Sarin

Air conditioning was a godsend. Cool blasts of air trickled over the front desk where I sat in my cozy padded chair, my drawing pad perched on my lap as "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC streamed through the sound system in the small shop. Through the walls and over the hum of the tattoo guns was the distinct clanging of metal tools. Around lunch time, a few prospects would filter into the shop from next door, looking to snatch up whatever was left of the pizza Tiny had ordered. It was Friday, and Tiny always ordered pizza on Fridays.

The door chimed as a large man covered in wall-to-wall tattoos headed in, and the minute it opened, the hot breaths of Mother Nature swept into the cool shop and slapped me square in the face, reminding me just how brutal this July day was. Rather than sweat like a turkey saying their final prayers in the oven, I preferred to spend my long summer days sheltered away from the heat, tucked away in the shop where I'd worked full-time since graduating Junior College with my AA degree in Art.

I looked up at the shop's newcomer and smiled. "Hey, Gator. You here for Digger?"

"Yeah. Gettin' my knuckles retouched. Can I go back, Beauty?" he asked with a flirty wink.

I successfully hid the cringe because I absolutely hated when the dudes who frequented the shop called me that. It was a childhood nickname that derived from my dad being "Beast" Heyman. People across the county knew who I was the minute they laid eyes on me simply because of him. A running joke since the time I wore frilly pink dresses as a kid, people called me the little Beauty to his Beast. I used to think it was charming until I learned quickly that happy endings were a load of crap.

I yelled over my shoulder, "Digger, your appointment's here!"

After a few awkward moments, Digger sauntered over to the front desk. His wild shoulder-length, sandy blonde hair was stringy from the humidity outside, and he tried in vain to brush it out of his face.

"Head on back, Gator." He waved in the direction of his set-up before directing his attention back on me. "You got some time after your next client to finish my ink? I wanna get my back piece done before the heat really picks up."

"Yeah, I got time. Doing a club ink for Paco's old lady. Easy peasy lemon squeezy if you ask me. I could spit out brands in my sleep," I replied, not looking up as I finished the shading on the intricate skull drawing with the series of serpents twisting around it.

"Sounds good, Sarin." He paused as he looked over my shoulder at my art tablet. "Shitfire girl, that's a beaut. Maybe I should have you ink that on the empty spot on my chest."

I looked up with an appreciative smile, but he glanced away after a brief lingering moment, and all I could muster was an inward sigh. I knew Digger was interested, a lot of guys were, but when you rode with the Assassins, you learned quickly that the Prez's daughter was forbidden territory. Digger might've been a full-patched member, but unless Daddy Dearest gave his blessing, it would mean his fingers if he tried to make a move. And truth be told, I was more interested in his inking talents than I was in him.

When he reluctantly turned to head to his station, I set down my art tablet. "I'm gonna head next door before Red gets here."

"Cool. I'll have Tiny catch the phones till you get back," Digger replied as he started gathering his supplies.

When the warm air hit my face, I cringed. Heavy and humid wasn't the greeting I wanted. Growing up, summers in North Carolina were always something I looked forward to, and ever since I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to spend my summer days on some crowded beach with the waves slapping against my feet. When I got older, those desires started to change, especially when I realized just how miserable summers could be around these parts.

Northridge, however, had one redeeming quality when the endless oven of summer hit: we were right on the bay. So, the humid subtropical weather was broken up by moments when the cool air from the ocean would sweep in and give you a temporary reprieve from being cooked.

Wiping my forehead, I strolled the few feet to the large steel bay doors next door. The big metal Heyman Customs sign, occasionally clanked against the steel beam it was attached to. Underneath, a smaller sign bore the logo for the Nightmare Assassins Motorcycle Club; it was the same insignia that sat underneath the sign for Flesh & Ink, where I was an artist.

