Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“You’re running out of space, Ash.” Lyric studied his bare chest and arms. Every visible inch of skin was already occupied with ink.
The DAMC sergeant at arms grunted. “Plenty of space left.”
“Where? Your asshole?”
Ashton cracked a grin. “My face.”
Her long, black braid swept across her back when she shook her head. “Oh no. No. No. No. If you want face tats, go elsewhere. You know I don’t like them. And you’re too handsome for that.”
“Done ‘em before.”
“On customers. Not family.”
He cocked one of his dark blond eyebrows. “Are we family?”
“By bond, Ash. You know that.” The whole club was family. Always had been and always would be. “Seriously though, what do you want and where do you want it?”
Certainly not on his broad back. That large piece of real estate was strictly for his club colors. The colors he wore with pride. Like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before him. Like her own father, grandparents, and great-grandparents, too.
He pointed to the side of his head where it was freshly shaved. “Want a hawk right here.”
“A hawk?” Why did he take off his cut and T-shirt if he wanted ink on his head? Men!
“Yep. Wanna honor my father.”
“Does Hawk know you’re doing this?”
“Gonna be a surprise.”
“That’s sweet, Ash.”
Of course his answer to that would be a deep grunt.
She warned, “I’ve never done a hawk before so it might not be perfect.”
“When the fuck have I ever asked for perfection, Lyric? What makes it perfect is you bein’ the artist.”
Holy shit. This man might be rough around the edges, but he certainly knew how to melt her heart. “Well, I’ll accept that glowing review.”
“Really don’t need it. Your pop made a name for himself with his work. Now you are, too. You learned from the fuckin’ best.”
A warmth flooded her belly. “I certainly did.”
To be compared to her father was the ultimate compliment. She had always been in awe of her mentor’s work and hoped to one day live up to him.
“Let me see what I can come up with.”
He stopped her from walking away by grabbing her wrist. “Don’t wanna draw it freehand?”
“Did you ignore the part where I said I’ve never tattooed a hawk before?”
“You ignorin’ the fact I trust you?”
She paused. “Maybe I don’t trust myself. And this piece will be where everyone can see it. Even if you wear a baseball cap.” Which he never did.
His father, Hawk, always shaved the sides of his head and wore a short mohawk on top.
Rage did the same with the sides, but instead of a mohawk, he kept the longer hair at the top in tight braids, reminding her of a Viking on his way to pillage some far-off village.
The only time his head was covered was if he wore a skull cap while riding his sled. And even that was rare.
“Could come out like a stick figure and I won’t fuckin’ care. It’ll be an original Lyric Alexander piece. And that alone is priceless.”
“Ash, you’re already a walking billboard for my work,” she breathed. For some reason, he was full of compliments today when he was usually grumpy and grunty. But wait, if he came for a head tattoo… “Why’d you take your shirt off, anyway?”
He ran a big hand down his chest. “Figured you could check to see if any of my tats need touched up.”
She accepted that as a valid reason. But if it was solely to check his older tattoos, he should remove his jeans, too. His legs were almost as jam-packed as his torso, including his neck.
“Let me look at those first, then I’ll work on the hawk.”
After sitting on her stool, she rolled it over to the tattoo chair where he reclined and took her time inspecting his ink, brushing her fingertips lightly over each piece that she and her father had done to see if more work was needed to keep the shading fresh and the lines crisp.
“Can’t tell the difference ‘tween your pop’s work and yours. You got a skill to be proud of, baby. You’re a true artist.”
“Like you said, I learned from the best,” she whispered, her eyes following her finger as she traced some of the larger pieces.
“Damn right you did. You know he’s prouda you, too.”
“Thank you for letting me practice on you when I was still learning.”
“Even back then, had complete fuckin’ faith in your skills.”
“Then you had more than I had in myself.”
As he followed her motions, the heat of his gaze caused her nipples to peak under the snug racerback tank she wore when she worked.
When she was her father’s apprentice, she’d quickly learned to avoid any loose clothing or long sleeves so they wouldn’t get stained with ink.
Tattooing could be messy business and she had ruined quite a few pieces of clothing.
Her career also meant getting up close and personal with her clients. Most were respectful. Some were not. A few men had the mistaken thought that since she was touching them, they could do the same to her. Those handsy jerks weren’t clients for long.
