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It’s only then that I take in the scene in front of me. She’s working on a tattoo on the inner thigh of one of our three club bunnies. I think it’s Suck, though I have a hard time telling her apart from Slap.
Slap, Tickle, and Suck are what we call these three club bunnies. Those aren’t their real names, obviously. Their real names are Sadie, Tracey, and Suzy, I think. But no one ever calls them by those names. They got their nicknames for their specialties, if you know what I mean. All three of them are busty, blond, and look so much alike that it’s tough to tell one from the other. So, it just makes sense to think of them all three as kind of one package. (Which they have been for me, on more than one occasion.) They don’t seem to mind it.
I apologize to my sister, and she shrugs and turns back to what she’s doing. ““Sorry, G. Didn’t mean to startle you. What’s up, ladies?”
Slap — or is it Suck? gives me a wide, big-toothed smile. “We’re getting matching tattoos!” The other two giggle.
“Yeah? What of?”
Tickle stands and carefully pulls down the low collar of her tank top to reveal a freshly-wrapped tattoo done right over her left tit. I peer at the design under the transparent plastic: it’s a small skull with barbed-wire and roses around it, and the words “Bikers Do It Better.”
“Nice.” I look over at Suck, then down at her thigh. “So you’re getting the same thing?”
“Uh-huh,” she says happily. “And Sadie’s doing hers on her ass!”
“Very classy, ladies.” Well, I guess if nothing else, the placement of the tattoos will help to tell them apart. At least when they’re naked, that is.
Someone clears his throat behind me. “Well well well… to what do we owe this dubious honor?” he drawls.
“Oh, great,” Gigi mutters under her breath. I can almost feel her eyes rolling back in her head, and I choke back a laugh.
Mack steps up next to me and takes in the scene, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know, Gigi,” he continues, “I ain’t exactly an expert on tattoo artistry, but this doesn’t really seem like a very sterile environment for you to work in.”
Not even looking up, Gigi raises her arm and casually flips him the bird. “Didn’t ask you, Maxwell. Besides, I have supplies I carry with me to sterilize the setting. But you know, thanks for making sure I thought of everything with my defective lady brain.”
My kid sister and my best friend, it should be noted, do not exactly get along.
“Just as pleasant as ever, I see,” Mack says drily and turns to me. “Your sister is always such a joy to be around, Fury. I swear, it’s a damn mystery to me why it is she can’t seem to get a man to save her life.”
“Geta man?” Gigi snorts. “You mean a man like you? Jesus, no thank you. The last damn thing I need in my life is a man who expects me to act like a Barbie doll and bow down to his supposedly superior intellectual skills. Hate to break it to you, dumbshit, but your opinion on what I should act like is about as welcome as a roll of forty-grit sandpaper to wipe my ass.”
Slap, Tickle, and Suck break out in a simultaneous chorus ofoooooos. They glance at me in shock, but I just shrug. I can’t think of any other woman — or man, for that matter — who would dare talk to Mack that way. But Gigi has always been supremely unafraid of him.
“I’m just trying to help you out, Cupcake,” Mack offers.
“Eat glass,” Gigi retorts.
“We’re getting matching tattoos!” Tickle tells Mack nervously, looking back and forth between him and Gigi.
“Yeah!” Suck says in a throaty voice from her perch on the couch. She flutters her eyes at Mack. “‘Bikers do it better.’”
“We do indeed,” Mack says sagely.
Gigi lets out a loud bark of laughter. “Yeah, right.”
“Well, as fun as this little encounter has been,” Mack continues, unruffled, “it’s about time for church.” He nods in the direction of the chapel, where other Royal Bastards are already heading inside. “Delightful to see you as always, Gigi.”
Gigi just grunts.
Shaking my head in amusement, I follow Mack and file into the chapel with the rest of my brothers. Magnus and Norse are already inside, as is Money, our Secretary. We all take our seats, and the others come in behind us. The last man in closes the heavy door, and church is in session.
Magnus calls us to order without delay. The main order of business today is an upcoming shipment run to Canada. Guns are the main business of our chapter — more specifically, smuggling across the northern border, into Manitoba. There’s increasing demand up in Canada for firearms, and the Royal Bastards are more than happy to provide. Since we share a border with our neighbor to the north, we do runs up there year-round — even in winter, when we use the extreme weather conditions to our advantage to avoid detection by the law.
“The Omaha chapter is sending up some parts to us,” Magnus is telling us. “Some materials that our contact up in Winnipeg has been asking for that’ve been hard for them to get. Gonna need a few of you to go on the run.”
“What kind of product are we moving up to them this time?” Mack asks.
“Our contact has requested ghost gun kits,” Norse answers. “And we’ve got some AR-15s earmarked for them that they want the serial numbers filed off.”
