“Pretty sure we fucking didn’t,” I snapped back, my eyes piercing his in a challenge. He stood up, grabbed my hand, and then started dragging me out of the club.
HIS GRIP WAS TIGHT AROUND my wrist as he dragged me out of the club, tight enough to leave a bruise. We hit the back exit, out onto an alleyway.
“Talk!” he said, too calmly. I looked around the dark alley, empty and cold. At least we were alone. For once.
“I’m sorry.”
He sneered. “You’re sorry?” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Shit.
“Yes!” I quipped, coming closer to him. “I—I lashed out. I didn’t, I don’t, God, Bishop! I make shitty decisions.”
He backed me up against the wall, the cool concrete freezing my back, then wrapped his hands around my thighs and hooked them around his waist. “I’m not done with your punishment.”
“Punishment?” I implored, tilting my head. His eyes started getting distracted by my clothes, his head moving all over the place.
“Yeah. And don’t get me started on Brantley and Nate, which you will watch, by the way.” His hand came to my nipple and I sucked in a breath as his thumb swiped over it. He pulled my breast out, the cold night air whisking around it boldly, and sucked it into his mouth. Biting on it harshly, he pulled back and lowered me back to my feet.
“We’re going to a bar.”
“What?” I tucked my tit back into my bra. Damn caveman. Then trailed after him.
“There’s a reason why I don’t drink, Kitty, and you’re about to witness why.”
“Witness? I think I’ve seen enough. Can we go home.”
His laughter echoed off the brick walls and set up shop in my bones. “No.”
I followed him down the main street as we passed clubs and late night restaurants. He tore his shirt off and tucked it into the back of his jeans pocket before stopping abruptly. I slammed into his bare back, trying to ignore the massive tattoo that stretched out wide against his flesh. The skull just below his wings on the back of his neck had a crown sitting on its head and the words “King” was tattooed over his nape. The man was sex on legs. I really needed to take him home. “Now what?” He was a man on a mission.
I watched as the bright red neon lights blazed over his smirking face.
I followed his line of sight. “Oh no…”
“Oh yes…” he mimicked, crossing the road—fuck the cars that are zipping past.
“Bishop!” I yelled, running into the road while dodging beeping cars and following him across. He pushed open the front doors that led into the tattoo studio and I quickly slipped in behind him. A tall man with a long beard and a motorcycle patch on walked out, stopping in his tracks when he caught both of us. His eyes ran over Bishop. “Is this a coincidence, B, or what?”
Of course he knew this scary man. Why wouldn’t he.
Bishop’s head cranked over his shoulder, a grin tickling the corner of his lips. “She wants something.”
“I do?” I quirked my eyebrow.
Big scary biker dude’s eyes flew to mine, then he grinned. “What you want, pretty girl.”
“Hey, eyes off.”
Biker dude chortled, then nudged his head towards the hallway he just walked out from. Bishop led the way, his bare muscled back taunting me. We passed a couple of smaller stalls, all set up differently. There must be around four artists who work here. I admire the work hanging on the walls as we continue down. Biker dude walked straight ahead, his stall obviously at the head of the hallway.
“Wow,” I took in all the art. “This is amazing.” Stealing my gaze away from the beautiful colors and grey shading, I looked down at the red seat that reclined into a bed in the middle, and biker dude sat down on his chair, picking up his gun. I gulped.
“You know, I used to work for a studio in New Zealand.”
“Yeah?” Bishop interfered, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “What? Do I need to fly over there to add him to the list?”
I hopped up onto the red leather, grasping the edge. “Don’t be stupid. It never got that far.”
Bishop laughed, his head tilting back and his glorious abs tightening from the motion. “Right, because he isn’t a King. I forgot, you only do royal cock.”
“Bishop!” I snapped, then looked back to biker dude who was putting gloves on. “Sorry, he’s a little…”
“I’m fine.” Then he took his attention to Biker dude. “Lemme do this one. I’ll owe you.”
Biker dude’s eyebrow rose, and then he looked between the two of us. “You don’t owe me shit, and sure.”
“Ah!” I threw my finger up. “Hello, but I’ve never seen your artwork and I don’t know what I want. How about I sketch something up right now and let biker guy stencil it up and then you can tattoo me.” Jesus Christ, I was losing my mind. He wasn’t a hundred percent sober, but I was going to let him tattoo me anyway. Usually, when couples go in to do this sort of thing, it’s romantic. Not us though, oh no. I’ll be getting inked out of hate.
“No deal, Kitty,” Bishop pointed to the bed. “Lay down.”
“Jesus,” I whispered, laying back.
His hand came to my bare rib, and his thumb glided over it softly, the tenderness of his touch sending tingles down to my toes. I looked at him, catching his stare right at me. A moment passed between us, my heart thundering in my chest. Then the gun sounded, breaking our eye contact and the silence, and Bishop dipped the tip into the little pot, then stretched my skin out over my rib cage just below my bra line. A sharp sting sliced through my flesh and I flinched. “Jesus.”
“Yeah,”
