“Yes, honey?”
“I love you, you know that, right?”
“Yes, I know that.” I smiled, reaching up to tug on his beard. “Why?”
He gave me his signature lopsided grin. “Just checkin’.”
I grabbed his arm before he could grab my bags. “I love you too, you know that,right?”
“Yeah, baby, I do know that.” He kissed me quickly, then moved out of my doorway so I could slide out of the car.
“Just checking,” I parroted, and he chuckled.
Grabbing the rest of my things, we headed inside to find organized chaos with Dani leading the charge.
“Hi!” she exclaimed, rushing over to me and pulling me in for a hug. “Maisie said you were going to be bunking down here with us. I’m so glad.”
“Me too. What can we do to help?”
“Well, first of all, here’s a key to apartment four,” she said, handing me a key, then turning and handing Rooster one.
“What, seriously?” I asked. “How did we get so lucky?”
“The officers all voted and agreed if anyone deserved it, you did. We have an extra one for this very reason.”
“Wow, thanks honey.”
“Go ahead and drop off your stuff, then we can figure out what y’all can do to help.” Dani smiled. “Flea already moved your things up there, Rooster.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said.
* * *
Rooster
“Hold still, dammit.” Archer said for the at least the hundredth time.
“I am holding still,” Case grumbled back.
“Then we should duck and cover because we must be in the middle of a fucking earthquake,” Archer said.
“Maybe if you were better with that gun, I wouldn’t wriggle around involuntarily,” Case replied.
“So, you admit that you’re moving.”
“Only because you don’t know how to use that gun.”
“This is not a gun. It’s called a tattoomachine.” Archer scowled. “It’s used to create skin art. A gun is a weapon, designed to kill people.But I’ll happily switch from using one on you to the other if that’s what it’ll take to get you to stop moving.”
“Bro, you may have mad art skills, but your tableside manner needs some serious work.”
Archer and Case were both sons of Dogs of Fire officers and grew up side-by-side. You’d swear they were brothers by the amount of shit they talked to each other. Archer was an amazing artist, and I remember even as a little kid he could draw just about every cartoon character you could name from memory. You could barely get two words out of the kid, but you’d think you were looking at artwork made by someone three times his age. Apparently, his passion for drawing led him to the art of tattooing and he was now two years into a three-year apprenticeship with a celebrated local tattoo artist named Devlin Kimble, who just happened to be the wife of a Burning Saints member named Ropes.
Case, aptly nicknamed as he tended toget on one’scase, was the polar opposite of Archer. He was a loud, boisterous, fun loving jock who seemed to always either be coming from, or headed to, a good time. Archer was currently honing his skills by tattooing a traditional anchor on the back of Case’s right calf. At least he was trying to.
“Dude, we’re almost done. If you’re not gonna sit still, I’ll call the next name on the list,”Archer warned his squirmy client.
We were nearing the end of day-four of our mandatory club lockdown and everyone was looking for new and interesting ways to pass the time, which meant Archer’s book was filled with members and old ladies wanting fresh ink, and I was next in line.
