Chapter Fourteen
STARTING FRESH
SABAN
Itook care of her for you. ~S
Looking up from the note, with my keys to my bike gleaming under the morning sun, to my chopper, I can’t help the smile that blooms so hard on my face it makes it ache.
He did indeed take good care of her. My heart tightens as I make my way over to her, taking in her gleaming handlebars, shiny tires, and pristine seat.
The chromed out spokes on the wheels sparkle with a blinding intensity.
I missed my bike so much. I didn’t let myself think about the possibility of what may have become of her.
Custom-fit to my smaller size, few people could ride her comfortably.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had chopped her up and sold her off for parts.
Snake’s vengeance was probably the only deterrent.
He was gone when I woke-up this morning.
The note was on the pillow. I knew it was a goodbye and was frankly scared to open it right away.
What more is there to say after all we've done to hurt one another and the fact that I still can’t trust him.
So, I got what little I had after I took my shower fully expecting that I'd have to call me a ride share to get to the heart of the small town of Shelby-Love where Easy said the shop is next door to the Kandie Shoppe Bakery.
“Check the note,” Aponi said, and I did.
So at least I have my chopper, a deed to a new shop and a fresh start away from Snake and the el Diablo for the first time in a decade.
Getting on my baby, I lift the kickstand, insert the key and then rev the powerful motor of my bike.
The vroom and the hum of the vibration shoot straight to my kittykat, and I can’t help but smile at the familiar feeling.
Last night held its own special torture after Snake serviced me in front of the whole MC for the world to see.
After settling me on his bike, I barely had time to get myself together before he kicked his chopper into gear.
It was hell feeling those vibrations after he’d so thoroughly sexed me.
Then, on the way here, being squeezed up so tightly against his big body was sheer torture.
By the time we pulled up to his fortress, my legs were jelly. I needed to come so bad that when he offered to take me to his room; I knew I’d be a lost cause and begging for his dick again, just like the needy little cumslut he called me as he spanked my bottom.
It was all I could do to gather what little dignity I had left and take myself to my room.
I made it to the tiny shower before I gave in to the desire that had me in such a chokehold.
All I can say is thank goodness for the detachable shower head.
It did the job, but it’s not a substitute for the man.
After taking care of myself, I limped to the tiny bed Snake gave me, falling into a sleep like the dead.
Hours later, the nightmare was worse than any other I can remember.
Reasoning that the fear of The Reckoning probably had me tied in knots.
When I woke, I felt nothing but terror. In all this time, I still can’t remember the details of the night I met Snake.
I know what I endured that fateful night has everything to do with the horror that stalks my dreams. My therapist said when I finally felt safe I would remember.
I figure after ten years if I still can’t recall what happened, I never will.
Maybe it is for the best. I have to admit they have lessened over the years.
In fact, in the year prior to my running away with Easy, the night terrors happened less and less.
When I went on the run, all of that shit changed. The battle became an amalgamation of Snake finding me and the dark shadow of what occurred the night when I lost my parents.
I don’t even really remember what they look like anymore.
I’ve tried to draw them to transfer them to tattoos in honor of the sacrifice they made for me.
Yet I never transferred them to my flesh — not even when Snake said he thought the renderings were good, but even he admitted not getting a great look at them that night because he was so concerned with what the captain’s nefarious intentions were toward me.
I never felt confident enough about the artwork to do them.
My notebook was left along with everything Snake ever gave me back at the cottage we lived in.
It’s the one regret I had leaving the way I did with Easy.
Deep in my musings, I’m already entering the city center my the time I pull myself out of the reverie of my life and the consequences.
Leaning in, I take the curve of the side street by the Kandie Shoppe, leading to the back of the building next to the bakery.
“Not sure how much crossover there will be between the bakery patrons and the people wanting my tattoos, but I’ll take it.” I laugh out a huff as I pull into the parking space in the back of the shop designated for the owner.
Shutting off my bike, I kick down the stand and head to the back door.
Letting myself into the darkened shop, I flip the light switch, breathing a sigh of relief when the space illuminates.
The shop is completely renovated and open.
I can make it my own. Gratitude for Ezekiel-Jane fills my heart as I remember back to a conversation we had about our dreams.
“What do you want most in the world, Saban?” she asked after sheepishly admitting that she only wanted to be a librarian, a mom and have the family denied to her after losing her own parents in the war.
“I can’t fully express the joy I feel sharing the love of reading with kids and adults.
My favorite emails used to be “You Got Me Into Reading,” she confessed in that bashful way of hers.
“I want my own tattoo shop. I already have a name.” I told her in a low voice as if saying it out loud would jinx it.
“What is it?” Her eager expression had me smiling.
“Saban’s Art Emporium.” The whisper was wistful in a way that people speak and they don’t really think it will ever happen.
“I got you, lil bit,” Oz said. His nosey ass popping up out of nowhere full of big brother energy.
He was such a safe space, and I miss him still.
Gorgeous as he was, he never made me feel the feelings that Snake evoked.
He was everything that was kind, but he always seemed preoccupied with the girl he claimed he was watching over.
That girl, whoever she is, is either very lucky or in a whole world of trouble because my boy is obsessed to a concerning degree.
The funny thing with him and Angel is that they are obsessed as hell about the women who have come under their notice.
True to his big brother energy, Oz funded my enterprise.
I saved the name when I was in the motherland, choosing instead to just slap Tattoo Shop on the door.
Deep down I knew it wasn’t permanent. I knew Snake was going to come for me, and I just wanted to minimize the damage he would cause when he found me.
I’m still not sure what he did to Amadou and I dare not mention it.
He took too much joy in telling me he killed my friend.
I know he lied, but I know just how diabolical he is.
He’d do that shit to prove a fucking point, if he has any inclination I have interest other than friendship.
Stepping further into the shop, I scent the smell of a freshly cleaned space and drying paint. I notice a big buttercup yellow envelope on the receptionist’s counter near the front.
Opening it, I read…
Saban,
I took the liberty of going ahead and ordering the tattoo stations you showed me.
You liked and the tattoo machines you will need.
I’ve ordered six stations since Angel assured me the shop could hold that many.
He’s sending Cruz Construction workers to set up the private spaces so that you have room to grow and start as soon as possible, but he said Snake had already taken over everything.
Mama-Pete talked to her contacts with the city council to fast-track your business license, so you can start as soon as possible.
I inherited the shop through my dad, Judah Love is yours as long as you want it.
The only other thing I would have done was make it a bookstore, and I own another property in town, so I can use that one, plus the library, and Angel making me pregnant again has me pretty busy.
Just know that I love you, and we will never forget what you did for us.”
Ezekiel-Jane Love-Cruz
Tears flood my vision as I read my friend’s words over and over again.
I barely have time to process the information before the door chimes with the first delivery, and construction workers show up to create the vision of the sketch they got from Easy that I drew almost a year ago.
I don’t have to do anything but confirm the colors of the rose gold and black.
Padre and Rocco spearhead the construction and the painting.
“You want to look at the loft now?” Padre asks with somber eyes, reminding me of his admonition all those many months ago.
My faces flushes thinking of him possibly seeing everything that transpired last night but his face is a mask of smooth placidness of a man who’s seen it all and a tattoo artist being fucked into a St Andrew’s Cross by her once upon a time guardian is the least of them.
“O-kay” I say, clearing my throat past the embarrassment that threatens following him up a set of back stairs leading to the loft apartment above the shop.