We spent a few nights together during the week—work took up our days and kept us apart, but the evenings were filled with fucking her raw and leaving no doubt in her mind of my feelings toward her. Saturday she had a wedding to attend that she’d already RSVPed to and couldn’t change.

As I locked up the shop, my phone chimed.

Bear: Get your pussy ass over to the Cowboy. Where the fuck you been, man?

Suzy would be gone until around midnight, and a drink with the guys was in order.

Me: Headed that way, asshole. Save me a seat and you better have a fucking cold beer waiting for me.

Shoving the phone in my pocket, I climbed on the bike and headed toward the Neon Cowboy. Steam rose from the dampened streets as the tires parted the mist. The moonlight flashed through the trees lighting my path. The cool breeze felt good against my flesh as I barreled down the road to hang with my guys.

Walking in the bar, I took in the familiar smell of smoke, the sound of the country guitar, and the murmur of the crowd, and I realized how much I’d missed this place.

“Yo,” Bear yelled, grabbing my attention. “I almost sent a search party looking for your ass,” he said as I approached the table. Tank and the others laughed.

“I’ve been busy, fucker.” A frosty glass sat waiting for me, as I’d hoped it would be.

“Busy nestled between that sweet blonde ass, I assume,” Tank said as he twirled the beer bottle between his fingers.

“You’re just jealous because you gotta pay for your pussy, shithead.”

He shrugged, bringing the bottle to his lips. “Less complicated that way. I just wanna bust a nut without the cuddling and whining.”

“You’re an asshole.” Frisco laughed, slapping Tank on the shoulder, causing the bottle to move from his lips.

“Fucker, you made me spill my beer.”

Frisco covered his mouth with his hand as his eyes turned into small slits. We called him Frisco because he hailed from sunny California and grew up in the San Francisco area. His features were unique—his Chinese mother and American father were both evident in his features. His eyes were almond-shaped and dark, his hair pin straight, cropped at the top, and coal black. He was taller than me, and thin with a slight, muscular build.

“So, City, tell us about the li’l woman? How are things going?” Bear asked.

I leaned back in my chair and rested the beer against my knee. “Fucking perfect.”

“You’re serious about this one?” He raised an eyebrow and studied me.

Everyone at the table stopped, turning their attention to me. “Serious as a motherfuckin’ heart attack.” I sipped my beer, looking at their faces. Frisco smiled, Bear’s mouth hung open, and Tank scowled. “What?” I said, moving the bottle from my lips.

“Didn’t think I’d see the fucking day, dude,” Bear said with a sappy grin.

“She’s too pretty to be with your loser ass,” Tank piped in before I could speak.

“Fuck off, Tank.”

“I’m happy for you, man. This calls for another round.” Tank raised his fingers to his lips and whistled. He was so crass, but the girl always ran when she heard him call. “Another round, sweet cheeks,” he said as he patted her on the bottom.

“Hey, City. Nice to finally have a gentleman back in here.” She winked at me before turning her attention back to Tank. “Anything for you, handsome?” she said, running her fingers down the side of Tank’s face. He blushed as he placed his order.

“You know your ass would give up this shithole for a piece of that every night,” I said to Tank as he watched her ass swaying in her Daisy Dukes as she walked toward the bar.

“Won’t deny that shit.” He laughed before slapping the table roughly, causing all the bottles to jump.

We talked for hours about motorcycles, tattoos, women, and, of course, the bar. The guys filled me in on the events of the last week. It was always the same old bullshit—bar fights, hook-ups, and booze. The town was so small that everyone knew each other’s business, and word spread like wildfire.

“Fuck,” Bear hissed. “Speaking of bitches, Kaylee was in here looking for your ass.”

“What the fuck? When?” I gripped the bottle in my hand, trying to control my anger.

“Last night. Mumbling some bullshit about how she was yours. Spreading that shit around here like it was the gospel. I told her to fuck off,” Bear said, leaning back like he was about to beat on his chest.

“She’s a fucking train wreck. Stuck my dick in her twice and she won’t let me fucking forget it. I’ll set her ass straight, unless one of you boys wants to take her off my hands?” I looked around the table and waited for someone to accept.

“Fuck no, that bitch makes my skin crawl. Hate clingy women,” Frisco said, shaking his head.

“My dick, my problem,” I said, feeling the phone vibrate in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glanced at the screen under the table.

Suzy: Drunk and tired. Sophia’s taking me home, but you’re welcome to join me.

