Chapter 5
FIVE
SAVANNAH
I park my car in the lot beside Black Iron Tattoo and just sit there for a second. What am I doing? Am I really about to walk in and face a man who made me come without ever actually touching me? Yes. Yes, I am.
I might be embarrassed, but I’m not about to let that cost me the win. We made a deal, and I won. A bet’s a bet. And, crucially, he’s supposed to be bringing coffee. I haven’t had any yet, and I’m not facing this without caffeine. This had better be worth it.
The other problem hits me all at once. I’ve gotten every single one of my tattoos here. This place knows me. The people inside know my story, probably better than anyone else. They helped me take my pain and turn it into something I could live with. Ink therapy. Long hours. Real friendships.
I know the shop’s owned by the Iron Reapers MC, but I guess I never really thought about it like that. This has always just been my place. How did it not occur to me that Lucky probably knows half the people inside?
I blow out a breath, grab my bag, and get out of the car. The bell chimes when I walk in, and the first thing I see is Lucky, standing near the counter talking to Cole. Of course he is.
Cole’s laughing at something Lucky says, shaking his head like he’s already over it.
Then he spots me, and his brows pull together in confusion.
He abandons the conversation mid-sentence and crosses the room in three long strides, pulling me into a big hug.
“Please tell me I didn’t screw up,” he says. “Your appointment’s next week, right?”
I feel Lucky tense behind him. Not subtle at all. His attention is locked on the way Cole’s holding me, jaw tight, posture going still.
I pat Cole’s arm and step out of the hug. “Nope. The appointment's still next week.”
Cole squints at me. “Then what are you doing here, Savvy?” A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“She’s here with me,” Lucky says in a voice rougher than I’ve heard before.
Cole’s eyes flick from me to Lucky, then back to me. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then stops and shakes his head slowly. “He lost the bet to you?” he asks.
I nod, chin lifting just a little. “Of course he did.”
“Well, okay then. What did your evil little mind come up with to torture poor Lucky here?”
I grin wickedly and lean in, whispering my plan into Cole’s ear. He stares at me like I’ve finally snapped.
“You’re insane,” he mutters.
“If you’re sure,” he adds after a beat.
I nod. “Give me a few minutes to set it up.”
When I walk over to Lucky, he’s holding an iced coffee, condensation slicking his fingers. I stop in front of him and lift a brow.
“That for me?”
“That depends.” His gaze sharpens, heat flickering there. “Am I gonna have to beat the shit out of one of my club brothers?”
I blink innocently. “I mean… that’s kind of up to you. Why would you want to do that?”
He steps closer, crowding my space until all I can see is him. His voice drops, rough and possessive.
“Because, Firecracker, I’m the first man to make you come, and I don’t plan on letting anyone else have that honor. So either he touched you and did a piss-poor job of taking care of you, or he’s touching what’s mine and I’m about to rip his arms off.”
I pat his cheek, sweet as sugar, then take the coffee from his hand. I sip slowly, deliberately, letting the silence stretch before I sigh.
“Perfection.”
“Firecracker,” he warns, jaw tight. “You’re testing my patience.”
I smirk. “I thought we worked on that last night.”
His eyes darken. “Do we need to work on it again, right here in front of everyone?”
I shrug, taking another sip from the delicious coffee. “Could be fun.”
Deciding to toss the poor guy a bone, I loop my arm through his and tip my face up toward him. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say sweetly. Then I pause, let my smile turn wicked. “And the orgasm. That part was pretty great.”
“Pretty great?” he scoffs.
I nod, completely unapologetic. “Mmmhmm.” I give his arm a little squeeze. “And just so you know, Cole and I are just friends. He’s done all of my tattoos, so we’ve had a lot of time to talk. That’s it.”
I glance up at him, expression turning mock-serious. “So don’t rip his arms off. I’d have to find someone new to ink me, and I really don’t want to do that.”
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You really enjoy poking the bear, don’t you?”
