Page 11 of Tyson
The image of Thor hauling me over his shoulder through downtown Ironridge made me snort. He'd do it too, the bastard. No sense of propriety when it came to getting his way.
I'll be there. With bells on.
NO BELLS. This is a classy establishment!
I set the phone aside, still smiling. The memorial design waited, Mrs. Chen's grandson's eyes patient and knowing.
The stencil paper stretched smooth under my hands. Each line mattered, each shadow served a purpose. This I could control. This I could perfect.
Maybe I couldn't have what Mandy had. Maybe "Daddy" would always taste like fear and little space would stay locked in guitar cases. Maybe some damages didn't heal, just scarred over enough to function.
But I had this. My art. My shop. My found family of bikers and misfits who'd claimed me as their own.
And on mornings like this, when the wanting hurt worse than usual, that had to be enough.
The transfer paper accepted each line like a promise. By noon, Mrs. Chen would have her memorial. By tonight, another piece of pain transformed into something bearable.
One tattoo at a time. One day at a time. One small rebellion at a time.
My phone buzzed once more. Mandy, of course.
Love you, brat. ??
Love you too, princess.
And I did. Enough to swallow my envy and show up for dress shopping. Enough to smile at her joy even when it reflected my lack of it.
That's what family did.
Chapter 3
Tyson
MarkedKingssatexposedon its corner lot—too many sight lines, glass windows perfect for surveillance. 11 AM exactly. I forced myself to dial back the automatic threat assessment. Combat instincts served me well overseas, but they made me look paranoid in small-town Colorado.
I'd changed out of my usual tactical gear into dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt under my cut. Less military-formal, more approachable. At least that's what I told myself. Truth was, I didn't want to spook Lena by showing up looking like I was ready for a raid.
Through the window, I spotted her bent over a client, and my tactical assessment went straight to hell.
Purple-streaked hair twisted up in a messy bun that exposed the delicate curve of her neck. Black tank top riding up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above low-rise jeans. The way she leaned over the table made her ass look—
Professional. I was here to be professional.
Duke had made it quite clear—Lena was off the menu.
Her tongue poked out slightly, the way it always did when she concentrated. I'd noticed that about her. Noticed too many things about her. Like how she chewed on her lip ring when she was thinking. How her hands moved with absolute precision despite the chaos she cultivated everywhere else. How she smelled like vanilla and ink and most of all, trouble.
She shifted slightly, pushing that perfect ass out and back and—holy crap, I had to look away.
My chest tightened. So did my pants.
Christ. Why did it have to be Lena I had to guard? Woman was dangerously sexy without even trying. With her smart mouth and her bratty attitude and those brown eyes and those sweet, pink lips—
The bell chimed as I pushed through the door, and Tanya waved from the piercing station where she was organizing jewelry.
"Hey Ty! She's finishing up Rudy's phoenix. Should just be a few more minutes."
I nodded.
