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“Come on back and I’ll get you started on the paperwork.”
“Make this one yours, honey!” said her friend. With more swing in her hips than I could ever produce on purpose, she followed Jag to the back with one friend and the others stepped outside to vape.
I might have stared at the space Jag occupied a bit too long but dammit he really was a good guy. A biker, sure. A hacker, too, and some type of government contractor like me, but he was still one of the good ones and that scene just proved it. The last thing I needed was to renew my crush on Jag, but the man was making it damn hard.
Damn hard.
“So you do like him,” Lasso said, breaking into my thoughts.
“Of course I do, we used to be friends.”
He shrugged. “Not for a long time.”
And that was exactly the reminder I needed to take that crush a
nd send it straight to hell. “Yeah well he’s the one who left. Not me.” And this time it would be me who left.
“Really?”
“Really.” I turned back to my tablet because the last fucking thing I wanted to think about was how many people in my life find it so easy to walk away. Too easy, if you ask me. Which they never did.
Twenty minutes later Jag came out with the woman, looking mentally exhausted. When the shop was empty again I smiled at him. “Got room for another customer?”
“You?”
“Me. I want to add some color and shading to my feathers.” He smiled at the mention of his favorite tattoo that he traced most nights until I fell asleep in his arms.
“Come on.”
“Clean the room when you’re done. Thoroughly,” Lasso called out with a snicker.
We both ignored him and I followed Jag into one of the rooms with a door instead of a curtain. Normally I would have given him a hard time for being presumptuous but the talk I wanted to have would be better in private.
He gestured to the table. “Hop up.”
I watched him gather his tools, mesmerized by the play of muscles in his forearms and biceps.
I got comfortable on the table, the slick paper crunching under my ass, and began to lift the hem of my shirt when his hand shot out to stop me. “What?” I complained.
“I’ll do it.” A playful smile curled his lips and I played along, letting him adjust my clothes as needed until he crooned, “Perfect,” in my ear.
“Hardly,” I snorted and then the room was filled with the buzz of the tattoo gun. And only the sounds of the tattoo gun. Tats made me squirmy, and they hurt like hell, so I broke the silence to relieve me of the nerves. “Tell me about the relationship the Reckless Bastards have with Roadkill?”
He stilled and the tattoo gun went silent. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know, if you don’t mind telling me.”
He said nothing for a long time and I kept my back to him. When the gun started up again, I had my answer. “We tolerate each other, or at least we used to until recently. When White Boy Craig took over as Prez, shit went crazy over there and they got into some bad shit. We co-existed as much as it was possible but then little things started to happen. A burnt pot field and then teaming up with outsiders to go after one of our women. Now I’d say we’re edging close to war.”
War.
He said the word with such ease for a man who knew the realities of war. I turned, risking a glance because I wanted to see his eyes as he said those words. I needed to see him. The words hadn’t been spoken lightly. War. That’s when I made up my mind.
I told him, “There was another photo. Two more actually. Two FBI agents with a man who looks like a gangster, V. Rizzoli which I’m pretty sure is the VP of Roadkill.”
The gun stopped again and moved away from my skin. “Why tell me this now?”
I sighed and turned away. “I’m choosing to trust you, Jag.”
