Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Duke didn’t last another hour. Jake hadn’t expected he would anyway. The inside of the arm was tricky, and the man already had a lot done that day. When he came strolling into the yard, his face red with pain, Jake bit down a smart-assed remark.
He’d only been back inside the club a few days now, and he still wasn’t sure they trusted him. He hadn’t been suicidal enough to stroll into the compound where the Brothers hung out and worked on cars—and other illegal shit they kept hidden—and announce his return.
Instead, he’d shown up at The Island, a bar the Brothers frequented. It was inside their territory and off limits to other gangs, though there was always a mixture of lowlifes who frequented the bar and did business with the Brothers.
He’d put on his cut, fired up the Harley he’d been given for this job, and drove into their midst. Brandon had been waiting when he arrived, standing outside on the bar’s long porch and glaring like a motherfucker at the guy who dared to ride into BoS territory, wearing the colors and pretending to be one of them.
But then Jake stepped off the bike and tipped his chin at Brandon with a cool, “Whassup, boss?”
Brandon strode down the steps, not hiding his disbelief as some of the other Brothers gathered around. Some Jake recognized. Others he did not. Things changed.
“Jake Ryan? Fucking Jake Ryan?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
They’d circled each other warily, and then Brandon came in for the bro hug, slapping him on the back as he squeezed tight.
“What the fuck, dude? What’re you doing here?”
Jake shrugged. “I did my time in the military. I want to come home.”
It could have gone badly, but it didn’t. Yet.
Jake was in, his Special Ops career a source of pride for Brandon and the Brothers. No doubt they’d soon put him to the test, but he couldn’t worry about that yet. Now, he had to figure out what Eva Gray knew and keep her safe until he could get her out.
Jake strolled into the small studio where Eva had set up her machines.
He’d been trained by the best of the best and he missed nothing.
There was a bed behind a curtain and a hot plate on a counter.
She lived as well as worked here, which was no surprise considering how busy the Brothers kept her.
With around eighty members, plus recruits and old ladies, she had plenty of work.
She had her back to him, cleaning her machines. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a second.”
He shrugged out of his cut and dragged his T-shirt over his head.
The Brothers of Sin tattoo on his shoulder had faded over time.
It wasn’t a particularly good one. He’d planned to have it removed or covered but he’d been too busy to get around to it.
Some things were more important than erasing tattoos.
Especially when those tattoos reminded him how easily his life could have been so different.
He got in the chair and kicked back. His gaze dropped down her spine, over her ass encased in tight jeans, down to her boots. He wasn’t surprised she was gorgeous. He’d seen the pictures.
But he was surprised that she wasn’t an old lady by now. These dudes had to be salivating to make her theirs, so the fact she wasn’t yet committed to anyone spoke volumes about her determination to focus on her art.
And yet that endangered her, because if she really had witnessed the Brothers planning a hit on the judge, her life was forfeit the minute they decided to eliminate all the loose ends.
She was fine for now because she was inside the compound and working—but if shit got real and the cops came calling, she was dead.
Or would have been if he wasn’t there. Because he wasn’t letting that happen. He hadn’t spent the last seven years learning how to be a soldier, and then a badass black ops warrior, to let a motherfucker like Brandon Cox get the best of him.
Eva turned around and strode briskly over. Her eyes were a cool blue, and her hair was a dark, lush brown with golden highlights. She was sexy as fuck, that’s for sure. And she didn’t look too pleased to see him. He found that notion odd, but it’s what he felt in his gut.
“How long you been here, babe?”
Her eyes narrowed as she sat down and pulled her light in to look at his tattoo. “Long enough.”
He let his gaze slide over the planes of her face, the set of her brow, and something tickled his memory. No idea what, because he wouldn’t have forgotten a woman like this one. But this was the second time he’d gotten that familiar feeling when it came to her.
Why? Made no fucking sense.
“You remind me of someone.” He didn’t know where that had come from, but the instant he said it, her entire body stiffened. He’d gotten good at reading people in his line of work and what he read now was fear. Interesting.
Her eyes met his, though he sensed it wasn’t an easy thing for her to do. “Try another line because that one won’t work.”
He shrugged it off with a laugh. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Because he didn’t want to rattle her when he was here to protect her. Even if she didn’t know it.
“This thing’s faded a bit. Not a great job to begin with, I’d say.”
“Nope, not really.”
“I can fix it, but it’ll take some time. I need to do some sketches, figure how best to utilize what’s already there. Maybe we can add some elements behind it, make it pop. A flag, maybe.”
The idea of adding to the tattoo and making it more prominent did not appeal. “No flags.”
“All right, so we’ll do a skull or something. It’s your arm and your dime.”
“How about we just pretty up what’s there and not worry about flags and skulls and shit?”
Her lips flattened in annoyance. “Like I said, your arm.”
The door burst open and Eva let out a little scream. Jake was on his feet in a split second, weapon drawn, protecting the woman behind him.
Brandon’s gaze flicked between them and his eyes narrowed. “Sorry, dude, but we’ve got a job to do. Need those special skills of yours. No time for tattoos.”
Jake holstered the weapon and strode toward the door. “Then let’s go.”