Chapter One #2
“Thigh,” she says bravely, lying back on the sofa.
“I’m Saban,” my lip quirking in the corner, damn she makes me proud and I don’t even know her for real. But this woman makes you like her. She just has a kind of innocence and angelic spirit exuding from her.
“We should be on a first-name basis if I’m this close to your pussy.” Grinning when she bursts out laughing at how outrageous I sound.
“I’m Ezekiel-Jane.” Her eyes are warm. She’s cute as a button. She doesn’t seem that much older than I am.
“A wheel in the middle of a wheel.” I smile at her. “I like it.”
There is a buzz when I start the gun, making her startle a little. I doubt she’s seen many tattoos, and I don’t think getting one was on her list of things to do in her life.
Slowly, steadily, I move from her inner to outer thigh. The only sign she feels pain is the way her fingers clench the brushed suede of the sofa.
“You're not putting property of or anything like that on me, are you?”
Huffing out a laugh, I keep my focus on my task. “Oh, you don't need to worry about that.”
Humming a nonsensical tune whose words I can’t remember from my homeland, I finish the last swoops and swirls of the design I made up off the fly. Moments later, I’m done.
“Here, see for yourself. A guy will be dead for even laying eyes on this.”
She takes a moment to figure out the backwards beautifully scrolled words ángel de la Muerte tattooed on her inner thigh.
Rising, I take a bottle from Angel’s desk, spraying the antiseptic, then wrap her thigh with cellophane.
“Take that off when you get home. It needs to breathe. I’ll give you some stuff for when it starts healing.
Don’t pick at the scabs or scratch because you will ruin it.
I’ll check it the next time you’re here.
” Watching how stiffly she holds herself at my words, I seriously doubt she will be back if she can help it.
She simply nods. Yeah, never gonna see her again.
“Okay, take off your bra and panties. Don’t worry, we’ve seen it all before.” Lorena is holding up a black hooded robe. She proudly shows Ezekiel-Jane the back, which has intricate designs on it with a big devil riding a motorcycle with flames licking up from the robe.
“You can keep this on the whole time. They used to make the girls come out naked, but they been put a stop to that.” I know she’s trying to make it sound like it’s better than it is but she only succeed in terrifying the cute little woman more.
Ezekial-Jane is in full crash out mode as her trembling hands try to get the already ruined shirt off.
“I got you.” Lorena whispers, easing it off, then snapping her bra free. Her body shakes with fear. She’s nearing a breakdown. Probably still in shock from the accident, too.
Taking out my favorite tequila, commandeered from the bar out of my pack, and a shot glass of Snake’s, I move around Angel’s desk where I was cleaning my tool kit and packing my supplies.
“Here, drink this at least.” Holding a filled shot glass in one hand and the uncapped bottle in the other. “Just toss it back. You don’t look like a Cassamigo’s girl.”
Almost robotic in her actions, she takes the shot and does as I instruct.
Immediately, her shoulders relax.
I pour her another then one for myself.
“Girl, Snake is going to kill your ass. Give me that.” Sara reaches for my bottle. I snatch it back.
“He’s not my papa,” I fuss. “He just thinks he is.”
I cut a look her way. Deciding to share anyway.
Sara takes the bottle from me, turning it. She takes a couple of swigs as Ezekiel-Jane slips her arms into the robe. It dang near drawfs her. The material looks like it’s heavy and drags on the floor.
Sara hands the bottle to Lorena, who drinks heartily from it before handing it back to Ezekiel-Jane. She seems very eager for more. She already looks more relaxed, which is saying a lot from the way she was wound so tight earlier.
She’s reaching for the bottle when Sara cuts in, taking it from her. “Uh-uh, Angel won’t do it if you’re drunk. Trust me, you want it to be him.”
Taking the bottle, she places it on his desk with a snap. “Feel free to go wild when it’s over.”
A hard knock sounds on the door. My heart stops when Snake steps through. He’s clothed in a black Henley, Wranglers held up on his narrow hips with a cowboy belt sporting a viper motif.
His cold, hickory-hewed eyes land hard on me.
“Are you done, girl?” He sounds so put upon, like just having to talk to me is so beneath him.
For a split second, the hurt registers before I can stop it from showing on my face.
“Si, she’s ready.” I lift my chin, and for a split second, it’s almost as if he’s proud of me. He regards me for just a second too long. My stomach sinks. Everyone notices. I don’t want them pitying me.
