6. Aria
Aria
I don’t remember my father. I remember only bits and pieces of my mother, a mishmash of scenes like a movie trailer. Little snippets. I was only seven when I went to live with Uncle Vincent, my mom’s brother.
I don’t think he liked children very much.
He wasn’t abusive per se. He never hit me.
He basically treated me like I was furniture or wallpaper.
The first few years I would try to engage him in conversation.
He would either grunt, ignore me outright, or tell me in an exasperated tone that he was busy and did not want to be disturbed with my nonsense.
I was lonely.
He insisted I be schooled online, and never allowed me to go anywhere where I could meet people or interact with kids my age.
Most of my life, I’ve been so desperately lonely.
It was only last month that he gave permission for me to attend local art classes.
When my uncle first told me that I was to be married, I was in shock.
Married? I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I’ve read books and seen movies, and I’ve been dying to kiss, to make out, and even to go all the way with a boy.
Then, after the shock of his announcement died down, I have to admit, I was excited. I would have a husband to dote on, one who I could converse with, who would hold my hand. We could watch movies and TV shows together, maybe even go out somewhere—like to the theater or to dinner.
When I learned I was to marry Marco, a man thirty years older than me, my excitement fizzled.
I wasn’t all that worried about our age difference.
No, it was the way he’d always looked at me that creeped me out.
From the time I was a child, whenever he came over, Marco always had this creepy look in his eyes.
I remember him leering at me when I was only eight years old, like he wanted to devour me whole.
Still, my loneliness was suffocating, and I owed my uncle for caring for me for all those years. I was willing to suck it up and do what I was told.
Until Marco got mean.
"Want to try your hand at tattooing?" Hawk's voice carries a challenge wrapped in a question, his penetrating gaze locked on mine.
My heart leaps into my throat. "Me? Tattoo an actual person?" I glance between him and Sophie, who's sitting in the chair, already prepped with the stencil of my design transferred to her skin. "I've never even held a tattoo gun.”
Sophie wiggles excitedly in the chair. "I trust you. Go ahead. I’ll be your guinea pig."
Hawk shrugs. “You designed it.” He moves to stand beside me. "It's only right you get to put part of it on her skin."
My fingers tremble slightly as I look at the delicate dagger design. The idea of permanently marking someone's body terrifies and thrills me simultaneously.
"What if I mess up?"
Hawk's hand comes to rest at the small of my back, a gentle pressure that somehow steadies me. "You won't. I'll guide you through the easy parts, then take over for the detail work."
"I'd be honored if you did it," Sophie adds, her blue eyes bright with sincerity.
"Okay." I nod, swallowing hard. "I'll try."
The women exchange looks of approval, and Angel winks at me like we're sharing a secret. It feels strange to be accepted like this by these women who barely know me. Strange, but good.
Hawk positions himself behind me, his chest against my back as he reaches around to demonstrate how to hold the tattoo gun. "Like this," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
His hands engulf mine, showing me the proper grip, the right angle, the correct pressure. His voice rumbles against my back as he explains each step, patient and thorough. I try to focus on his instructions rather than the way his body feels pressed against mine, but it's nearly impossible.
"Keep your hand steady," he instructs, his voice dropping lower. "Nice and easy."
When he finally steps back and lets me try on my own, I miss his warmth immediately. The machine buzzes to life in my hand.
"Start with this outline here," Hawk points to a simple section of the blade. "Just like drawing with a pencil, but you can't erase."
I take a deep breath and lower the needle to Sophie's skin. The first line is shaky, but as I continue, I find a rhythm. There's something mesmerizing about watching the ink flow into skin, creating permanent art with each pass of the needle.
"That's it," Hawk encourages, hovering close. "You're a natural."
Angel and Luna watch with fascination as I complete a small section of the outline. Their encouragement bolsters my confidence, and I find myself smiling despite my concentration.
After I've completed the sections Hawk deemed beginner-level, he takes over, settling into his chair with practiced ease. I watch, transfixed, as his large hands move with surprising delicacy, the machine an extension of himself.
"See how I'm shading here?" He glances up at me, eyes intent beneath heavy brows. "Light touch, circular motion."
I lean in, studying his technique, but find myself equally drawn to watching his face.
The fierce concentration softens his features slightly, revealing the artist beneath the intimidating biker exterior.
His mohawk, those tattoos, the leather cut hanging on a hook nearby—all markers of danger.
Yet here he is, creating something beautiful with such care.
