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,” Biker added, finally jumping in. He stood and tilted his head at the spot. “That’ll be tender, sweetheart. So you’re an artist?” he asked, and I appreciated the attempt at taking my mind off whatever I just allowed Bishop to indent into my skin—for life.
“Yeah,” I cleared my throat, trying to take my mind out of the pinching pain. The gun stopped and then started again. “I drew for him, his custom pieces. I loved it.”
“Why’d you leave?” I didn’t look at him, because I was too afraid to move.
“Well,” I let out an exhausted breath. “I was running away from this psycho.” Biker crackled out a laugh.
“Ah, I see. I’ll have to check out your work some time.” It turned out, I made a mis-judgment. Big scary biker dude is actually a nice human and not scary at all.
“I’d like that.” Flinching, twenty minutes passed before the gun stopped and Bishop threw off the gloves.
“Oh God, I’m scared.”
“It’s done.” He stood from the chair, looked down at his work, and then a dark smirk crept onto his mouth.
Biker’s lips pinched together, holding in his laughter and I swung my legs off the bed, walking to the full-length mirror that was on the other side of the room.
“Bishop!” I squeaked. His laugh reverberated in the background. Just below my bra line was the letters B V H. Deep breaths. In and out. I twisted my torso, actually liking the placement, and it’s not like he splashed B I S H O P over me in big letters. It was subtle, yet faintly possessive. He came up behind me and my eyes flew to his in the mirror. His strong, tanned muscles against my tiny frame.
His laughing died out when he saw my face. “You like it.”
“I sort of love it.”
He seemed to sober a little, his eyes looking less frantic.
I clapped my hands together. “My turn!”
He froze. “Oh no, nope, fuck off.”
Biker was laughing in the background, and I turned to take the chair Bishop was sitting on. “Behind Blue Eyes” by Limp Bizkit started playing in the close distance, and I nudged my head, a cheesy smile spread on my face. I already knew what I was going to do and I couldn’t wait to see it in person instead of the intricate design being splashed inside my head. Slowly, Bishop started walking to the table, and I leaned into Biker. “He’s had a lot to drink so we might need extra wipes.”
Biker dude’s eyes shot up in shock that I had known that, and then he reached over, grabbing the wipes and handing them to me.
“Guess you’re about to see my work,” I teased, giddy that I was about to leave my mark on Bishop.
Bishop laid back and his eyes came to mine. “Go on then, baby, give me your worst.” Yeah, he was probably hoping I’d do something reckless, but Bishop’s body was a perfectly carved canvas, and I respected art too much to scribble nonsense on him in the name of revenge. Dipping into the ink, I fired up the gun and stretched the skin on the side of his neck. The gun vibrated in my hand, it definitely looked easier than what it was. I totally underestimated artists. Pencils don’t shake. But as soon as the needle struck his neck, it flowed smoothly. My vision became zoned onto the task at hand, and an hour later, I was done.
I sat back, cracking my neck. “Done.”
“Fuck,” Bishop smirked at me.
Biker came in from making himself a coffee and paused when he saw the new ink. “Holy shit.”
“I’m not even surprised, you know I’ll get you back for this, right?” Bishop grunted, getting to his feet and looking a lot more sober than he was a couple hours ago. The time must be pushing close to midnight by now and my weeping muscles would agree with me. Bishop went to the mirror and I watched as his face changed when he took in what I had done. I came up behind him and scanned the crisp new piece. It was a smudged Swan, shaded in a way that made her look silver. She had a crown pressed slightly on top of her head, and shards of broken pieces spraying out everywhere, with a bullet embedded into the metal. It looked peaceful, yet compelling. I was totally taking a photo of this.
“That’s fucking amazing.” His eyes came to mine in the mirror.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“Hey! Just saying,” Biker called out from behind, breaking our contact. “If you ever need a job, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I grinned smugly, but I probably wouldn’t take him up on it.
“Or, if you both just wanna come use my shit, I’m cool with that too.”
My grin turned evil on Bishop, and he chuckled. “Bro, don’t give her any ideas.”
We left not long after that, with Bishop handing him a decent stack of cash. I waited outside for him, after learning that biker dude’s name was Malcolm. My phone started ringing in my pocket, so I reached for it, swiping it unlocked.
“You okay?” Tatum called through the phone.
“Yep! We’re good! Hopefully I can drag his ass home now.”
She chuckled. “Dude, he looked so pissed. Nate is taking me home.”
“He’s there?” I straightened. “Put him on.”
There was muffled silence and then Nate’s voice came through. “Hey, Kitty.” He sounded tired, defeated.
“Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Silence.
“Nate?”
“Yeah, not much, everything is all good. Do you need a ride or anything, since I’m apparently an Uber service.” I could just picture him glaring at Tatum. Poor Tatum. I knew how strong her feelings were for Nate, but unfortunately, his feelings were rooted elsewhere.
“I’m good.”
“You sure?” His tone was suspicious.
“Yeah, I’ll be home later. Maybe.”
“Alright then. Holla if you need me.” Then he hung up. Actually hung up on me.
“Rude,” I muttered, shoving it into my pocket just as Bishop came walking out the door, pulling his shirt over his head. Thank God.
“Home?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes.
“Yeah,” he grunted, suddenly looking tired. He pulled out his phone and sent a text, then looked back to me. “They’ll be here in five.”
“Okay,” I added, my eyes staying on his. I needed to say something. There was so much tension between us, intangible and undiluted tension that I knew the minute we were alone back at his house, hell was going to erupt. He shook his head in disbelief and yanked his eyes away from me, gazing out in front of him.
I went to open my mouth to say something else when the limo pulled up beside us and the back door swung open. Bishop’s smile returned and he slid into the back. I stopped for a second, thinking what the actual fuck I was doing.
“Get in the fucking car, Kitty!”
Guess I was getting in the car.