Rock and Z freeze. The tension in the room turns thick enough to suffocate.
Rock narrows his eyes. “Anyone you’re close to?”
I don’t blame either of them for questioning where my loyalties might have wandered. Lost Kings have no other incarcerated brothers. They know damn well that to protect myself, I would’ve had to make some shady alliances. “It’s not debts I owe. No one who’s gettin’ out anytime soon or looking for me. No deals I’m supposed to broker on the outside for any other organization.” I’d been careful to extract myself from any ongoing obligations and ensure things were in good hands before I left the joint. It was a delicate dance between the two worlds but I’d never put my club in danger.
Rock’s severe expression doesn’t change at my explanation. Z shifts his gaze to Rock, then back to me, as if waiting for more details.
“Just some brothers who helped me survive,” I add. “Who don’t have anyone on the outside, the way I did, to take care of them.”
“Sure.” Rock blows out a breath, finally satisfied. “You’re a good man. Most would forget and move on.”
“I can’t do that.”
He nods. “I know.”
We’re quiet for a few beats. My mind returns to Serena. Holding her. Waking up with her. Leaving the note and ducking out on her was a cowardly move. I need to fix that. Move forward with my life.
Most of all, I need to silence the ghosts that followed me out of prison.
“There is one thing maybe you guys can help me with,” I say quietly.
“Anything,” Z says.
“Club still got someone who does their ink?”
“Bronze,” Rock answers. “Remember him? He set up a shop around here a couple years ago.”
“No shit?” I trace the collar of my shirt, tugging at it, unsure. “Inside, I got a few pieces added to my collection I’d really like to get rid of, have covered up, or something…”
“Ah, fuck,” Rock sighs. “I’m sorry, Gray.”
“It is what it is.” I shrug. “I just want ’em off my body.”
“How many?” Z asks.
“Just the two. I moved up quick enough. No one got around to inking my fucking face.” I finally tug the collar of my shirt down to show off the crude prison ink.
“Fuck,” Z breathes out.
“Yeah, prison was tons of fun. I don’t recommend it.”
“Sorry, brother.”
I turn to Rock. “Can Bronze be trusted? Lotta artists don’t like working with ex-cons. Or he might be hooked up with some guys on the inside…”
Rock’s expression hardens to steel. “Like fuck are any of those scumbags threatening you,” he spits out. His hands curl into fists. “We might not have been able to protect you inside, but—”
“We will fucking slaughter any motherfucker who tries to come after you,” Z finishes.
I swallow hard, grateful to be back in the company of my true brothers.
Their thoughts seem to have run off in a murderous direction. I tap the table in front of them to recapture their attention. “You did protect me inside. The money helped. Your connections made my time when I returned to the Pine facility a lot smoother. Don’t act like you tossed me to the lions and walked away.”
“It feels like it,” Rock says.
I slap my hand over the tattoo. “Just help me get this gone.” Another thought smacks me upside the head. “I wanna get Rosie’s name off me too.” I press my hand over my heart. No need to carry memories of her on my body now. She’ll stay in the past where she belongs.
Z sits forward and motions for me to pull my shirt to the side again. “What do you want to do?” he asks, squinting at the pieces. “Remove them or cover with something else?”
“Probably cover.” I gesture to the Lost Kings emblems on my chest and arm. “Want to get these touched up where they’re fading. A few other things.”
Z runs one hand over his own colorful arm. “Bronze is solid. I trust him. Hundred percent. He’s been working on covering some scars for Lilly and he’s been great with her.” He glances at Rock.
Rock’s narrow-eyed glare suggests he’s still hellbent on a killing spree but he snaps out of it when he notices we’re both focused on him.
“I’ve got a kid working for me at the shop. Carter. Teller’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. He’s a talented artist. Got him helping with the paint jobs Bricks can’t keep up with,” he explains. “He had an interest in tattooing. Started an apprenticeship with Bronze.” He rolls up his sleeve and points out what looks like a recently inked owl on his inner bicep. “I let him experiment on me for his first piece.”
“Damn.” I lean closer to get a better look. The design is both realistic and artistic. Vibrant and colorful. “Some experiment.” I huff out a wry laugh and run my fingers over my throat. “Funny, that’s what you picked. I kind of had an owl throat piece in mind.”