His hand settles at my hip, firm but controlled, thumb pressing like he needs the reminder that I’m real and right here. “Fine. I won’t rip his arms off,” he says, then lowers his voice. “But only because you asked.”
His eyes dip to my mouth, then back up, dark and intent. “And for the record, pretty great isn’t exactly what I’m aiming for. That was just the beginning.”
His grip tightens just enough to promise trouble. “Next time, Firecracker, I’m making sure you remember exactly who you belong to. No room for doubt or anyone else.”
Cole wanders back over, gloves on, brows lifted. “Ready?”
Lucky doesn’t answer him right away. He looks down at me instead, eyes dark and intent, like he’s still deciding how much trouble I’m worth. Heat crawls up my spine. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down, more nerves than flirting but letting him see it anyway.
His gaze drops there immediately. “Don’t,” he murmurs.
Then leans in, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath, and tugs my lip free.
The touch is gentle but deliberate. Then he presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth.
Not soft. Not rough. Just enough to make my knees feel unsteady.
“Let’s go, Firecracker,” he says, holding out his hand.
I take it and he leads us to Cole’s station.
Cole looks between us, then at Lucky. “You sure about this, man?”
Lucky doesn’t answer him right away. He looks at me and I smile, slow and innocent, already bracing myself for him to back out. I would. Well. Probably not. But I’d at least consider it. I could put anything on him. This isn’t a joke. Ink is forever.
Lucky’s jaw tightens. “Yes,” he says.
Cole lets out a low whistle. “Alright then. Shirt off.”
Lucky doesn’t break eye contact with me as he pulls his shirt over his head, muscles shifting, skin bare and unmarked. No ink, well at least none that I can see. Interesting.
Cole starts prepping his arm, cleaning the skin, snapping on gloves. The buzz of the machine fills the room, familiar and comforting and suddenly a little surreal.
I step closer, curiosity getting the better of me. “Where are your other tattoos?”
Lucky glances at me, mouth tilting into that infuriating half-smirk. “There aren’t any.”
I blink. “Wait. None?”
“This is my first.”
I actually gasp, hand flying to my chest. “This is your first?”
His smirk deepens. “Seems we both like firsts.”
Heat blooms low in my stomach.
Cole snaps on fresh gloves and gestures for Lucky to sit. “Arm out.”
Lucky does it without hesitation, settling into the chair like he’s bracing for impact instead of ink.
Cole turns his arm, lifting it slightly, studying the muscle just below his shoulder.
He marks a spot on the outer upper arm, where it’ll move when Lucky does, where it won’t hide unless he wants it to.
Lucky glances down. “You sure about there?”
I don’t answer right away. I step closer instead, resting my hand lightly on the back of the chair, eyes on the place Cole’s chosen. “Trust the process,” I tell him.
His gaze flicks to mine. He nods once. “Alright, Firecracker.”
Cole doesn’t show him the stencil. He turns Lucky’s arm just enough that he can’t see what’s being lined up, then presses it into place. Lucky tenses when the cold paper hits his skin.
“What is it?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
I smile. “You don’t get to know yet.”
Cole grins under his mask. “She’s serious. Don’t peek.”
The machine buzzes to life, that familiar sound filling the room. Lucky’s jaw tightens the second the needle touches skin. His fingers curl against the armrest, muscles flexing, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t say a word.
I watch his face instead of the tattoo. Watch the way he breathes through it. Steady. Controlled. Like he’s done harder things than this and survived just fine.
“You good?” Cole asks.
Lucky exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”
The needle moves, slow and precise. I can see the ink taking shape even if Lucky can’t. Clean lines. Sharp edges. The flame forming piece by piece, the crack cutting through it like a deliberate scar.
Lucky shifts slightly. “Are you enjoying this?”
I lift a brow. “Very.”
Cole works in focused silence, the machine buzzing steady as he builds the lines. Lucky barely moves. His jaw tightens once, then relaxes. He breathes through it like this is just another thing to endure, another line to hold.
I watch the needle instead of his face. Watch the shape come together. The flame first. Dark and solid. Then the crack, cut clean through the center, jagged and deliberate. It looks exactly how it did in my head. Better, even. Like it belongs there.
