Chapter 4 #2
He marked Sophie’s skin in clean, deliberate lines, every movement sure.
She dragged her gaze away, irritated with herself for noticing any of it, and slammed the door on her reaction.
She took the last step forward and entered the room.
The place was lit with a golden glow, not the flickering fluorescents she recalled from the MC clubhouse of her childhood. Strings of twinkle lights softened all the hard lines, and a bar along one side of the room was neat and tidy instead of thrown together.
In the middle of the room, the guys gathered around a gaming table, their laughter warm—not the scary sounds in her childhood memory.
No one was shouting. No one was drunk, and there wasn’t any sense that the night would end in violence.
But the drone of the tattoo machine carried another memory into her mind.
She was small again, pressed into the corner of the clubhouse, knees pulled tight to her chest. A biker straddled a chair, his back a canvas of muscles and old scars.
The needle bit into him as smoke from his cigarette curled toward the ceiling.
Men laughed too loud. Two guys argued. A pistol sat on a table like it belonged there.
She remembered the night her mother found her huddled in that corner and scooped her up, whispering to her about staying quiet.
Where was her mother now?
“Opal.”
The room full of bikers in her mind faded, and the place the ladies referred to as “the casino” came into focus.
Sinner picked up his head and looked at her. His deep brown eyes came into focus.
Sophie waved for her to come over.
As she drifted toward the corner, Sinner lowered his gaze to his work again, and the noise of the needles resumed.
Sophie lay stretched on the table with Con hovering near her, holding her hand as Sinner inked her perfect skin. His hand was steady, as if he’d done this a thousand times.
Because obviously he had. This wasn’t a party trick. He had a skill that he took seriously.
She stepped closer before she meant to. “Is this even legal?”
Sinner didn’t look up. “It’s a government base.”
She watched the needle trace a precise line—freehand. The man was free-handing his art.
“Is it sanitary?” she managed to ask around her tongue that was thickening just by watching the man.
Maybe her years of living rough, first as an MC kid, then as a slum rat, had twisted her idea of what a hot guy looked like.
Sinner didn’t glance away from his task, and for a heartbeat, she studied the way his hair swept across his forehead.
No… Sinner was just hot.
“I’m wearing gloves.” With a short flick of his wrist, he laid in a curved line, followed by two more.
She recognized the image now—a heart was taking form.
Sinner finally looked up, and this connection—whatever it was—hit her harder than the sound of the tattoo machine ever had.
He held her gaze, the depths of his eyes unguarded in a way that felt dangerous. And Smith never prepared her for this type of danger.
“I could tattoo you too.” His deep, low voice sent an unwanted shiver through her.
Why was her body reacting to him like this? She needed to get a grip on herself—starting now.
She made the mistake of glancing at his hands and her mind swirled with the thought of those hands on her flesh. Marking her.
“No.” She wet her dry lips. “I can’t have any identifying features.”
His gaze roamed over her face. “You look pretty unforgettable to me.”
The room dimmed at the edges as heat washed through her.
Sinner tilted his head slightly. “Doesn’t have to be somewhere anyone could see.”
Her pulse spiked.
Con and Sophie traded a certain look that only couples could read.
He continued to work through the outline. When he took a break inking Sophie to switch colors, Opal slid her foot outward, just enough that the toe of her shoe touched his. Just to see if she could get a rise out of the man.
After all, she had to know. If she could rattle him, anyone could, which might blow their cover in this op.
At least that was what she told herself.
He didn’t look up at her or move his foot away. He just wiped the ink with a clean cloth and set needles to skin again.
Opal was thinking about more ways to get under his skin. Luckily, Izzy chose that moment to intervene. She hooked an arm through Opal’s, stunning her all over again with how…friendly…everyone was.
“Come on. You look like you need food.”
Opal let herself be pulled away, relieved to get a break from Sinner. Soon enough, they would be trapped together in a small space. Possibly stuck with one bed. Of course, to keep things professional, she would sleep on the floor.
She jammed the thought deep in a part of her mind where she stuffed all unwanted things. Then she turned her attention to the table loaded with food. Pizza, sandwiches and enough snacks to feed a small army.
Again, the clubhouse rose in her mind. There had always been food—plenty of it—and rough hands passing plates across scarred tables.
She’d thought about that kind of abundance more times than she could count, lying awake in a motel bed while hunger gnawed at her, the stipend from the “program” already gone long before the month was over.
Even when her mother returned to work, they were stretched thin, but Smith always made sure she ate, especially after training.
Izzy handed her a plate and a bottled water. “Eat.”
Opal drifted to a platter of sandwiches and selected what appeared to be a turkey wrap. She added a few slices of melon to her plate.
Izzy watched her, but it didn’t make Opal feel judged. The woman tipped her head toward a long leather sofa, and they moved to sit.
Opal balanced the plate on her lap and picked up the fruit.
“I saw the way you two looked at each other.”
She was glad she didn’t take a bite—she would have choked. Stiffly, she turned her head to look at Izzy. “What way?”
Izzy’s smile didn’t move.
“We have to work together.”
She nodded, still smiling.
“Nothing is going to come of it.”
Izzy’s pretty face lit up even more. “Right. Nothing came of it for any of us.”
In that moment, Opal realized what she meant. These women had all once worked with Blackout Charlie in some capacity, and it led to so much more.
Izzy shot a soft smile at Steele, who sent her a wink in return. Alyssa leaned into Chase, his hand resting protectively over the curve of her growing stomach. And Con squeezed Sophie’s hand in support as she got what was probably her first tattoo.
But Opal wasn’t one of them.
She glanced across the room at the SEAL who would be posing as her husband. As she watched, he flicked his head, sending the lock of thick hair back from his forehead, the movement effortless and undeniably male.
She didn’t even like Sinner.
The lie sat heavy in her chest. She took a bite of food to keep her eyes off the man at the tattoo table.
But another realization rolled through her, more unwelcome than the first.
The sound didn’t bother her anymore.
Which meant that somewhere along the way, without permission, her body decided this place was safe.
That these people were safe, including Sinner.
And that terrified her more than she would ever admit.