“Ball and chain wrangling your ass in?” Tank asked.

“Such a ball buster. It’s late and I worked all day. I’m heading home. Thanks for the drink, Bear.” I shook his hand and turned to Frisco. “Good to see you again, buddy. Tank, it’s been real.”

“Whipped,” Tank mumbled as I stood to leave.

I left the guys to end the evening how they always did. Bitching about life and women. Thankful that my night wouldn’t end like it had for countless years, I sent Suzy a text.

Me: Leave the door unlocked. I’ll meet you in bed.

When I arrived, Suzy was half dressed and passed out across the bed. Her mouth hung open, hair was half covering her face, and her dress was halfway off, exposing her breasts. It took everything in me not to snap a picture of her and remind her of it later, but I didn’t want to be a dick.

“Wake up, sugar.” I grabbed her leg, pulling her body down the bed. She mumbled but didn’t wake. I pulled the hem of her dress, removing the clingy material. I rarely had the ability to just stare at her body without her trying to cover her skin. I stood and looked at her—white skin, perky breasts, and long, muscular legs. She was a vision.

Gathering her in my arms, I placed her head on the pillow before I removed my clothes and climbed in next to her.

“City,” she muttered as she shimmied her ass into my dick.

“Fuck.” I sighed. My cock throbbed from the warmth of her soft cheeks rubbing against it. “Go back to sleep, sugar.” I pulled her tighter, burying my face in her hair before drifting off to sleep to her soft snores.

“How’s the shop doing?” my father asked as we sat around the dining room table. Today was gnocchi, and it always sat in my gut like a ton of fucking bricks.

“We’re doing good, Pop. We’re turning a profit and we’re constantly booked when I can get everyone to show up for work,” Mike said before shoveling in a heaping forkful of gnocchi.

“Mike, you aren’t always there either, so don’t be a martyr and skip the bullshit.” Anthony pointed his fork at Mikey before stabbing the gnocchi on his plate.

“We all have other shit to do. The shop is for fun and to have something of our own, so get off our damn backs, Mike. You aren’t the boss,’” Izzy said emphasizing the word to sound like a great big “fuck you.” “You just aren’t an artist like the rest of us.” She picked up the wine glass and brought it to her lips to hide her smile. Izzy always had been a spitfire.

My mother and father sat at the opposite ends of the table and exchanged looks as my siblings had a war of words. As children, we battled with our fists and usually one of us ended up bloodied, but now we used our mouths. Sometimes words leave a greater mark than any punch ever could.

“I’m every bit an artist as you are, baby sister. I just prefer to use my hands for other things. I may not draw pretty pictures, but I can pierce anything and knock a bastard on their ass in a single punch.”

My father cleared his throat. “Is the shop too much?” he asked.

I needed to speak up. The shop was doing great and we all got along. Sundays often made us crabby because we wanted to do anything but be trapped in this house. A one-weekend reprieve would be fucking mind-blowing—and a totally bullshit improbability. “Pop, the shop’s great. We’re packed. Everyone shows up on the days they have appointments. I’m there more than anyone and I know the business the best. Mike may organize shit, but I know what happens inside the walls of Inked.” I soaked my garlic bread in my mother’s homemade sauce, which had spread out around my plate. “We need to keep ourselves busy during the day, and the shop has more than done that.”

“Good, son. I’m proud of all of you. You could be sitting on your asses at home, but you’re business owners and successful—not to mention your other hobbies.” Oh fuck. Everyone hated to have their true passions and dream careers referred to as a “hobby.”

I heard forks drop to the table and clatter off the dishes. Such drama queens in this goddamn room.

“Sorry about that. It’s not what I meant.” My father looked down at his plate, concentrating on his food, but I could see the smile on his face. He loved a good punch to the gut and ego whenever possible.

“I have a big fight coming up after the first of the year,” Mikey piped in, to show my dad how far he’d risen.

“Around here?”

“New York. I got the call yesterday. I’ve been training for months for this opportunity.”

“That’s fantastic, son. Wish your mother and I could see it.”

My mother looked green at the thought of her son being in a closed ring beating the piss out of someone—or getting the shit beat out of him. I’d put my money on Mikey in any fight, but I know my mother still thought of him as her baby. Fuck, we were all her babies.

“Michael, why can’t you be like your brother? Go into music or something without violence and bloodshed?” She dabbed her lips with her napkin and then placed it on the table.

“Ma, I’m great at it and I love it. It’s my dream to be a well-known ass kicker.”

