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After receiving the words‘You owe me’he had attempted to call Pixie back. Of course, the minx’s phone rang straight to voicemail. Tonight was one of his rare nights off from both business and Club responsibilities. Ink’s plans had included practicing his whip work on some targets in the backyard of his and Hannibal’s house, which they’d bought together a few years ago.
The relationship between Hannibal and him was one people rarely understood. They had met up in the Rangers when Ink had been assigned to be Hannibal’s spotter. The large, over muscled black man from Louisiana had practically adopted him, dragging him home to meet his crazy Cajun family.
Ink hadn’t seen his own parents since he had escaped them at eighteen, and being thrown into the middle of a large close family had been amazing. They had stayed together for the rest of their time in the Rangers and lived through the nightmares of war. Over time, they had grown closer than brothers. Joining the Dark Sons MC together had been a simple decision and now they shared everything from their house, their business, and their women.
A few months ago, their regular hookup, Didi, had moved away for work. Since then, the two of them had been in a bit of a dry spell and that night they had plans to remedy that. The two of them had agreed to meet up at their favorite BDSM club to find a willing woman to share. Depending on what Sharp’s Old Lady wanted, they might still get a few hours at the club. He would have to text Hannibal soon if he was going to have to cancel completely.
Ink pulled into the parking lot of the address, frustration at possibly losing out on a relaxing night souring his mood. From the brightly painted signs on the building, Pixie had summoned him to some sort of gym. The large warehouse didn’t look like it would hold any sort of gym he was used to. It wasn’t a surprise to see one of the Club’s Prospects, Decaf, already parked in front of the building. He would be there on guard duty with at least one Old Lady inside a business they didn’t own.
His mood lifted when he saw Hannibal parked next to him. Ink pulled up next to the two men and shut off his bike.
Ink chuckled and shook his head. “Did the little pickpocket call in a marker with you too, Brother?”
The girl had often conned them into betting for favors. Calling one of those in was the only thing that could explain why Hannibal was here rather than at their business, finishing up the monthly paperwork so they could have a night out for a change. Hopefully, the man had finished before coming here. Ink sighed. When had he become the type of man who worried over paperwork?
He needed to ease up. The night out was now a priority. Ink needed the relaxation working over a willing sub would have given him. To remind him, he wasn’t a buttoned-up businessman.
Hannibal snorted. “You know she did. What do you think the little troublemaker has going on in her head?”
“I don’t know why she called you two. There hasn’t been any trouble.” Decaf shrugged. “But you know when the Old Ladies get together chaos follows.”
Ink couldn’t agree more. “They do keep their men on their toes. No way through but forward.”
The two men nodded in sync to Decaf and swung off their bikes. They fell in step as they approached the warehouse as they always did since the first time they teamed together in the Rangers. War had forged them into a unit, and Ink never wanted that to change. Sometimes he wondered if they would die side by side.
Living and working together was as natural as breathing now. They were a team closer than their other Dark Son Brothers could understand. Together, the two of them owned Dark Ink, their habit of using drawing to pass the time while on deployment, had transitioned into a good business once they were out. Now, business was doing so well that soon the two of them would only need to work a few days a week.
The idea of cutting back was tempting, but what would they fill that time with? Shaking off the dark thoughts, he stepped inside the warehouse.
Hannibal’s low whistle summed up his surprise at the impressive sight in front of him. Large wooden and metal structures filled the cavernous area. Obviously intended for use as obstacles, they ran the length of the building and spanned over foam pits. Covering the walls of the building were outcroppings and handholds that looked like they could be the ultimate mountain climbing set up. There was even a giant trampoline off to the right.
Ink had seen enough of those Warrior competition shows to guess that was the purpose of this place. Rangers did obstacles during their training in the military but nothing quite like this. What had that crazy woman brought them here for?
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Hannibal’s shoulder bumped his, and Ink noticed the group of six women further inside the building.
Four of the Club Old Ladies were looking up and shouting encouragement to Jojo, the crazy drag queen the women had adopted a few months ago. She was high up on one of the mountain-climbing obstacles, reaching out, trying to make it to the top.
Hannibal’s gaze wasn’t on the booty short wearing climber. Holding Jojo’s safety rope was a woman drawn straight out of his fantasies. The harness she wore hugged a heart-shaped ass that should have monuments constructed in its honor. The goddess who owned that perfect anatomy was tiny, but not in the way that made Ink fear she would blow over in a brisk wind. Her dark chestnut hair was swept up into a ponytail, exposing olive skin and a graceful neck that he wanted to nibble.
Her long sleeve t-shirt hid what were probably luscious curves and was tucked into shorts that highlighted her muscular shapely legs and tapered in waist. She had a well-done vine tattoo climbing up her left leg. He traced each tendril of the ink-work with his gaze as it slid under the tight cotton.
For the first time in his life, he was jealous of another tattoo artist. The urge to have her under his needle was almost overwhelming.
Ink shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. “Heaven indeed.”
Hannibal crossed his arms with a small smile. “I don’t know why the little bit called in her marker, but I know I’m not leaving until we get that beauty’s number.”
“What’s the play?” Years of approaching women both together and separately had proven Hannibal was the expert in the art of capturing a woman’s attention.
The two of them were different sides of the coin when it came to their personality. People saw Ink’s country boy looks and Hannibal’s harsher dark features and mistakenly assumed the light and dark of their skin tones matched their desires. Truth was, his Brother from Louisiana was the sensualist, a complete opposite to his own sadistic nature.
Ink hoped Hannibal wasn’t about to suggest they work separately. While occasionally they would be with a woman without sharing, that was for the rare occasions when their tastes did not line up. It was obvious they both desired this gorgeous woman. It was easier to approach women, either at the BDSM club or the Dark Sons Clubhouse. Here, without the safety of knowing the woman was kinky or understood the score, Ink needed to rely on his Brother’s Cajun charm.
“We find out what Pixie wants. Then distract and overwhelm.”
Ink’s step stuttered, and he paused. Hannibal faced him with a grin. Distract and overwhelm was a technique they usually saved for a woman they knew was submissive. Hannibal would charm the woman while he loomed and crowded her. It was his job to throw her into submissive headspace while his Brother lulled her into feeling safe. Ink looked at the woman, and tried to see what signals he had missed. She was vibrant and smiling, not the usual shy bird that needed this sort of approach.
Hannibal’s eyes twinkled. “Look at her inner thighs and back of the knees.”
