Chapter Twenty-Three
Jill
Before I open my eyes, I hear it—the buzzing. What is that? The sound is so familiar, but my sleep-addled brain can’t quite place it. Pressure pushes on my lower stomach, accompanied by a slight sting. I shift against the discomfort, but something is holding me in place.
“Hold still, baby. I’m almost done.” The sound of Gage’s voice has me opening my eyes and lifting my head off the pillow. Gage kneels over me with one hand pressed against my hip and a tool in the other. He’s dragging the tool across the skin of my bikini line. Is that a tattoo gun?
Son of a bitch.
“Are you tattooing me right now?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep. I’m still waking up, but the tell-tale stinging proves this isn’t a dream.
“You really do sleep through just about anything,” Gage marvels with a smirk, his eyes focused intently on the skin he’s coloring with ink.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, trying to figure out what he’s up to. All I can see is that he’s tattooing over my new martini tattoo before he’s gently but firmly pushing me back down.
“I’m fixing it.”
“You’re fixing it,” I repeat, both demanding and bewildered. What the fuck is happening right now?
“That rat, Dane, couldn’t even get something as simple as a martini right. I can’t believe I let him work at my shop for so long. Your skin deserves better than his shitty work.” Gage’s words are edged with disgust. He wipes the excess ink from my skin and leans back to look over his handiwork. “A work of art.”
“You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?” I ask, barely refraining from rolling my eyes. Gage’s eyes move from my skin to meet mine, pinning me where I lay.
“Not the tattoo,” he rumbles. “You.”
Warmth floods through me from head to toe, pooling between my legs. “Are you done?” I ask. The look in his eyes tells me he’ll never be done with me. “With the tattoo.”
“See for yourself.” Releasing my hip, he allows me to sit up and climb off the bed. The skin of my abdomen is tender as I walk over to the full-length mirror in my living room.
The skin around my tattoo is freshly pink, adding to the contrast of the black design. The outline of the martini glass has been evened out so the lines are saturated and clean while still remaining delicate. In the glass has been added what looks like clear liquid. Floating in the dry martini is a twist of lemon—my favorite drink order. The shape of the lemon peel makes me lean in to get a better look.
Is that what I think it is?
“Is that a G?” I spin on my heel and stalk back into the bedroom. Gage stands by the bed, cleaning up his equipment. “Did you tattoo a G on me?”
The accusation in my voice does nothing to dissuade Gage’s self-satisfied grin. His eyes travel down my body slowly, reveling in every inch until they land heavily on the ink he just branded me with. “I told you I fixed it.”
“You tattooed your initials on my body.”
“Just the one.” His smile turns wolfish—all teeth and heated intent. “For now.” As I saunter closer, his head cocks to one side, and his eyes touch every inch of my naked skin. The look in his eyes tells me he’s making plans, and it sparks something inside me.
“Don’t worry, Menace. Soon, it won’t just be just my initials on your body. You’ll have my entire last name.”
“What if I don’t want to change my name?”
“It’s not an option.”
“And if we break up?”
The air in the room drops several degrees when Gage flashes a predatory smile that’s fully vicious and without humor.
“You’re a part of me, Jill, and I won’t live without you. Ever. There’s no breaking up. The second you even think about leaving me, I’ll have you chained in my basement, where you’ll never get the chance.”
“Hmm,” I feign a contemplative look that has his expression turning vicious, making a teasing smile tug at my lips. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Stepping outside, it’s a beautiful summer day. Following Gage through the garage into the driveway behind his house, I look at the machine standing in the center of the short driveway. I’ve never been into engines or mufflers. I couldn’t tell you what make or model Gage’s motorcycle is—just that it’s big, black, and crazy sexy.
When Gage told me we’re going to a barbecue his dad is holding with the Chained Saints—and that both of his parents will be there along with his brother, whom I’ve yet to meet—it was a hard sell. But then he mentioned the prime rib, open bar, and Stevie’s world-famous fudge bars to sweeten the pot. I finally agreed under one condition: we take his bike the long way.
“What are you doing?” I ask when Gage walks back inside.
“Grabbing your helmet.” He calls from the garage.
“I don’t need it. Helmets just mess up my makeup and keep me from feeling the wind in my hair.” He emerges holding a helmet that sparkles black cherry in the sunlight, a determination in his eyes.
“You’re wearing a helmet, Jill,” he states. I raise my brows at him.
“Am I?” I ask, but he doesn’t back down.
“Yes, you are. You can be reckless with anyone else’s life but your own.” His eyes meet mine with an expression that dares me to challenge him. “Besides, I’m going to be messing up your makeup every chance I get.” He leans down to capture my lips in a hot kiss to prove his point.
When he pulls back, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip to lick off the lipgloss that’s transferred, using the pad of his thumb to swipe a smudge under my bottom lip. He grins down at me, looking tempted to kiss me again. Instead, his arms raise and the helmet is being fitted over my head.
The padding forms to my head like it was made for me, and the weight of the sturdy shell is satisfying against my skull. My eyes meet Gage’s through the open-face shield as he fastens the helmet in place and tests it with a good tug. Once satisfied, he pauses to look at me, his head tilting as he smiles.
“I’ve never been more turned on by a helmet in my life,” he groans.
“I would hope not.” I raise my brows in expectation. “Now, take me on a ride before I don’t want it anymore.”
Gage smirks as he slides on his own helmet and climbs onto his black motorcycle. When he reaches out a tattooed hand to me, a wave of attraction hits me hard.
Damn, he’s so hot it’s ungodly.
Climbing onto the machine behind him, he pulls my arms tightly around his waist until I’m fully pressed against his back. Before he turns on the bike, he addresses me over his shoulder. “Don’t lie to yourself, Menace. You’ll always want this.”
With that, he revs the bike to life—the engine roaring and rumbling powerfully beneath us. Reaching up to snap down his face shield, I do the same, and we’re pulling out of the driveway and racing through traffic.
The summer air feels so freeing as it whips around us. Every rev of the powerful engine beneath me vibrates through my core as it carries us through the city toward the suburbs. The cityscape dissolves into open spaces and bigger skies as Gage takes us along the water. The world races past us, and I hold on for dear life.
Sweet freedom.