Sinfully Scarred (Reckless Bastards MC 2)

“It’s one of my many charms, Golden Boy. I thought you knew.”

“Oh, I know, baby. Let me wrap that up for you or you’re going to get blood and ink everywhere. You need to keep it covered until tomorrow. And take some ibuprofen.”

She held her skirt up while I wrapped plastic wrap lightly around her leg. My fingers grazed her panties in an attempt to make her squirm. And it did.

“Tate, my leg is on fire and you want to go there?”

&n

bsp; “Nope. I’ll let you heal. You like it?”

“I fucking love it! Thank you again.” With that mischievous smile, she waved goodbye and pushed through the glass door.

“Damn man, you’ve got it bad!” Lasso laughed and clapped me on the back, ignoring the glare I sent his way. “Not that I blame you, Golden Boy, because that is a quality woman right there. Beautiful and strong, independent and sassy. Perfect for an old fucker like you.”

I grunted a laugh at him, the way I always did when his Texas-isms got to be just a tad too country. “Glad you approve, Lasso. I can rest easily now.”

His smile brightened. “Hey, no problem man. Glad I could help you see the light.” The shop phone rang and I picked it up, still glaring at a laughing Lasso.

“GET INK’D, what can I help you with today?”

“Merry Mayhem, meet me there in twenty.” Cross said what he needed to say and ended the call, leaving me staring at the phone like it might bite. “I have to go out for a bit guys, I’m being summoned.”

Jag frowned. “Everything all right?”

I shrugged. “Hell if I know. He might want to chew me out just for being an asshole the past few weeks.”

“Months,” Lasso offered with a cough.

“Okay fine, months. Dick. Still.” Shit was fine now. I did my part at the club and even employed a few of the guys. What the fuck else did they want from me?

“Maybe don’t go in there wearing that face,” Jag offered diplomatically.

“This is my fucking face.”

Both of those fuckers laughed. “Try to look less like you want to rip someone in half, and more like you did when you were staring at your girl.”

It was on my lips to deny that Teddy was my girl. She wasn’t. We were thrown together by circumstances and mutual lust. “So you want me to ogle Cross? No thanks, he’s not my type.”

But I did take a ten-minute ride on my bike for a quick attitude adjustment. No good would come of showing up angry. I’d let Cross say what he needed to say, act appropriately, and then get back to work.

Merry Mayhem was near empty this time of day and I spotted Cross at one of the dartboards in back, a pitcher of beer on the table. He smiled as I got closer. “You came.”

“You summoned me,” I reminded him.

He frowned. “Is that how it is now? An invitation to hang out is now a summons?” His words were grave, sober and yeah I kind of felt like shit.

“I’m starting to wonder now if you still want to be a Reckless Bastard.” He looked at me, stroking several days’ growth on his chin as he assessed me. I saw every damn emotion flash in his eyes. Anger, frustration and disappointment were the clearest to see.

“I’m here, ain’t I? But that’s not enough, is it? I show up to Church and do my part in club business, but it still isn’t enough. What the fuck?”

Cross glared at me for a long moment before he turned to the board and fired out three darts, hitting two triple twenties and a bullseye. “This is us, Golden Boy. This club is our life, our family, our financial future. We do what we have to do to survive, we don’t do this shit because we feel like we have to.” He took an angry sip of his beer while I lined up my dart.

“It’s not a goddamn obligation, Cross. But being around everyone has been hard since I got out the pen.” I couldn’t really explain why it was, just that I didn’t feel as at ease with the club as I had in the past, and that shit pissed me off. Like Cross said, these guys were my brothers. My family. They had my back.

“That right there,” he pointed at me at first angry and then resigned. “That look that you get, the one that sometimes says you’re hatin’ on us. What the fuck?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told him as I hit my third bullseye. “I don’t hate you or anyone else. I love the club.”