Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Kevlar
I stare at Lacey in her denim cutoffs, tight-fitting tank top, and flip-flops. She can’t ride dressed as she is.
Wouldn’t be safe. She needs proper attire. Basic essentials. According to Combat, her memory could return at any time, or it could take days, weeks, or even months. There’s the possibility she never regains it. I’m not about to just turn her loose to fend on her own.
I know Prez worries with good reason. After the shit Shelby put all of us through, it’s hard to trust the people you know, let alone strangers.
“We’ll borrow something from the garage,” I tell her.
We cross the street to Saint’s Garage. Hash, Goose, and Poor Boy are on duty.
Goose is leaving the lot in the tow truck, and Poor Boy is under the hood of a truck checking the oil.
I find Hash at the front desk making eyes at Sunny, the chick Blood hired to handle the office.
“Need to bum a cage.”
“Who’s your friend?” His gaze roams up and down Lacey.
“My fist in your mouth if you don’t put your eyes back in your head.”
“So it’s like that, huh? Okay, player. I see you.”
“Shut the fuck up and give me the keys to one of the trucks, dumbass.”
“Testy. You need to chillax.”
I scowl at him, and he grabs a set of keys out of the cabinet on the wall.
“I’ll bring it back in a bit.”
“He was interesting,” Lacey notes as I open the passenger door for her.
“Hash is an idiot,” I grumble.
She rewards me with a smile and a soft, sweet laugh to match it.
I close the door once she’s secured the seat belt.
“My shop isn’t far. Maybe something will look familiar on the way.”
She nods, but this time her smile is forced. I have to wonder if she doesn’t want to remember or if she’s pretending.
I don’t want to push her too hard. Who knows what she’s gone through.
Turning up the radio, I leave her to watching the scenery of the strip as I drive us to the heart of Deadman’s Beach. My shop is located in the center of town, where all the action is. All the touristy hangouts. Rent is crazy high, but the location makes it worth the price.
London is standing out front, waiting for me to unlock the door.
Avery should have been here to open this morning. I pull out my cell as I park and give her a call that gets sent straight to voicemail. My little sister is normally more dependable, but since she started dating this shithead that thinks he’s a rock star, she’s been dropping the ball.
The dark brick of my shop sticks out in contrast to the bright blue painted novelty store next door. Fishing my shop keys out, I remember I have Lacey with me.
“You coming in or do you want to wait out here?”
“I’ll come.”
I bite my tongue to keep from making a smartassed remark that I can definitely make her come.
I unlock the glass door, and London stalks in ahead of me, her boots squeaking on the tile floor.
She’s a feisty one. Purple and black hair full of attitude, with a set of inked wings with a halo over them on her right shoulder and a matching set with devil horns on the left, she’s more devil than angel.
She’s my head artist, and with good reason. She has a talent for doing realistic portraits and has won awards and a season on a reality TV show. She’s famous, but you’d never know it with how down to earth she is.
“Avery still not answering?” She grumbles as she tosses her bag onto her workstation and starts setting up. Her eyes flick to Lacey, and she raises a pierced brow. “Who’s your shadow?”
“Found her on the beach. Has amnesia or some shit,” I explain as I head towards my workstation, removing the cover from my chair.
“A real-life Sleeping Beauty, huh? You going to be Prince Charming and bring her back to life?” London smirks, her green eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Fuck off, London,” I retort, but I can’t stop the heat spreading up my neck. Avery’s absence means we’re short-staffed and I can’t afford to be dicking around trying to make Lacey comfortable. But damn, she’s already gotten under my skin.
Lacey is quiet as she takes in my business. Her pretty baby-blue eyes roam over the black-and-white checkered floor, the glossy wooden counter, and the rows of tattoo parlors marked by thin black privacy curtains.
“Make yourself comfortable over there.” I point toward the black leather benches up front by the tinted windows. “The remote to the TV should be on one of the tables.”
I check the appointment book while London flips the rest of the lights on and turns up the stereo. Alternative rock blares through the speakers. Avery has three appointments scheduled for later in the day, but we get a lot of walk-ins.
I pull my cell back out and dial my other sister, Candyce. “What’s up?” She answers on the fourth ring.
“Where’s Avery?”
“Did you try Jagger?”
“No,” I grouse. “She’s probably at his place. He had a show last night.”
“Right. I’m going to stick my boot in her ass.”
“Go easy on her.”
“Yeah, yeah. Later.” I end the call. I should fire her ass, but she’s my baby sister.
Lacey is pretending not to listen as she flips through one of the albums that contains some of the work we’ve done.
It’s a little surreal watching her. She isn’t tracing the pictures or obsessively staring at pin-up girls like most walk-ins do.
She’s studying the photos as if they might tell her who she is—like maybe one of the faces will leap out and jog her memory.
Her finger hovers over an old portrait I inked five years ago, a black and gray memorial with roses and a pair of dates beneath.
Lacey’s mouth tugs down, and there’s a faraway look on her face.
Something pains her, but I can’t tell if it’s the photo or just the overall strangeness of being lost in your own skin.
London watches her, too, with a sly interest on her face. “You ever think about getting a tattoo?” She asks Lacey, hands deftly loading needles and setting up bottles of ink.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Lacey flips another page.
The alarm on the back door beeps, and Lacey drops the album as though the sound has spooked her.
“Sorry,” Avery announces. I hear the beeps of the keypad and the alarm stops. “I know. I know,” she’s apologizing as she breezes toward us, sucking down an iced coffee.
“You look like shit,” London tells her.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you catch your boyfriend with his hand up the skirt of some groupie skank.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“It’s whatever. I’m already over it. I got him back by hooking up with his bassist and his drummer.”
“At the same time or…” London presses, and if I had a gun right now, I might stick it in my mouth to keep from knowing this shit.
“Stop talking. I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of your mouth.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Avery says, smirking at London.
I shake my head. “Our mother is turning over in her grave as you speak.”
“Isn’t she alive?” London questions.
“That’s not the point.”
The pair of them burst out laughing, and even Lacey is fighting a giggle.
“Oh shit. I didn’t see you sitting there,” Avery tells Lacey.
“Avery, this is Lacey. And this is my pain in the ass, baby sister.”
“Your brother found this one on the beach and she has amnesia.”
“The fuck? No way.”
“Now that you’re here, you can get to work. Ivan and Dee should be in later, and if it gets busy call EJ.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got plans. Come on.” I hold my hand out to Lacey. “Let’s do a little shopping.”
I can feel London and Avery’s gazes on us and already know they will gossip about this shit the second the door shuts behind us.
“This really isn’t necessary, you know.”
“I’d do the same for anyone in need. Now get your toiletries or whatever girly shit you need.”
“Only if you’re sure.”
“I wouldn’t tell you to if I didn’t mean it.” My phone buzzes with a call from Blood. I walk to the end of the beauty aisle and accept the call. “Yo.”
“Where are you at?”
“Shopping.”
“That chick with you?”
“Why?”
“Because Buford is here. Going to have him run her prints and see if she comes up in any missing person databases.”
“You went to Buford?”
“You questioning how I run shit?”
“No, Prez.”
“Good. We don’t know who this woman is or what she may be involved in. I have the whole club and a family to think about.”
“Understood. We’ll be there soon.” I end the call and watch Lacey as she stares at the bottles of body wash, seemingly having a hard time choosing one. She has this blank, scared look on her face. Her eyes are dull and not vibrant like they were when she was picking out some clothes.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She blinks, slowly. “All good.” She grabs a random bottle from the shelf and tosses it into the cart.
“We need to wrap this up and head back to the clubhouse.”