“That’s all you’re getting for now, ‘cause you got me so fucked out, I may never recover.”
“I don’t believe that.” She sneaks her hand down my chest and circles my half-hard cock.
I cover her hand with mine and bring it back to my chest. “Let’s give him a well-deserved rest.”
“Fine, then you have to tell me about your tats.”
“Yeah?” I search her face, and she looks genuinely interested, so I point to my chest. “This is the one I got when I patched into the Bastards. The one I’m most proud of, the one that means the most to me.”
I tell her about the smaller ones on my arms, mostly done when I was drunk or high, but I leave that part out.
Finally, I get to my shoulder. “This is a gothic compass. It signifies getting through life’s toughest storms, inner guidance, and protection from getting lost again. It means different things to different people, but to me, it means I found my way out, and I have no intentions of goin’ back in. I had it done when I got outta lock-up.”
She silently nods, then, “Lock-up, you mean jail?”
“Nah, prison, babe.” People who’ve never been on the inside confuse the two all the time. “Jail is where you go when you’vebusted up a bar ‘cause you’ve got too much booze in you. Prison is long-term for more serious shit.”
She sucks in a breath, and I’m almost prepared when she asks, “Serious shit?”
“Let’s just say I had some anger issues, and when a cop tried to put me in cuffs, I hauled off and hit him.”
“Okaaaay, so why was he trying to handcuff you?”
“I was hanging with this stripper, and she was giving me a very enthusiastic lap dance when her boyfriend stormed into the club. He started giving her shit and putting hands on her, so I knocked him the fuck out.”
“That sounds chivalrous.”
“Yeah, well, the asshole boyfriend had his crew with him, and it turned into an all-out brawl. Chairs thrown, bottles broken. When the cops tried to cuff me, I was still going strong and not about to give up.”
“How long did you go to prison?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Seems like a long time for a bar fight.”
“Did I forget to mention I ended up putting some of the assholes in the hospital and broke the cop’s nose, while I was high on coke? Plus, I had a shit-ton of priors?”
“I see.” She mashes her lips together, and I’m waiting for her to jump out of bed and throw on her clothes.
Instead, she wraps her arms around me. “You’ve had a lot, but there is one thing.”
Here it comes. The big brush-off. The I-don’t-screw-felons speech.
“Do you still use hard drugs?”
“Fuck no.” I push up on my elbows. “That’s all behind me. Anyway, Smoke doesn’t take on anybody who’s using. None of the bar employees, the strippers, or the men and women who fight in the cage.”
“Women fight in the cage too?”
“Yeah, and they are fierce. They fight under the Royal Harlots, and they’re hooked up with the Bastards. We all use the same gym.”
“Interesting.”
I huff out a laugh. “After the way you shut Gina down, I’m thinking you might be a good addition.”
“Defending myself and staying in shape is one thing, but I’m not interested in getting hit on a regular basis.”
“The object of the game is to not get hit.” I waggle my eyebrows.