"You're amazing at this," I murmur.
His eyes flick to mine briefly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Been doing it a long time."
"It shows." I gesture toward the photographs lining his station. "Your work is incredible."
"Yours could be too." He continues working, not looking up. "You could apprentice, learn the trade."
The suggestion catches me off guard. An apprenticeship? A future I never considered suddenly unfolds before me—one where I'm not just surviving, but creating. Building something for myself.
"You think I could really do this?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
Hawk pauses, meeting my gaze directly. "Without a doubt."
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his certainty. This man—this fierce, dangerous-looking man who's shown me nothing but gentleness since finding me—believes in me more after one day than my uncle ever did.
Sophie winces slightly as Hawk works on a tender spot near her wrist bone, and Angel immediately launches into a story about her first tattoo to distract her. The women laugh together easily, including me in their banter as if I've always been part of their circle.
"So you'll definitely come tomorrow, right?" Luna asks as Hawk finishes the final touches on Sophie’s new ink.
"Come where?" I glance between them, confused.
"The Halloween charity run," Angel explains. "The whole club rides out to raise money for the children's hospital. There's a big party after at the clubhouse."
"It's gonna be super fun," Luna adds.
I hesitate, unsure how to respond. These women assume I'm staying, that whatever is happening between Hawk and me is something real. How do I explain that I'm just a temporary guest in his life? That I can't keep imposing on his kindness? That I need to figure out where to go from here?
"Of course she's coming," Hawk answers for me, wrapping Sophie's fresh tattoo with a protective film.
The women beam at me, and I find myself nodding along, confused but elated by the inclusion into their world.
"You'll finally get to meet Rose," Angel says. “She and Cipher haven't been out much since baby Lucas was born.”
After we say our goodbyes and Sophie thanks me effusively, the women gather their things to leave. Angel hugs me tightly before she walks out, whispering, "We're so happy he found you," in my ear.
The door closes behind them, leaving Hawk and me alone in the suddenly quiet shop. He busies himself cleaning his station while I linger nearby, still processing everything that's happened. Friends. I have friends now! And tomorrow, I'll do something fun with them and Hawk.
What exactly is a charity bike run? I'm not entirely sure, but the prospect of riding on the back of Hawk’s motorcycle again sends a thrill through me. The memory of being pressed against his back as we rode through the rain last night makes me warm all over.
A soft laugh escapes me as I try to process this new reality—hanging out with bikers, learning to tattoo, finding a place I might belong.
It takes several seconds before I realize the room is completely silent. I look up to find Hawk frozen, his lips slightly parted, his eyes staring intently at me. Watching me.
The heat in his gaze nearly takes my breath away.
"Goddamn, you're beautiful, little sparrow,” he rasps out in a low growl. He takes a step closer, and then another, closing the distance between us.
Before I can respond, his large hands frame my face, careful of my bruises as he tilts my head up. His lips crash over mine with none of the tentative exploration of our earlier kiss. This is hunger, pure, raw, and demanding.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft moan that seems to ignite a flame in him.
He backs me against the wall, one hand sliding down to grip my hip while the other tangles in my hair, pulling slightly to angle my head for deeper access. His body presses against mine, hard planes against my softer curves.
"Hawk," I gasp when he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along my jaw, down my neck.
“Should I stop?” he murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me if this isn't what you want."
"Don't stop," I breathe, shocking myself with my boldness. "Please don't stop."
A groan rumbles through his chest as his mouth finds mine again, kissing me until my knees weaken. His hand slides under the borrowed t-shirt, calloused fingers on my bare skin.
Each brush of his fingers awakens nerve endings I didn't know existed. When his thumb grazes the underside of my breast, I arch into him, seeking more.
Suddenly, he freezes. His entire body goes rigid against mine, and he pulls back slightly, his head turning toward the front of the shop.
"Hawk?" I whisper, confused by the abrupt change.
His expression transforms before my eyes—the tender desire replaced by something cold, hard, and dangerous. He looks like a warrior preparing for battle, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.
Fear clutches at my heart. "Did I...um, did I do something wrong?"
"Hell no, beautiful.” He touches my cheek gently, the contrast between his fierce expression and gentle touch jarring. "You're perfect. Better than perfect. We got company is all."
He steps back. "Hold tight, little sparrow. Do not come out front. Stay put, you got me?"
"I got you," I promise, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Hawk strides toward the front of the shop, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight.