I nodded and took another swig of whiskey. “As long as it ain’t one of those predator aliens on the end of my cock, you can go wild. Just hurry up because I’m fucking tired.”
“Damn, that was absolutely where my mind was going too.” He pulled on some gloves and the drunkenness fell away from him like crumbling rock. He looked wide awake now, and eager to get going. Tattooing and riding were the two places where he truly came alive.
“Seriously though, I know just what I want to do,” he said, and started up the machine.
I pressed my back into the chair.
“I’m going freehand. I prefer it that way.”
“Risky,” I replied, not really giving a shit. I just wanted the pain of the needle against my skin and to forget about shit for a while. Forget about the demons that were waiting for me when I closed my eyes, and the beauty that I had walked away from last night.
“Nah, I’mthatgood, brother. You’re in safe hands.”
The buzz from the machine sounded out and Sketch leaned forward, the tip of the needle scraping against my skin. Yeah, I nodded; this had been just what I needed.
*
Two hours later and Sketch was done with the wings jutting out from my hip bones. I looked down with bleary eyes. They looked good. Not sure what the fuck they were supposed to mean, or represented, but I liked them. I especially liked the burning vibrating through my bones though. Now I was the one who felt fucking alive.
He sat back up and wiped away the blood before examining the tattoos. “You shouldn’t be drinking while I’m tatting you. Makes you bleed more,” he grumbled. “Makes my work look like shit.”
“Only way it’s happening,” I bit out. “Besides, these wings or whatever look good, so stop complaining. We done?” He nodded yes, and I stood up on unsteady feet, more than ready to finish off the bottle and pass out. “Wrap it and let me out of here. All this white keeps making me think I’m in heaven.”
He chuckled darkly. “Couldn’t be further from the truth, brother.”
I grunted in agreement and he wrapped my tattoo. I left his room and headed toward my own, unlocking the door and going inside. I closed it behind me, stripped out of my sweaty clothes, and fell backwards onto my bed, bottle in hand.
I finished off most of the whiskey before passing out in the hopes of keeping the screaming at bay. I stayed there for the rest of the morning, only waking when a loud banging came on my door.
~ 10 ~
“Time to go, Dillon!” a bellowing voice called through my door.
I cracked open my eyes and let the world come back into focus, the distant echo of my mother’s cries still banging around in my skull. The knocking came again and I forced myself to sit up, pushing down the sickly feeling in my gut.
“I’m up. Gimme five,” I called as the hammering started up again.
“You got two,” the voice called back.
“All right.” I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and swallowed a mouthful of it before carrying it with me to the bathroom. I swilled my mouth out with the whiskey, rinsing it around my teeth before spitting it out into the sink. I put the bottle down and took a piss before heading back into my small room and looking around for my shirt.
I frowned when I couldn’t find it and instead rooted through the dirty pile in the corner and grabbed a different one before heading out, locking my door as I left. The club was noisy now, with only a few people still passed out. But with the noise of people coming and going, even they were beginning to wake up. Women were pulling on dresses and grabbing shoes as they headed back out the door, no doubt only to return that night or for some other party. That’s one of the things that had surprised me about that place the most: the women. They didn’t care. In their ambition to hook a biker for their own, they fucked anything and anyone, they took it any which way, and then moved on to the next man once it didn’t work out. Of course, some of the women were there just for fun, but most had a plan. The sad thing was, none of those women were old lady material, yet they didn’t see that.
A beautiful woman with smudged mascara and a mane of thick dark hair winked at me on her way out and I grinned. She held her shoes—red heels that must have been six inches high—in one hand and smoothed down her creased dress. “Laters, boys.”
“Keep it in your pants, we got business to take care of,” Hammer said, slapping my shoulder. “You ready to go?”
“Always.” I nodded.
“Bull’s in his office finishing up with Hardy and his boys. We’re rollin’ out as soon as he’s done.”
“What’s on the cards?” I asked, leaning against the bar and looking over at Bull’s office. The blinds were open and I watched Bull and Hardy stand and shake hands before heading to the door, followed by Wolf and what I presumed was Hardy’s VP—a white-haired man who seemed to see everything and everyone. His gaze caught mine the second he left the office and he gave me a quick nod.
“Cuttin’ off a snake’s head today, right before we get you cleaned up,” Hammer replied.
I turned to him. “Cleaned up?”
“You’re fighting tomorrow. Hardy’s got it booked already. You’re not a headline, but we’re all still in line to make a lot of money from you.” Hammer moved his dark hair back from his face. It was long, but not long enough to tie back yet and it was obvious it was beginning to piss him off.
