I roll my eyes heavenward, praying for patience. "You three are worse than a knitting circle of gossiping grandmas, you know that?"
But there's no heat in my words. These women are family—my brothers’ ol’ ladies—and despite my gruff exterior, I'd lay down my life for any of them without hesitation. They've each been through their own version of hell before finding their place with the club, with men who worship the ground they walk on.
"Fine," I grumble, stepping aside. "But no mention of claiming her as an ol’ lady. I haven’t told her yet. And don’t scare her off."
They file in, their eyes scanning the shop until they lock onto the hallway to the back room where I left Aria. I can sense her there, hesitating in the shadows, unsure.
"Aria," I call out, my voice gentler than it's been all morning. "Come meet some friends of mine."
She emerges slowly, like a fawn testing open ground. My t-shirt hangs on her frame, knotted at her waist. Her dark curls are pulled up on top of her head. God, she’s stunning.
The three women go momentarily still, and I see them register the bruises on Aria's face that I'm still itching to avenge. To their credit, not one of them reacts beyond a quick glance between them. They've all seen worse. Hell, some of them have survived worse.
Aria stops a few feet away, uncertainty written all over her face. I move to her side instinctively, my arm drawing her to me in a gesture that's meant to be both reassuring and possessive.
"Aria, these nosy women are Angel, Sophie, and Luna. They're the ol’ ladies of my club brothers."
"Oh," Aria says softly, clearly confused by their enthusiasm. "It's nice to meet you all."
Angel steps forward first, her smile warm. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
Sophie envelops Aria in a gentle hug before she can protest. "We're so excited you're here!"
Luna grins. “We came as soon as we could."
I clear my throat loudly. "Alright, enough. You said something about tattoos? Or was that just an excuse to ambush my shop at the crack of dawn?"
Angel smirks. "Both, actually. Sophie wants some new ink."
Sophie holds out her wrist. "I want something like Angel’s—but a blade with Blade's name worked into it."
Angel shows off her wrist where an intricate design incorporates the word "Ghost" into a spectral image. It's one of my better pieces.
"Fine," I sigh, though I'm secretly pleased. These marks are important in our world—visible claims, permanent declarations of devotion. The fact that Sophie wants one means she and Blade are solid. "Let me sketch something up."
I grab my sketchpad but pause, looking at Aria whose fingers are twitching at her sides—the telltale sign of nerves, but also of an artist itching to create.
"Want to try?" I dig out another pad and hand it to her. "See what you come up with?"
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
I shrug. “Why not?" I nod toward the waiting women. "Show 'em what you can do."
As Aria and I settle in to sketch, the women surround her, chatting away, telling her all about the club and club life like they've known her forever. It strikes me how naturally she fits into their circle, despite her initial reticence.
I love watching her with the other club ol’ ladies, and I love that Aria, while still appearing a little shy, seems very happy that they're so welcoming and friendly with her.
As they continue talking, my mind turns over Aria's situation. Why didn't she go to a friend last night when she fled from her ex? Wouldn’t that have been a better option than breaking into a decrepit old mansion? Does shehaveany friends?Better yet, why not go back home to her uncle? I know who Vincent Carducci is. He was a business rival of my father’s. He always seemed cold and unreachable, but surely he wouldn't condone his niece being battered by her fiancé.Ex-fiancé.
I need answers, but I didn't have the heart to interrogate her at breakfast. Not after what she's been through. But soon, we'll need to talk. I need to know exactly what—and who—I'm up against. And who I need to kill.
"How about something like this?" Aria's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
She holds out her sketchpad to Sophie, whose eyes widen comically.
"Oh my god," Sophie breathes. “It’s…it’s incredible!"
I lean over to look, and even I'm impressed. Aria has designed an elegant dagger with intricate scrollwork flowing along the blade. The name "Blade" is woven seamlessly into the design, visible but subtle—exactly the kind of artwork that translates beautifully to skin.
