Troubled Son: Savage Sons MC Romance (12 page)

I got to my lingerie drawer, though, and I couldn't help but pack a few things. I threw in some sexy bra and panty sets and a few little nightgowns. I might have to crash in an unfamiliar place, but I wanted to have something pretty to sleep in.

"God knows what his place is gonna look like," I said out loud while I folded some t-shirts. I'd been practicing sounding less polished and educated. It wasn't easy. "The fuckin' place is probably a mess." I looked in the mirror. "Sounds pretty fuckin' convincing, don't it?"

I'd realized that if I sprinkled f-bombs in liberally and shortened the ends of words -- "drivin'" instead of "driving," that I should fit right in. Mistrust of authority, the appearance of a thick skin, and lots of profanity seemed to be the key elements in the bravado of biker speak. I could handle it.

I was really curious about Moses' house, and I wasn't sure what to expect. The clubhouse had been vile, to put it plainly. I was pretty sure that the smell of urine, vomit, whisky, and...well...pussy was never going away. It smelled like a frat house that had never ever been cleaned. Moses didn't appear to be a slob, but it was hard to tell. I knew that he spent some nights at the clubhouse, and I hoped I wouldn't have to do the same. If it gave us an advantage in terms of putting our case together, I knew I'd do it, though.

I wasn't even sure if I'd have to share a bathroom with Moses. I assumed that there was a spare bedroom, but I wasn't used to sharing my space. Even when I was in St. Louis, Jason and I had maintained separate residences, and had only spent a night or two a week together. I liked it that way. As an only child, I'd never had to share a room, and I wasn't sure that I ever wanted to. Sure, I figured that I'd get married someday, but the thought of spending days on end living with the same person just seemed to foreign to me.

All packed, the only thing left to do was get dressed, load up my shitty car, and pick some new old clothes at the secondhand store. I pulled out an old pair of jeans from the back of my closet. I hadn't moved much to Denver that I wasn't sure I'd wear, but the old jeans I held were one of my favorite pairs. Slightly out of date and frayed at the hem, I figured that this case was probably my last chance to wear them. They were the most expensive pair of jeans I'd ever bought, which meant, of course, that they looked like ragged castoffs. Except for the fact that they fit me perfectly.

I'd bought them several years ago at a ridiculously expensive boutique in New York on a weekend visit with a friend from law school. I wasn't the easiest person to fit -- I wasn't perfectly petite and skinny as a rail. The salesperson had looked me up and down and brought me a single pair of jeans to try. They were perfect. I didn't even care that they cost hundreds of dollars. They looked amazing. I hadn't tried them on in a long time, though, and I hoped they still looked okay.

Since I'd spent all day yesterday daydreaming about Moses in between my tech tutorials, I decided to wear something really sexy. I pulled out my favorite black boy shorts with the contrasting purple lace and slipped them on. I put on my jeans and realized that I'd forgotten just how low-rise they were. They just barely covered my underwear. I put on my matching bra, glad it was a pushup. I 'd decided that I wanted to see if I could knock Moses' socks off. He'd seemed all calm and collected while I'd been hot and bothered during our shopping trip. I wondered if I could get him as distracted as I 'd been.

I decided that I looked pretty good in my jeans and bra that gave me amazing cleavage. I picked out the tiniest tank I had and pulled it over my head. Perfect. All I needed was the jacket that Moses had promised me. In the meantime, I'd have to settle for my North Face jacket and my Doc Martens again.

Suitcase packed, I lugged it and my backpack with my electronic equipment to the parking garage. I loaded up the car and headed out for my shopping. I hit both Goodwill and the Salvation Army and ended up having to buy a huge duffel bag to shove everything in. I figured I'd have enough to get me through the case, assuming that Moses' shack had a washer and a dryer.

I grabbed a sandwich for lunch, chatted briefly with Tombley to confirm that I'd gotten his message about my meeting Moses at his tattoo studio that afternoon, and realized that I needed to get on the road if I didn't want to be late. As dangerous as it was, I was actually looking forward to seeing Moses again. I felt a little nervous, wondering what he'd think of the outfit I'd chosen.

I followed the directions I'd jotted down before I'd left home. It was going to take a while to get used to life without a smartphone again. I pulled into the parking lot and could tell right away that Moses was there. His matte black bike occupied the parking space directly in front of the door. There were a couple of other bikes in the lot, along with several cars. Since the rest of the strip mall wasn't occupied, except for the convenience store at the opposite end, I could only assume that Red Sea Tattoo was busy. I checked the time and decided to head inside even though I was a few minutes early.

I got out of the car and realized that the sun had warmed things up nicely. I shed my jacket and tossed it inside the car, deciding that I may as well get used to acting as if I was accustomed to walking around with my tits on display and my jeans cut so low that you could tell that I'd recently had a bikini wax. I laughed to myself as I thought about what Moses would say.

I crossed the lot and opened the door. No Moses. I could hear the sound of two or three tattoo machines buzzing in the back of the shop, and I figured that the artists worked behind closed doors. The door chimed as I walked inside, and I waited to see if Moses would appear.

A young woman stood up from behind the counter. I hadn't realized that she was there, so I must've jumped nearly to the ceiling, which made us both dissolve in laughter. When we finally stopped laughing, the woman dried the tears that threatened to ruin her makeup, and I checked her out. She looked a couple of years younger than I was, and she was beautiful in a heavily made-up sort of way. Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy, hairsprayed bun, and her thick bangs gave her hairstyle a dramatic look. She wore an emerald green metallic shirt that exposed both her arms and some serious cleavage. She was tiny, and the tight black jeans and black heel she wore made her look rail thin. She turned around to find a kleenex, and I realized that even though she was little, she managed to look voluptuous as the same time, her black jeans showing off a fantastic ass to go with her cleavage. She was gorgeous.