There were several businesses in town that bore our logo. There were the two strip clubs, The Pink Kitten and Liquid Fetishes, on the outskirts of town; Infamous Auto Parts & Repair downtown; our weed grow house, The Brass Pipe; and Queen Bee's, the hair salon and massage parlor that my mother operated.

"Hey, Princess." My dad stepped out of the shop office and leaned against the doorframe. His hulking six feet, seven inches towered over everyone in the work bay, a massive Poseidon standing watch over his kingdom—just without a powerful trident. His long dark hair was pulled back into a bun with a rolled crimson bandana headband to keep the stray strands from escaping wildly while he worked. He meticulously wiped his hands on the old red rag in his grip and stared in my direction with eyes the color of fresh pine needles.

A loud clamor towards the front of the shop was followed by Wolf's pissed off string of curses, causing my dad to scowl. The shop fell to the silence when my dad's unruly left eyebrow, the one with the thick scar, twitched.

"Just breathe, Daddy," I joked.

Wolf yelled, "Sorry, Prez. That new custom rolled off the stand 'cause Winkler didn't set it up right. Fuckin' prospects can't do shit."

When my dad's eyebrow quirked further, I threw my hands in the air dramatically. "Well, that's my cue to leave! I'm gonna head to The Grinder for a cup. Any of you guys want iced coffee?" I yelled across the shop, and several raised their hands.

"Thanks, Princess. Grab some grub for me while there. Turkey club, no—"

"Yep, no mayo like always, Daddy. You know it's Friday?"

"I'm well aware it's Tiny's pizza day. That's why you're gonna grab me a bite at the coffee place."

"Suit yourself. You're just bitter there's no pineapple making an appearance," I teased.

He laughed, and several of the guys stared. You didn't get a rep in the outlaw world for being warm and fuzzy. You also didn't get the road name Beast because you had an animalistic personality; you got it because you loved to beat men to death like a gorilla on a rampage.

"I'll have you know that pineapple's a valid toppin'." He dug into his pocket and handed me a crumpled hundred dollar bill. "Take a prospect with you."

"I don't need a babysitter"

He sighed in annoyance. "Then make him carry all your shit! I don't care what he does at this point. Make him crawl behind you pickin' flowers for fuck's sake. Just take a prospect...please, Sarin."

I cocked my head suspiciously. "What's going on, Dad?"

His reply was the standard: "Club biz."

"Bullshit!" I laughed. "You might be able to pull the 'club biz' card on Mom, but if I'm gonna agree to listen to Shelby's damn stories about his time in Georgia or Winkler clearing his throat every thirty seconds, you're gonna at least plant a tad more information into my ear." I stood my ground, hands on my hips.

He lowered his voice and leaned in close to avoid the ever-prying ears that lurked in the garage. "Fuck, fine, but this stays between us, Princess. The ROB's been spotted around town lately, scopin' out different locations. Not sure why they think they can move into our home turf when Assassins and those mangy Devils have the territory on lockdown. But I don't trust Dragon and definitely don't want you out alone."

My hands slid from my hips as I saw a hint of concern in his otherwise hard eyes.

The Riders of Burden had been a small-time motorcycle club until recently. A ninety-nine percenters' club under their old president, once his son, Dragon, took over the reins violently, he did everything in his power to compete with the one percenters around.

I tried my best to reassure, more myself than him. "Dragon's a worm. He doesn't have the manpower nor the balls to move against the Assassins. Shit. He doesn't have the balls to move against the Devils." I shook my head. "It's common knowledge that Grandpa locked down the gun trade in this area, and the Devils have their drugs in the bag. Even the gangsters that have tried to move in on the territory have gotten a rude awakening. But I'll take Shelby," I agreed with a reluctant sigh. "I'll deal with some more Georgia stories for the day. Don't worry, Dad; you're Beast for a reason, and they sure as hell don't call Barrett James 'Rotten' because of his sour personality."

I cringed when I mentioned Levi's father. Whenever the James name escaped my lips, it only caused the old wounds of Levi leaving to fester underneath the never quite healed scabs of time. Even four years hadn't been enough time.