With one guy, she didn’t even finish his piece before having him thrown out of the shop. Luckily for her, but not for him, his deposit was non-refundable. She hoped that half-finished cobra reminded him that he should get a woman’s consent before touching her.
When he threatened to sue, she laughed. She had proof of him groping her, not only from her employees witnessing it, but on video. She had upgraded In the Shadows Ink’s security cameras only last year.
“It couldn’t hurt to do a few touch-ups here and there. I see some faded shading and a few lines starting to blur on your older pieces. What do you want done today? I could always do some of the touchups today, then design the hawk for approval and do the new piece next week.”
“That’d be good,” he grumbled.
Breaking it up into two sessions would enable them to spend more time together.
A lot of people were scared of Rage. His road name alone was enough to make some hesitate. But not her. He could be as sweet as apple pie at his core with the right person, despite trying to hide it with his brash personality.
In truth, she loved that she got to grow up with him, and even now, she enjoyed spending time with him.
Despite them being almost seven years apart, they had always gravitated toward each other. Even as kids. Especially when the older DAMC kids always pushed away the younger ones, calling them pests. As with most large families, typical “sibling” clashes were the norm.
Because of that, Ash always had her back and had stepped in whenever she needed it. While she tried not to be too needy, not once had he complained when she asked for his assistance.
Like when she wanted the new security system installed.
He was right there overseeing the whole process when the company came to upgrade the cameras and everything that went along with them.
He used the excuse that he was familiar with the system since the company they’d hired had previously installed the same one at Heaven’s Angels Gentlemen’s Club.
She spent the next hour touching up various tattoos both she and her father had inked into his skin. The man never flinched whenever the tattoo gun touched him. No matter where the ink was located.
“You know the side of your head will hurt like a bitch, right?” she murmured as she worked.
“Nothin’ wrong with a little pain.”
“It’ll be worse than the ones on your elbows or ribs,” she warned. “I’ve had big, burly men actually shed tears from the pain.”
“Bring it on.”
She sighed, dipping the needles back into the tiny cup of black ink. She concentrated on keeping her hand steady as she darkened the lines of the large Viking helmet he had on his right arm.
Ever since he was a kid, Ashton had been fascinated with Viking lore.
Beside the tattoos and the braids, a silver Thor’s hammer pendant hung from a black cord around his thick neck.
He said, beside the famous weapon symbolizing the destructive power of the storm and of fire from Heaven, the hammer also provided protection against the forces of evil and violence.
It was the perfect symbol for the DAMC enforcer to wear.
Lyric disliked his road name and always thought the name Thor would have been more fitting. Even though he was more like his uncle Diesel than his father in temperament, the name Rage had such a negative connotation.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“It still hurts a bit but it’s bearable.”
“Ain’t wearin’ the sling.”
“The doctor said it’s okay to stop using it since it ended up being a soft tissue injury instead of a sprain.”
Ash grunted in response before growling, “Don’t like you bein’ in that club.”
She mentally sighed. He brought up his dislike of her belonging to the Angels of Fury whenever they were together. Most of the club brothers did.
They all got their panties in a wad when the ladies had decided to start their own MC since they were forbidden from riding with the men they grew up with.
“There are always things in life we don’t like, Ash. Women usually don’t like being told what to do.” She sat up and wiped the excess ink off his skin with a damp paper towel. “Or told we’re the weaker sex. Or treated like we can’t think for ourselves. Or can’t protect ourselves.”
She did not miss the shift of his jaw. “Piper still bein’ in the hospital’s proof you can’t.”
“Really.” She rolled her chair back and stared at him. “Did you think the same about Slade? The Warriors used him as bait for an ambush and also beat the hell out of him. From what I heard, one of them shot Diesel, too. Men are not immune to being attacked or injured.”
Of course he only grunted because he couldn’t disprove what she said. When he didn’t even try, she went back to touching up the outline of the tattoo.
“Still doin’ the self-defense classes with Kat and Diamond?”
She kept her head down and the tattoo machine moving when she answered, “Occasionally.”
“How often?”
Not as often as she should. “It’s hard to find the time.”
“Supposed to be for you to learn to protect yourself.”