Chapter 3 #2
"Duke assigned me to handle security upgrades for all the wedding venues," I said, keeping my voice steady. Professional. "Starting here."
She snorted without looking up from her aggressive cleaning. "Because nothing says 'punk rock tattoo shop' like military-grade security. What's the plan? Metal detectors? Cavity searches at the door?"
The image of my hands on her again—searching, exploring—flashed through my mind before I could stop it. I gripped the stool harder.
"Basic precautions. You're a wedding venue now whether you like it or not. I have evidence that the Serpents have been surveilling our org. It has to stop."
"Right." She wadded up the dirty wipes, tossing them with more force than necessary. "Thor's whole matching tattoos idea for the wedding party. Tribal bonding or whatever."
Something in her voice caught my attention. Not quite sarcasm. Something softer, like she actually thought it was sweet but couldn't admit it.
"It's a good idea," I said carefully. "Meaningful."
She glanced at me, then away. "Yeah, well. Thor's a closet romantic under all that Viking rage."
We both knew she was deflecting, but I let it slide. Picked my battles with Lena Rivera. Had to, or we'd be fighting all day.
Time to get back on track.
"So," I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "Notice anything unusual lately? Anyone hanging around who shouldn't be?"
Her hands paused in their cleaning. Just for a second. If I hadn't been watching for it, I'd have missed the tell.
"Define unusual," she said, but the defensive edge was back. "This is a tattoo shop. We get all kinds of weird."
"Lena."
"What? I'm serious. Last week a guy wanted his ex's face tattooed on his ass with devil horns. That's pretty unusual."
I waited. One of the first things you learned in interrogation—people hated silence. They'd fill it eventually.
She lasted maybe three seconds.
"Fine. Maybe this morning there was some skinny Serpent hanging around outside." She grabbed fresh gloves, snapping them on with unnecessary force. "Taking pictures or something. But they lurk around here anyway for the methadone clinic down the block, so . . ."
Every muscle in my body went tight. "Taking pictures of what?"
She shrugged, but I caught the concern she was trying to hide. "The shop, maybe? Could've been Instagram stuff. Kids document everything these days. Probably nothing."
"Describe him."
The words came out sharp. Command voice. The kind that made soldiers jump to attention and enemies reassess their life choices.
Lena's spine straightened, but not in compliance. In challenge.
"Say please, Soldier Boy."
There it was. The bratty pushback that made my palm itch. Made me want to put her over my knee and show her what happened when she pushed too hard. Made me want to find out if she'd still be mouthing off when I had her—
Professional. Fucking professional, Monroe.
I took a breath. Modulated my tone. "Please, Lena. This is important."
She studied me for a long moment. I could see her weighing options, deciding how much fight to put up. Finally, she nodded toward the window.
"By the lamp post out there. Maybe nineteen, twenty? Skinny kid trying to look hard in one of those wannabe dealer hoodies. You know the type."
I did. Serpent prospects trying to prove themselves. The kind who did stupid shit to impress their handlers.
"How long was he there?"
"I don't know, twenty minutes? I had a client, wasn't exactly timing him." She peeled off the gloves again, movements agitated. "He left when Thor pulled up out front."
Smart kid, running from Thor. But not smart enough to avoid being spotted in the first place.
"Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?"
"Jesus, what is this, Law and Order?" But she answered anyway. "Shitty neck tattoo. Either a snake or a drunk earthworm. Oh, and he had this weird twitch. Kept touching his pocket like he was checking his phone."
Or a weapon. Or a camera.
I mentally added exterior cameras to my security list. Multiple angles. Motion activated. Maybe some less obvious ones hidden in the decorative metalwork Thor had installed last year.
"You should have called someone."
"And said what? There's a sketchy dude standing on a public sidewalk? They'd laugh me off the phone. There’s literally always someone out there. It’s freaksville round here."
She had a point, but it didn't ease the knot in my gut. The Serpents were probing, testing boundaries. Looking for weaknesses.
Looking at her.
"From now on, you call me," I said. "Sketchy dudes, weird feelings, anything that makes your instincts twitch. I don't care if it seems like nothing."
"Oh good, a bodyguard I didn't ask for." She crossed her arms, hip cocked in defiance. "You got a tracking anklet for me? Maybe we should build a panic room?"
A panic room wasn't a bad idea actually. I filed that away for later.
