She’d insisted on inking him today.It would be the memorial for Maynard, those mismatched eyes rendered in fine lines over Jock’s heart, a symbol of survival.
“Shirt off, big guy,” she said, her voice teasing but soft as she guided him to the chair.
Jock complied, settling in as she transferred the stencil, her fingers tracing his skin with a touch that sent warmth spreading.The buzz of the needle started, a familiar sting he welcomed, her free hand steady on his chest.It wasn’t long before he was in the welcome fog that a tattoo session brought.Floating there in the ether, he could feel the long, deep strokes of the dark lines she was slashing across his skin.He could also feel the heated stillness of the less painful spread of color.
“Looks perfect,” he murmured, watching her work.Maynard’s eyes stared back from the design, blue and brown, fierce yet vulnerable.“Like he’s watching over us.”
Silly glanced up, her eyes meeting his, the show’s energy still buzzing in her smile.“He is.And so are we.For him, for Tank, for each other.”She paused the machine, leaning in to brush a kiss against his lips.
Jock’s heart swelled, the knowledge that he held her love painting a balm across his soul.“Yeah, baby.You, me, the boys—and whatever comes next.You’re my family.”He cupped her face, deepening the kiss, romance blooming amid the ink and quiet domesticity.
But as she resumed tattooing, Jock’s mind flickered to the conversation with Twisted.Which in retrospect sounded even more like a warning than it had at the time.If Calder’s crew had ties to rivals eyeing IMC territory, then this had never been just about a dog and could spill into something bloodier.He pushed it down, focusing on Silly’s touch, but the tension lingered, a shadow hinting at danger ahead.
A truck pulled up outside as she finished bandaging the fresh ink, the engine’s rumble a call to action.It was Ace.
“I’m going to check with him.Maybe he’s got news.”
“Be safe, baby.Come back to us.”
“Always,” he promised, stepping into the dusk, the new tattoo a talisman against the dark.
Chapter Nine
Jock
Jock leaned against the rusted railing around an old warehouse, the salty odor from the nearby docks sharp in the air.The night was heavy, damp clinging to his leather cut, the distant city hum pulsing under his boots.Ace stood nearby, his silhouette stark against the flickering sodium lights as he scanned the shadows.Ever since Calder’s arrest, the two clubs had cooperatively been chasing leads on the Steel Serpents, that damn rival club slithering into IMC and CoBos territory.The disgraced dog fighter might be cooling his heels in a cell, but his behavior had left a trail—one Jock and Ace were determined to follow.
“Calder’s locked up, but the SSMC are still moving,” Ace said, cracking his knuckles.“He was their in, initially, but with him out of the picture, there’s gotta be someone else picking up the slack.”
Jock nodded, jaw tight.Calder had been slippery, cutting deals with the SSMC, trying to flood CoBos and IMC territory with cheap dope and muscle.If the clubs didn’t act, their grip on the region might be questioned by more than the one club.
Jock’s fingers twitched, craving his bike’s throttle, but he steadied himself.“Stay sharp, stay steady,” he whispered, the mantra grounding him against the rising heat in his chest.Something I can see: Ace, angry as I am.Something I can feel: the railing biting into my ass.Something I can hear: the hiss of tires on the nearby highway.
They’d tracked the SSMC to The Bent Anchor, a neutral bar on the edge of town where biker wannabes and lowlifes mingled under a fragile truce.The plan: watch, listen, identify Calder’s replacement.No blood, not yet.Jock adjusted his IMC vest, its weight reassuring on his back, and followed Ace inside.
The bar was a haze of cigarette smoke and stale beer, the jukebox wailing a tired country tune.Eyes darted glances at them, every face hiding something.In a corner booth, two SSMC members sat, cannon fodder, not officers.They were tatted up, lean, and twitchy, their cuts bearing the steampunk coiled snake emblem, their presence a blatant challenge here, deep within IMC territory.No Calder, of course, but the way they leaned in, talking low, screamed business.
