Savoring Mila (Rockers' Legacy Book 3)
My brother, sister, and cousins were always being bombarded by flashing cameras and intrusive questions into our private lives. We were the children of rock royalty, Demons, for fuck’s sake. Of course they wanted to know every little detail of what went on in our lives. The longer my anonymity lasted around here, the better. I didn’t want those vultures intruding on Mila’s life once they found out we were together.
My stomach was growling angrily by late afternoon, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the nuked egg sandwich I’d inhaled before leaving the house that morning. My first thought was to order something, but this place didn’t have Uber Eats, and the only place that delivered was some pizza joint.
Grabbing my keys, I walked out to the front to lock the door, only to stop in my tracks when I realized I wasn’t alone. Eyeing the three men standing in my shop, I mentally cursed myself for not having turned on the security system that would have alerted me to any door being opened.
These men were all just as tall and wide as me, middle-aged, and wore leather cuts, as if they were part of a motorcycle club or something. They all wore patches. One said President, the other Enforcer, and the last VP. I wanted to laugh, because the only time I’d ever seen a gang like this was on TV. But there was something in the air that told me laughing at these guys wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” I asked, keeping my voice friendly and casual. “I’m not open yet, but if you want to make an appointment, I’d be happy to fit you in.”
“Name’s Masterson,” the enforcer said, and I took a better look at the man.
This guy’s name was Masterson?
As in, Mila’s dad?
Fuck.
He was built like a brick wall. He had a bandanna tied around his head and his brown and gray beard was trimmed short, but it didn’t hide the sick spider tattoo on his neck. I put him in his fifties, but the guy still had rock-hard muscles and a narrow waist. There was a wicked-looking knife strapped to his belt, and I didn’t doubt there was a gun under his cut somewhere.
“You own the other ink shop in town?” I needed him to clarify. Maybe there were other people in this town with the last name Masterson.
“That would be me, kid.” He nodded toward the other two without looking at them. “This is Bash, and that’s Hawk. We just wanted to stop by and offer you a little friendly hospitality. Welcome you to Creswell Springs, that kind of thing.”
I grinned, knowing he was full of shit. This was an intimidation meeting. Show me that my competition was part of the local MC, let me know I wasn’t welcome here. But I wasn’t easily scared. I’d spent my entire life around rockers who were just as mean-looking with more ink on them than these guys were sporting. It would take more than them coming into my shop and swinging their dicks around to intimidate me. And there was no way I was going to let anyone, least of all Mila’s enforcer daddy, keep me from her.
“You know, I would have rather worked with you than against you,” I told him. “But apparently you don’t want a business partner.”
“Don’t need a partner,” he said, his voice deepening, filling with menace. “You keep to this part of town, boy, and we won’t have any issues. Didn’t like dealing with these pansy-ass college brats anyway, so you’ll be doing me a favor.”
“Always happy to help, sir.” I rolled my shoulders, making sure to keep all three men in my sight at all times. I didn’t want to kick the ass of the man I wanted to be
my father-in-law, but I would if he threw the first punch.
“What’s your name, kid? You look familiar to me,” the one with the patch that read “President” asked.
I glanced at him, started to say something snappy and sarcastic, but for some reason, changed my mind at the last second. “Lyric Thornton, sir.”
“Thornton…” the VP repeated, his green eyes narrowed. “Jesse Thornton’s kid?”
“One of them,” I confirmed with a shrug. “Don’t go spreading that little detail around, though. I wouldn’t want your quaint little town overrun with paparazzi.”
“Fuck,” Masterson muttered. He turned, stomped to the door, then walked back to me. The look on his face would have made a weaker man flinch, but I didn’t even blink as he stabbed his finger toward my face. I was too used to Dad getting up close and personal when he was pissed at me to be intimidated by this guy’s frustrated anger. “Your father shouldn’t have let you come this far north, boy. Stay out of trouble, stay out of my business, and don’t go asking questions that will get you killed.”
What the hell did that mean?
But before I could ask, the three men walked out the door. Moments later, I heard the growl of their motorcycles start up, and then they drove away.
All I wanted was to ink skin and be with Mila.
What fucking questions could I ask that would get me killed?
Chapter 12
Lyric
I put the whole thing with Mila’s dad behind me and went out to grab some lunch. There was a deli downtown that claimed to be food-allergy friendly, and I stopped there to grab a sandwich.
When I walked in, there was a wall of artwork to my right, and while the woman behind the counter dealt with the customer already in line, I glanced at it. Most of it was finger paintings, and a small plaque proclaimed them the best works of the Pre-K, kindergarten, and first-grade students at Creswell Springs Elementary over the years.