Pop reached over and slapped him on the back. I was surprised he didn’t start beating on his chest at how proud he was of his ass-kicking son.

“I just don’t like the whole idea. Become a musician or something else.”

“Tone deaf,” Mikey mumbled as he placed more food in his mouth.

My mother sighed and fidgeted with her fork on the table. “I was fine with it when I thought it was just a hobby or a passing phase, but now, I’m scared for you, Michael.”

“No worries, Ma. I got this shit. You’ll see.” He grinned at her and flexed his muscles. “It’s going to be on pay-per-view, so you’ll be able to watch, Pop. I’m not the headliner, but they show all the opening fights before the main event.”

“I’ll have to have the guys over to watch my son kick some ass.”

I rolled my eyes and hoped someone would change the conversation.

“Anyone talk to Thomas this week?” Mom asked.

Not the topic I would’ve liked, but anything to not hear about Mr. Badass and his upcoming match.

“I did, Ma, he texted me. It’s hard for him to call with work,” Anthony said.

She sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I worry most about him. He’s in such danger every day, and I don’t like him being so far away. I need all my children around this table every week.”

I could see the pain on her face. She worried about my brother. He’d been an undercover cop for the last year. He was trying to infiltrate a motorcycle group notorious in Florida for drug trafficking and gun smuggling. He rarely called or texted in order to keep his cover, otherwise his life would end.

Why the fuck my brother risked his life was beyond me. It’s one thing to work the streets every day walking a beat, but to go undercover and be discovered was something cops rarely fucking came back from. If something happened to him, my mother would never recover. Tommy had always been an adrenaline junkie, but this was extreme. Jump off a fucking bridge or skydive like normal people; don’t risk being shot in the fucking head when they realize you’re there to help bring them down.

“He said he’s fine, Ma. He said not to worry and he’s well and living the life. You know, Tommy would have made a great actor. He can bullshit the best of them.” Izzy always tried to console my mother about Tommy’s work, but it was always there—the worry. We all felt it like a ton of bricks, waiting for the phone call that he was missing, but thankfully it hadn’t happened.

“I know, baby girl.” My mom smiled at Izzy. “He could always charm the ladies.”

“Speaking of charmer, Ma, Joey’s girl was at the shop yesterday and I missed it.” Izzy pouted and winked at me. She knew she’d just thrown me under the goddamn bus, and my mom would have a shitload of questions…again.

“Still seeing her, Joseph?” Her face lit up. I knew she was already picking out the baby names, but fucking hell, I wasn’t ready for that shit.

“Yes, Ma.” I hated talking about this shit with anyone, especially my mother.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

I sighed, wanting to reach over and choke that shit-eatin’ grin off Izzy’s face. “Yes.”

“Don’t chase her away because she isn’t Joni. You hear me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“I met her, Ma.” Fucking Mikey.

“What’s she like, Michael?” My mom knew she wasn’t going to get much more out of me than she had last week in the kitchen. She knew to ask the blabbermouth of the group.

“She’s beautiful and deserves so much better than that punk.” His head moved in my direction, and I wanted to bitch-slap him.

“Better as in you, Mikey?” I eyed him.

“Calm down, bro. She’s a nice girl, Ma. Reminds me a bit of Joni. Innocent, and her laughter is infectious. You’ll like her.” He grinned at me.

What a fucking asshole.

“You’ll have to bring her for Sunday dinner soon, Joseph.” Exactly what I didn’t want to do. I didn’t want her to be around my crazy-ass siblings, especially Izzy. Iz was dying for another girl, since the testosterone to estrogen level was off balance.

“Maybe soon. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“The holidays are coming up. Christmas, maybe. Is she a Catholic girl?”

Already planning the wedding ceremony. Religion weighed heavily in an Italian family—christenings, baptisms, weddings…everything seemed to revolve around the church.

“Ma, you haven’t been to church in years,” I said flatly.

“I know, but it’s still important. It makes life easier. Is she Italian?”

“I never asked.” I grabbed my plate and headed for the kitchen. I could hear the giggles from the table as my mother and sister always liked to rag on me most of all. No one was in a relationship in the group, but for some reason I was always the target.

I didn’t know where Suzy and I stood and what the future held for us. She was always so wrapped up in her fucking thoughts and second-guessing our relationship. She couldn’t get beyond the tattooed façade and the beat-up shack I called home. I needed to know that I was enough for her. I wanted to be liked for me—the good, bad, and the ugly.