Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
ROCHELLE
Istretch out across the bed, my body aching with satisfaction. There’s something about make-up sex that leaves me feeling completely satisfied.
I can’t help but feel disappointed that Drifter’s side of the bed is cold again. I know with the Steel Delinquents circling, he’s busy, and there’s a lot on his mind. And it doesn’t help that I’ve been acting a little crazy myself.
I sigh heavily. I’m not used to asking for help, but maybe it’s time I leaned on the other ol’ ladies. Otherwise, I’m going to push Drifter even further away.
I slide off the bed, catching my reflection in the mirror.
I pause, running my finger through my thoroughly ruined hair, smiling to myself.
Then I trail my finger over the bite mark stamped into my breast. I arch a brow as an idea forms. I could make his mark permanent, a reminder of us etched into my skin forever.
Pulling my robe around myself, I grab my phone and fire off a quick text to Ink.
Me: You got any room for the Pres’s ol’ lady today?
I don’t have to wait long before I receive a reply, and I grin. It looks like I’ll be spending my afternoon in the tattoo shop.
I make my way down to the bar. It’s empty except for Slider watching motocross on the television. The guys must be out on a run, which makes my plan a little easier to pull off.
“Slider,” I say, my tone light. He throws his head back on a sigh, eyeballing me suspiciously, so I give him my best smile. “I need a ride to the tattoo shop.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Not a fucking chance. Pres will have my balls.”
A smirk pulls at my lips. “He’ll have more than your balls if he knows I left here unaccompanied with all the shit going down.” I arch a challenging brow, knowing I have him.
“Fuck,” he grunts, switching the television off and stomping towards me. “At least let me run it by Pres,” he says, taking his phone out his pocket.
I swipe it away quickly. “–Nuh-uh, it’s a surprise,” I tell him, holding the phone out of his reach.
“You know Pres hates surprises.”
I turn on my heel and make my way to the exit. “Not this one. Come on, entertain the Pres’s ol’ lady. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He follows behind me begrudgingly. “That’s what I’m worried about. I know you too well.”
Slider leans against the wall shaking his head at me. Ink pulls his motorcycle up outside the tattoo shop and greets me with a bear hug. “Long time, Rochelle. How’s it going?” Slider opts to wait outside.
“All good, thanks. I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to book in for a while, but you know how it is. Sometimes life just gets in the way.”
He nods, leading me into the back room. I get comfortable in the leather chair.
“So. what’s it gonna be?” he asks.
I pull down my top, exposing the swell of my breast, and he immediately swivels on his seat, turning away from me. “Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head.
I laugh. “Ink, I don’t think you can tattoo me with your back to me.”
“Rochelle, does the Pres know about this?” he asks, keeping his back to me.
“No, it’s a surprise,” I reply, suddenly wondering if I’ve made the right decision.
“Fuck,” he snaps. “Cover yourself up.”
I pull my top up, feeling a little insecure, and he spins back around on his chair.
He assesses me for a long minute, his jaw ticking the entire time, like he’s weighing up his options.
“I just wanted to surprise him. I’ve been a huge brat recently.”
He laughs, arching a brow. “You, a brat? Never.” His voice is laced with sarcasm.
I roll my eyes at him. “I want to do something nice for him to make it up.”
He still looks at me with uncertainty, so I sigh, shrugging and then sliding from the chair.
He groans, putting his hand out to stop me. “Wait here,” he grunts, leaving the room.
A few moments later, he comes in with a tray of equipment, looking more sure of himself. “Right, show me.”
I pull my top down to expose where Drifter’s bite mark sits proudly. “I want his bite mark to be permanent.”
He nods in approval. “Lie back.”
I rest my head back against the cool leather and relax as he wipes the area clean. Then the tattoo gun comes to life, and I close my eyes as the sting grounds me.
I leave the tattoo shop smiling, but it falters when I see Slider. He looks positively pissed resting against his motorcycle.
“What’s up with your face?” I ask.
He shakes his head and throws the helmet at me. Miserable fucker.
We pull up outside the clubhouse, where Drifter is waiting for me on the porch. I side-eye Slider as I push his helmet hard into his chest. A loud breath leaves him.
I skip across the courtyard to Drifter, noticing his jaw is tight and his eyes are assessing me. I lean up on my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his lips. He doesn’t respond, and I feel my mood deflating.
“Okay,” I say with a heavy sigh, “who grassed me up?” I laugh in the hope the tension will dissipate.
He briefly eyeballs Slider, who’s still across the courtyard. I follow his line of sight and swallow the ache in my chest. I need to de-escalate before he takes the fall for my impulsiveness.
Before I can say anything, Drifter grabs my hand roughly and leads me into the clubhouse. He pulls me through the bar and into his office, slamming the door behind us.
I brace myself.
“What are you playing at?” he demands.
“What do you mean?” I ask innocently.
“You fucking left the clubhouse—”
“I took a man. I wasn’t on my own,” I interrupt, which only pisses him off further.
He runs his hands through his hair. “How the fuck did you get him to agree without checking in with me, Hell?”
I refuse to back down when I did this for him. “It was for you.”
“You can’t blackmail my men,” he seethes.
I pull down my shirt, exposing my new artwork. “I did this for you. I wanted your mark on me forever.”
His eyes fall to my new ink, and for a second, I think he’s going to smile, but he shuts it down fast and his eyes burn into mine.
“You have to run this shit past me before you leave. It’s for your own safety, and my men’s.”
“I promise, next time, I will. I just wanted to surprise you. I’ve been a brat lately, and I wanted to make up for it.”
He runs his hands over his face, exhaling heavily. “You’re gonna be the death of me, and this move,” he gestures with his hands, “is a brat move.”
I let out a laugh, covering my face to stifle it. “I’m sorry.”
He rolls his eyes, leaning in and kissing me on the head. I close my eyes, savouring the small gesture.
“Who grassed me up?” I ask again, leaning into him.
“Well, it wasn’t Slider.”
“Ink? The fucker.”
“He knows where his bread is buttered, knows how pissed I would’ve been at him tattooing my ol’ lady’s breast without my authorisation.”