. I get out of my car and walk toward the front door of King’s Ink run by the very well known, very dangerous Kings Descendants MC. Still, I like working here, in fact, I enjoy it more than I let on.
Even if sometimes those bikers scare me.
It’s totally worth it.
“You work here?” Tatum mutters behind me as I walk in the front door, ignoring him.
Alarick is at his chair, leaning over a woman’s lower back, gun in hand, busy concentrating. As far as I’ve been able to figure out, his grandfather was King, the man who created the club, and it has kind of been passed down, so to speak, and now Alarick, or Flick as he’s better known, is the President.
“Cohen will be here in five, get your stuff ready, I’ve left the design on your chair,” Alarick says, not looking up from his work.
“Okay,” I say, walking over to my chair and glancing down at the picture that I’m going to be tattooing on a fucking biker. What if I do it wrong? Or bad? I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s beside the point, it’s my job and I can’t run away from it, I have to give it my all and pray it’s enough.
The picture is a massive Celtic design, that’s mostly black, so it’ll be a lot of coloring but not a lot of detail. It looks easy enough, but it’s going to take a while, the outline alone would probably be three or four hours, and then the coloring. I turn to Tatum, “I’m going to be here for a long time, you go.”
He stares at me, about to say something, when Alarick looks up from his work and stares at Tatum, his eyes narrowing as he takes him in. “No boyfriends in the shop,” he growls.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, and it sounds ... I don’t know, teenager-ish.
“I’m protectin’ her,” Tatum says, his voice hard and strong, not at all intimidated by Alarick. “She’s in danger. You got a problem with that?”
Alarick tips his head to the side and studies Tatum for a moment. “What sort of danger?”
I open my mouth to tell Tatum to stop, but he doesn’t seem to care what I think or want. He’s walking toward Alarick now, ready to have a fucking chat. My god. He just makes himself at home wherever he goes.
“Got into a mess with some drug runners, they followed us here, lookin’ for revenge. Goin’ after the girls to get it. You know much about the runners in town?”
Alarick turns the gun off and says to the girl, “Take five.”
She gets up, her face red from lying down, and pulls out a cigarette, walking outside. When she’s gone, Alarick looks to Tatum and says, “Like to know what’s goin’ down in my town. Keep my finger in every pie. Who is it you’re dealin’ with?”
“Names Baker, Raz Baker. He’s big time. Into a lot of shit. We fucked him over, now he wants revenge.”
“Not from around here,” Alarick says, crossing his arms, and I struggle not to ogle because damn he’s fine. “Know all the runners in this town. He from out of state?”
“Yeah, toward Denver. Bad news.”
“Why’d you fuck him over?”
“He and eight of his men raped my best friend's sister, gave her HIV and she killed herself.”
Alarick’s face hardens. “Don’t like fuckers like that walkin’ the streets. You got a location?”
“Not as yet. Still trackin’ him down. They got my brother. Cut his fuckin’ thumb off and sent it to Callie. Which is why we’re here, he’s goin’ to go after Jo, or Callie, or both and he’s goin’ to attempt to bring us all down.”
Alarick nods, and pulls out his phone. “I’ll make some calls. Find out if he’s been talkin’ to anyone.”
Jesus Christ. Just like that, he’s brought the fucking motorcycle club into it. Like we need any more drama.
“You don’t have to help us,” I say, my voice squeaky. “We’re fine handling it on our own. It’s not your problem. Tatum shouldn’t have told you.”
Alarick stops dialing and looks to me. “You’re not my problem, correct, but this town is my fuckin’ problem. Nothin’ goes past me, especially when it comes to that.”
Oh boy.
I nod, because I’m not about to argue with him. He’s ... passionate about this I can see.
“Appreciate it,” Tatum says. “If this is goin’ to take a while, I’ll go, you good keepin’ an eye on her?”
Alarick nods, standing up and extending his hand. “Alarick, you can call me Flick.”
Tatum takes his hand, shaking it. “Tatum.”
“Will keep an eye on her here, Tatum, and I’ll get back to you with word.”
Tatum nods, and then looks to me with a smug expression. That fucking jerk. Coming in here and just taking over my life like he owns the damn thing. I grit my teeth and try not to hit him when he says, “Happy inking, sweetheart.”
Then he’s gone.
The fucking douchebag.