He nods, finally turning back to the other women.
“I will carry you out on my shoulder. Don’t look at anyone, or that will incite a claiming challenge.
Angel says he doesn’t want any bloodshed, but he’d have to kill somebody if they pop off, saying you looked at them, wanting to be claimed.
So, eyes forward at all times until you’re on the stage, then eyes only on him.
” His voice is almost soothing as he talks to her, trying to help her avert disaster.
Grabbing my stuff, I start to head out with the other ladies.
“Not you,” he growls down at me. “Stay your ass in here. Sit. Down.”
Embarrassment becomes my best friend at the harsh tone he uses with me. My gaze steadies on him with malice for a hot second, but he’s looking like he’s begging me to give him a reason.
Instead of giving him the sass he so richly deserves, I head over to the couch, sitting beside Ezekiel-Jane.
“I’ll be back for you when it’s time.” He looks over to me, his voice a shade less mean. Ignoring him, I focus on anything, and I mean even the tiniest piece of lint I see on Angel’s fastidiously kept couch.
The air pulses around us. I don’t know what he expects when he’s barking orders like a drill sergeant at me.
Seconds tick by, then a shadow drops over me.
I glance up quickly after moments tick by into his cold, unfathomable gaze.
“Yes, sir.” I let my sarcasm coat every syllable.
“Calling me girl when he knows I’m a grown ass woman. Sick of him.” I speak in French, which has the woman beside me looking at me in surprise.
“Care to say that shit again in a language I can understand, girl?” Taunting me, though I’m pretty sure after all this time he’s picked up on some of my native tongue.
“Whatever, Snake.”
“How old are you?” Ezekiel-Jane asks in French. Both Snake and I look at her in surprise. Drawing both our stares.
“Vingt-et-un.” I lie, as has been my habit whenever someone asks when I do tattoos. People tend not to want a kid to do their ink.
Still, I can’t help smiling at her. It’s oddly comforting to have someone who speaks one of the languages I’m fluent in. Not many people speak French or Haitian Creole. In the years since I came over with Snake, I’ve had to work hard not to lose my language.
Hadrián was the one adamant that I keep my language skills up. “It’s part of who you are. Don’t ever forget where you came from or your people. No one can take that from you.” He told me about a year after we got here.
“Hey, it’s time. Y’all have a little less than two hours to get this done before the sun comes up.” Snake’s tone is kind and almost apologetic as he explains the urgency.
In one smooth motion, he sweeps her up onto his broad, strong shoulder.
Though she’s my height, she’s sitting so high she can touch the ceiling if she stretches her arm out.
Fear seems to wrack her then, making her shiver.
“Shh, Angel’s going to take care of you. Just concentrate on him. Eyes ahead, duck.” He murmurs, striding out of the office with the twin cousins following close behind them like the devil’s bridesmaids.
I hear the roars erupting. Peeking my head out, I watch as they clear the hallway entering the main club area.
Sneaking behind them with the stealth of a cat, I creep over to the bar. Ellie’s nowhere to be seen. I breathe a sigh of relief. She’d make me go back to Angel’s office and would definitely narc on me to her brother.
I watch as he strides through the throngs of people. The muscles of his back flex as he holds Angel’s claimed mate aloft like she’s a war prize.
Whiskey and weed permeate the air. He takes the stairs with the quickness of a reptile sliding across the sand.
A big, gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle sits proudly on the stage. I recognize it as Angel’s. So that’s where it was instead of its normal spot out back, I muse.
Intrigued because I’ve never been witness to anything like this, I watch as he places her on the seat of the chopper, then whispers something down to her. She clutches the robe closed in response.
A smattering of jealously ripples through me as he gives her a wink before taking the stairs down into the crowd.
Quickly, before he can see me, I dart behind a column. I still have a full view of the scene that emerges.
Angel steps out of the shadows, stalking like a panther over the mesmerized curvy girl on his chopper. He steps between her legs, wrapping his big arms around her. He growls down at her, making her head snap up like she’s been caught in his web.
He says more just for her. She nods, and his head dips, and he practically devours her in a kiss.
I don’t stop the whimper that escapes me. The scene that follows is so erotic the entire crowd is enthralled by the tableau playing out before us.
Watching the president of el Diablo kneel before his woman and worship her before all will forever be seared on my brain. My breath may as well be a hummingbird’s wings. I know I shouldn’t be watching them come together in such an intimate way.