I was proud of what he accomplished.
Even if it wasn’t inherently legal all of the time.
It was pretty much initiation to be tattooed by Kane at least once if you lived in the small town of Nixie, Ohio. He was the best in the area. From the minute I turned eighteen—the only law my dad was ever truly strict on,go figure—to now, on my twenty-second birthday, Kane had completed nine projects along my skin; with many more to come.
“I love it,” I whispered, the smile on my face growing even more.
The double bright side about tattoos belonging to theonecategory ofacceptablepain?
Art.
There would always be an artistic conclusion to the agony.
I leaned forward, placing way too much trust in the arm rail of the tattoo chair, and plopped a wet kiss on Kane’s cheek, leaving the softest imprint of purple lipstick in its wake. He made a noncommittal sound, wiping away at his stark-black beard with the back of his hand as the faintest glimmer of pink formed under the scratchy skin.
“Girly, can you stop kissing me after every tattoo session? I have a lady, you know.”
“Nope,” I replied, popping the p with my lips. “I have to show my appreciation somehow. And yourone-night stands don't count as having a lady, K. But nice try."
He laughed gruffly, the bloodshot in his eyes simmering against his blue irises, and clutched his heart mockingly. “Some guys would prefer to have a container of whiskey or a blow job for thanks, yet I get gifted with wet kisses and insults.”
“Go ask yourladyfor a blow job then, old man.”
He rolled his eyes and snapped the gloves off of his hands, tossing them in the waste bin by his swivel chair. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, you brat.”
I watched him, curious as to what the man was ever really thinking about. If there was ever someone to be confused by, it was Kane Rogers. He always tried to fit in with the rest of the guys, but it never really clicked. He was quiet, calculating, and yet none of us knew anything real about him, other than his artistic skills.
He was…different. And I never knew if that was good or not.
He avoided the topic, easily sidestepping the conversation as he pulled a bandage barrier from his drawer of supplies along with a pair of neon-pink scissors. “So, tell me. What is the famousbiker-princessdoing for her birthday?” A twisted, faux smile filled hisface.
“Do you want the truthful answer or the bullshit answer?”
“What do I look like, your father? I couldn’t care less, but the truth would be nice, yeah.”
I bit my bottom lip. The slightest bits of nervousness fitted through my stomach with the truthful answer. “I’m going to get shit-faced.”
He snorted. “Obviously.”
“And then I’m going to the Crow Cavern with Echo.”
His sudden stiff posture was enough to make my stomach clench.
I always attempted to not appear as shy and reserved as I actually was, but damn, telling one of your brothers that you were practically going to a sex club wasn’t exactly apleasure.
He looked down at me with something akin to humor in his eyes. Though as the light from his floor lamp hit his face, a scowl etched across his stern features, highlighting the rugged and scarred appearance even more. “The Crow Cavern? Ain’t you a little too young for that kind of thing?”
“I thought you said you weren’t my parent?” I rebutted. I felt my eyebrow twitch in annoyance.
He pointed at me, his own bushy eyebrow raising in mock defense. “I’m not. But you know that weprotect you, and you and your little friend are about to walk into a sex club. Can you blame me for not loving the idea?”
“Maybe. But it is technically my dad’s club, you know. I have my big girl pants on and everything lately. I know exactly what goes on in there.”
“You know, one of the guys is patrolling tonight. Maybe you and Echo should ju–”
I snapped forward, cutting his sentence short, forcing the chair beneath me to creak obnoxiously. I didnotneed someone trying to be a second father to me. Especially when my real father was suffocating, albeit lovingly, enough. “I can handle myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
That bushy brow of his lowered, furrowing instead. He stared at me, his eyes calculating me yet again. But after a few moments, he raised his hands in submission, like his own personal white flag. The tattooed rose on the back of his hand glinted in the light from the action.
