"Yeah," I say. "Ol’ lady ink. Adding names below existing club tattoos."
Rook nods. "Let me see what we're working with."
Grace lifts her shirt to show the Shotgun Saints insignia on her left ribs.
The tattoo is clean, professional work—the Shotgun Saints insignia.
A cattle skull with curved horns, two crossed shotguns behind it.
"MC" below, and the club name in Western-style letters above.
Black ink, bold lines, unmistakably theirs.
It's maybe four inches across, sitting perfectly on the curve of her ribs.
"His name below this," Grace says. "Cattle brand style."
I lift my shirt, showing my right ribs. Same insignia, mirror image. "Her name below mine. Same style."
Rook studies both tattoos, nodding appreciatively. "Good work. Who did these?"
"A friend of ours back in Texas."
"Ah, cool." Rook's already pulling out his sketch pad. "This'll look good. Permanent claim. Old school ol’ lady tradition." He glances up at Grace. "You sure about this? Ribs hurt like hell."
Grace nods. "I'm sure."
"All right then." Rook starts sketching. "Give me ten minutes to get the design right, then we'll get started."
While Rook works, Grace sits beside me on the waiting bench.
Her leg bounces nervously, and I put my hand on her knee to still it.
"You don't have to do this," I say quietly.
"Yes, I do." Her voice is firm. "I want your name on me. Want it permanent. Want..." She trails off, then meets my eyes. "I want everyone to know I chose you. That I'm yours by choice, not because someone bought me or arranged it or forced it. My choice."
Fuck. The emotion that slams through me is overwhelming.
"You're really mine," I murmur.
"I'm really yours."
Rook calls us over fifteen minutes later. "Ready?"
Grace goes first.
She's lying on the table, ribs exposed, and I'm sitting in the chair beside her.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough to hold her hand through this.
Rook applies the stencil—my name in rough, cattle-brand style letters positioned perfectly below the Shotgun Saints insignia.
"Check the placement," he says, holding up a mirror.
Grace looks, and I watch her face.