Finally, Cole wipes the skin clean and leans back. “Alright.”
Lucky straightens immediately, twisting his arm to look.
I step closer without thinking, close enough to see the ink still shiny, the skin around it flushed. The flame sits high on his arm, just below the shoulder, moving subtly when he shifts. The crack splits it without weakening it. Tested. Not broken.
Lucky goes very still.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something smart. Tease me. Ask what the hell I was thinking.
Instead, he lifts his arm slowly, turning it, studying the lines like he’s memorizing them.
“Jesus,” he murmurs.
Cole grins. “Hell of a first tattoo.”
Lucky’s gaze flicks to me. Not heated. Not playful. Something quieter. Something serious.
“This is what you picked,” he says.
I nod. “Yep.”
He looks back at the tattoo, then at me again. “You gonna tell me why?”
I smile, small and satisfied. “Not yet.”
That corner of his mouth lifts. The same smirk he keeps throwing at me like a challenge.
“Figures.” He flexes his arm once, watching the flame shift with the muscle.
Watching it move like it’s always been there.
Then he meets my eyes again. “I like it,” he says, then slides his shirt on, then his cut.
Damn, the man is sexy. Even sexier now that he let me choose his first tat.
We head up to the front to pay, the buzz of the machine fading behind us as Cole starts wiping down his station.
I reach into my bag and pull out my wallet.
Lucky doesn’t even hesitate. He steps in front of me, smooth and infuriating, and slides his card across the counter to Cole before I can say a word.
“Hey,” I protest, snapping my wallet shut. “Absolutely not.”
Lucky glances at me, calm as ever. “Absolutely yes.”
Cole looks between us, amused. “You two wanna arm wrestle for it, or should I just run the card?”
“I won the bet,” I say. “That means I pay.”
Lucky leans an elbow on the counter, close enough that I can feel the heat of him again. “You picked the tattoo,” he says. “I’m paying for it.”
“That’s not how bets work,” I argue.
“That’s how this one does.”
Cole clears his throat, already swiping the card. Traitor. The receipt prints. He tears it off and hands it to Lucky, then looks at me. “You did good, Savannah. It fits him.” Lucky takes the receipt and slips it into his pocket like this is settled.
“I know,” I say, my eyes still on Lucky. “That’s why I chose it. And you, of course, did amazing work. As always.” Cole smiles like this is routine. Because for him, it is.
Lucky’s gaze flicks to Cole then back to me. It’s quick, but I catch it. His jaw tightens just a notch, the muscle ticking like he doesn’t love how familiar we sound. How easy.
He nods at Cole. “Appreciate it.”
“You got it,” Cole says. “Savvy girl. See you next week for your appointment.”
“I’ll be here.”
Cole turns away, already calling something to the front desk.
Lucky looks back at me, and this time he does smile. Not big. Not cocky. Just enough to feel intentional. Like he’s decided something and doesn’t see a reason to pretend otherwise.
“Want to grab lunch?” he asks, casual on the surface, eyes anything but.
Like this isn’t a follow-up.
Like it’s been coming.
I blink once. “Is that an order, or are you asking?”
His smile deepens, slow and unapologetic. “I’m asking,” he says. “But I’m hoping you say yes.”
I glance toward Cole, who very pointedly does not look back, then return my attention to Lucky.
“Yeah,” I say. “Lunch sounds good.”
His hand brushes my lower back as he steps past me, brief and confident, already moving toward the door.
“Good,” he says. “I know a place.”
And just like that, the bet is over and this is something else entirely.
“Want to ride with me?” he asks.
“On the back of your bike?” I counter.
His smile turns wicked. “Yeah.”
“I’ve never ridden before.”
Something dark and pleased flashes through his eyes. “Good,” he says easily. “Another one of your firsts.”
I lift a brow. “You keeping track now?”
His gaze drifts over me, slow and deliberate, like he already knows exactly how this is going to end. “Absolutely,” he says. “I’m collecting them.”