"Can I help you?" she asked once we'd settled down.

"I'm here to see Moses."

She smiled at me, her condescension thinly veiled. "You and every other girl who walks in the door, sweetheart. Do you have an appointment?"

"Sort of," I answered, not exactly sure how to reply.

She rolled her eyes, and I figured that she must have to run interference for her boss relatively frequently.

"Is he expecting you?"

"Yes," I answered with relief.

"What's your name, honey? I'll let him know you're here."

"Max."

The young woman's eyebrows practically vanished into her hairline, and she looked me over more carefully than she had at first.

"So you're the one, then?" she asked with a smile.

I couldn't tell if she was being catty, or if she was genuinely pleased to meet Moses' old lady.

I shrugged and smiled back. "Guess so."

"Well, have a seat. I'll got let him know you're here."

She walked into the back of the shop. I watched her go, feeling like an enormous and ridiculous giant. I was used to being taller than other women, and taller than a number of men, for that matter, but I'd never gotten used to the way that women like this gorgeous, petite pixie of a woman made me feel. I felt gangly, oversized, and awkward, and as good as I'd felt about my muscular curves that morning, I'd have traded them all to fit into a size four pair of jeans and a size small shirt. I wondered for a moment if anyone would even buy that Moses was really with me. If he had beautiful, thin women to choose from, why on earth would he pick me? My confidence gone, I sat down and waited for Moses.

Chapter 16

Moses

I
was working on finishing the outline of a jaguar that would be the last big section of a full sleeve I'd done for a good customer of mine. Since the guy was paying as we went, I planned to do the outline in one day and fill in with color in a couple of weeks when he got paid again. I heard Krystal's voice before she knocked 'cause she knew I didn't like sudden loud noises while I worked. A steady hand is essential to good line work.

"Moses," she said after I'd told she she could come in. "There's a young lady here to see you. Says her name is Max,"

She watched me carefully for my reaction, and I deliberately gave her nothing. I loved Krystal, but our relationship was a little complicated. We worked together great now, but we'd had our share of knockdown dragouts before. I'd say that she was like my sister, except that she was really hot and I'd fucked her more than a few times. The trouble was that so had every other Savage Son. She'd never turned tricks for us, but she'd spent her fair share of time hanging around the club doing favors for the guys. Since she'd started working for me and started working on Bug to become his old lady, we'd come to an agreement of sorts.

"Tell her I'll be out in about ten minutes. And Krystal?"

"Yeah?"

"You be nice."

"Sugar, I'm always nice," she purred as she closed the door behind her.

"Goddamn, that girl is fine," my customer said through gritted teeth. "Makes me look forward to coming in here and lettin' you stick needles in me."

"She's certainly a handful," I agreed, settling back in to finish up the job.

When I finished, I wiped off the blood and ink, and slicked a layer of vaseline onto the fresh tattoo. "You know the drill by now," I said, knowing that I didn't have to run through the care instructions. "Krystal will get you on the books for the rest of it."

"Thanks, man. Looks good."

I peeled off my latex gloves and threw them away before I opened the door and followed my client out to the lobby. I still needed to clean up, but I was a little worried that I'd walk out to find Krystal trying to pull Max's hair out.

I was pleased to see that everyone was behaving. Krystal and my client were bent over the appointment book at the counter, and Max was flipping through one of the binders that held photos of my work. She was facing the front window, so she didn't see my reaction when I saw her. My jaw nearly hit the floor.

She had on the same badass boots that she'd worn a couple of days ago, and the jeans that she had on should have been illegal. They fit perfectly and left a gap of visible skin between the top of the jeans and the bottom of the ridiculously tight tank she wore. She heard me coming and turned around. Holy shit. I had no idea how great her tits were gonna look in the tight clothes I'd recommended. My mouth went dry, and I couldn't think of anything except wanting to bury my face in her cleavage. I had to play it a little cooler than that, though.

I nodded to the book she held. "Gonna let me work on you?"

"Depends on where you want to put it."

The sex in her voice matched mine, and I was afraid that she'd notice that I had half a hard on just from looking at her.

"Come on back and we'll discuss it." I turned and walked back to the room where I'd been working.

I closed the door after Max came inside.

"You look good," I said as I started my meticulous routine of cleaning up and storing my ink and equipment.

"Convincing?" she asked as she looked around the room.

"Convincing and good," I said, my mind telling me that I shouldn't be complimenting her, but my cock overruling everything.

Max smiled and looked a little uncertain. "I hoped you'd like it."

"Max, a man would have to be gay and blind not to like you in that getup."

Her eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. "So about that tattoo?"

"Anytime you're ready," I joked. "It's gonna hurt, though. Think you can handle it?"

"What makes you think I don't already have one?" she answered, wide-eyed and smiling in a flirtatious way.

It ain't often that I'm speechless, but I couldn't think of a thing to say. I just shook my head and kept cleaning up

"I talked to Tombley, and he wants me moved in by this evening."

It's hard to explain the panic I felt. I spent so much of my time with the Sons and the girls that hung around the clubhouse that I doubted that anyone would understand the need I felt for privacy and for time by myself. When I'd built my house, I'd deliberately chosen a location nearly an hour from the clubhouse. I didn't want it to be convenient for anyone to drop by. I didn't entertain my brothers, and I sure didn't entertain any of the sluts I slept with. I kept a room at the clubhouse for that. My home was the only place I could be myself, or at least try to figure out who I was when I wasn't running drugs and hookers. I felt like I could breathe there, and I was not happy about having Max invade my space.