"I'm trying to keep you safe. It’s my job."
"I've kept myself safe for years without—" She cut herself off, jaw clicking shut.
Without what? Without help? Without someone giving a damn?
I wanted to push, to dig into whatever she'd just swallowed back. But the shuttered look in her eyes warned me off.
"This isn't about your independence," I said instead. "It's about the club protecting its assets."
"Assets." Her laugh held no humor. "That what I am now?"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Do I?"
We stared at each other across the cleaned station. The few feet between us might as well have been miles. Or maybe not enough distance at all.
“Look. Let me show you what I have in mind.”
I spread my security plans across her newly cleaned station. Everything laminated and organized. Color-coded by threat level. Emergency contact lists with direct lines to me, Thor, and Duke. I'd spent three hours on these last night, methodically planning every contingency.
Lena's indignation was immediate.
"Absolutely not." She snatched up the top sheet, eyes scanning the protocols. "I'm not doing door checks every hour like some paranoid shut-in."
"It's a simple three-point verification—"
"It's prison rules." The words burst out sharp and bitter before she caught herself, jaw snapping shut.
I filed that reaction away. Prison rules. Someone had caged her before. Made her feel trapped. The knowledge sat heavy in my chest, another piece of the Lena puzzle clicking into place.
"These aren't rules," I kept my voice calm, even. "They're precautions. The Serpents are escalating. That kid this morning—"
"Was probably some junkie looking for an easy score." She picked up another laminated sheet, reading aloud in a voice dripping with mockery. "All packages must be verified before opening. Staff must vary arrival and departure times. Panic button installation at each station."
Her voice rose with each item, color flooding her cheeks.
"You want to turn my shop into a fortress! What's next, guard towers? Razor wire? Maybe a moat?"
"I want to keep you safe."
The words came out harder than intended. More intense. More personal than professional.
She froze, the paper trembling slightly in her grip. For a heartbeat, maybe two, that vulnerable look flashed across her face again. Young. Scared. Desperate for something she couldn't name.
Then the brat came roaring back.
"I don't need a keeper." She crumpled my protocol sheet, lamination crackling under her fingers. "I've been taking care of myself since—"
Another sharp cutoff. Another swallowed secret.
"—for a long time," she finished. “These rules are dumb as shit.”
My hands clenched at my sides. Part of me wanted to put her over my knee right here, show her what happened when naughty little girls destroyed hours of careful planning. Part of me wanted to pull her close, promise that no one would cage her again, that my protection came without chains.
Both impulses were wildly inappropriate.
"Then help me make better ones."
The words surprised us both. Her eyes widened.
"What?"
"You know this space," I gestured around the shop. "Know the flow, the blind spots, the vulnerabilities. Show me your way."
She blinked. Once. Twice. Like I was speaking a different language.
"My way?"
"You've already got defensive positions set up." I nodded toward the baseball bat art. "Weapons within reach. You think tactically even if you don't realize it. So show me."
I could see it in her face—the shock of being asked instead of told. Of having her instincts valued instead of dismissed.
"I . . ." She smoothed out the crumpled paper, not quite meeting my eyes. "I mean, I have some stuff. It's not all official and laminated."
"Show me."
For a long moment, she studied me like I might be setting a trap. Then, slowly, she moved around the station.
"Okay, so the bat you already spotted." She touched it briefly. "But there's also this."
She pulled open an ink drawer, revealing a tactical knife tucked between bottles.
"And here." A flip of the plant pot showed pepper spray duct-taped to the bottom. "Plus I've got a taser in my bag, another knife in my boot, and Thor taught me this trick with a tattoo machine that'll put someone on their ass."
Pride swelled in my chest. Completely inappropriate, possessive pride. My girl was smart. Prepared. Already thinking three steps ahead even while she played at chaos.
Not my girl. Not yet.
"What about communication?" I asked, voice rougher than intended.
"I've got everyone on speed dial." She pulled out her phone, showing me. "Plus Find My Friends with Mandy, Tanya, and Thor.”
“That’s good.”
She shoved the phone back in her pocket. "Point is, I'm not helpless. I don't need someone dictating every move."
"Never said you were helpless." I picked up my ruined protocol sheet, smoothing it against the table. "But you could be safer. We could work together on that."
"Like a team? Not you ordering and me obeying?"
"Do you ever obey?" It slipped out before I could stop it. Flirtation mixing with frustration.