My dad whistled loudly, and Shelby came through from the front. "Head out with Princess."

"Got it, Prez," he said with a compliant nod.

I shook my head as I headed back out into the heat of the day and down the sidewalk to the coffee shop.

"So uh, been on any good dates lately?" Shelby asked in his thicker Georgia accent.

"No." I laughed. "But you all know that already, don't you? Doesn't everyone in the club know when someone as much as bats an eyelash in my direction?"

"Well...yeah. I guess so. Digger's nice, though."

I laughed again. "Sure." I looked over at him with arched eyebrows. "Clearly you don't know my dad's rules for dating yet. They're simple: date a towner or Sarge, and well, Sarge is not only sixteen years older than me, but he's tied to Lydia."

"Oh." Shelby rubbed the back of his neck.

"My dad's not ever gonna agree to me shacking up with a random member, so that leaves boys from town, and we both know that citizens don't have the chops for the life or me."

"You saying you're difficult?" Shelby tried to joke, and I shrugged.

"More often than not. I've got a sassy mouth and have no problem backing it up. Goes with being tied to the club by blood."

Shelby just nodded as we continued the rest of the walk in silence. I exhaled deeply as those words ran through my head: tied by blood. My connections weren't by oath like most riders, and it was the only life I'd ever known. Hell, I wouldn't even know how to be normal if I tried. If I were a boy, I'd have my bottom rocker by now and be groomed to someday take over for my dad...and drive those mangey Devils inland.

"If I never see another Devil again in all my life," I mumbled under my breath. But when you lived in Northridge, Devils were like annoying seagulls—they turned up everywhere.

The door to The Grinder swung open as I reached for the handle, and I jumped back to avoid being smacked in the face. Blood red patches caused a snarl to form on my face, and the bold Vice President patch that sat opposite his diamond-shaped 1% patch and the corresponding winking devil only made my nose curl up in disgust.

"Well, well, well. My horoscope told me that today the world would land at my fingertips. Didn't realize that she'd also gift me a sweet treat," the deep and sultry voice of Jacko James rang in my ears. He ran his free hand through his thick styled hair, cleanly clipped around the sides and swooping at the top. When his hand descended down his chiseled jawline, lined with dark stubble, a large frontal curl fell down onto his forehead.

His thin but muscular body inched closer until he towered over me, and his deep navy eyes twinkled deviously with what could only be sheer smugness.

"I'd like to get through, Jacko," I said with disdain.

"My, my, I don't even get a please, beautiful? I'd love to hear you beg." He smirked as he lifted his cup of coffee to his full lips.

I contemplated slapping the bottom of his cup and watching him take a coffee bath.

"I don't beg Devils. Not my style," I responded with a shrug.

Shelby cleared his throat behind me and took a step forward. Jacko snarled at him. "Prospect Pussy got somethin' he wants to add? I haven't been fishin' in years. Maybe it's time I reacquainted myself with my guttin' skills."

"You threaten my prospect again, Jacko, and maybe there will be some begging." I stepped closer and leveled my hand close to his manhood before I looked up with a saccharine smile. "Now move the fuck outta my way before I make it so you never carry on your bloodline." I teased my fingers in the air as an indication that I wasn't above twisting something.

He grinned but moved to the right. "I like my future wives feisty. Makes it fun when they squeal and fight."

I sarcastically laughed as I entered the coffee shop. "Go play with your dick, Jacko, 'cause I'll never touch a James boy again in my life. Mark my words on that one."

His boisterous laugh rang out as I entered the noisy coffee shop. "Sure are a sweet piece of pie, beautiful. You'll eventually eat your words...'specially when you catch wind of your surprise."

I ignored his comment because there was nothing that could surprise me anymore. Not since the night I came to my senses and ran across town to see Levi, only to find out that the newly patched Devil had left town. I'd live for the day when something actually surprised me.