Page 5 of Covert (Ruthless Love #2)

Chapter five

Diesel

I follow Scar's broad back into Ruthless Ink for my appointment. I try not to let pride overwhelm me, but I've put in long, thankless hours for years to earn my MC patch.

The Sinners and Saints have been my family for the past three years.

I'd gotten to know Scar when he'd come into my old man's shop just to shoot the shit.

I don't think my old man was ever a member, but Scar and he were friends.

So, when my dad suddenly passed from a stroke, I knew the only place I wanted to go was there. To become a full-blood member.

I remember watching in awe as Scar and a few of the S&S crew would come by, and I'd watch them from behind an old mustang.

They were happy together. They laughed, drank beer, and smoked cigarettes, and I remember growing up thinking they were just the coolest people on Earth.

Seeing the camaraderie they had was what I wanted as I got older. That sense of belonging and family.

So, I cleaned up vomit from the clubhouse carpet after parties, drove to three different AutoZones to find a part in stock, stayed up for twenty-four-hour shifts as a guard, and did every thankless job a proby like me needed to do to prove my loyalty.

And today it's finally paying off. The ink is the first step.

I'm getting the S&S logo tattooed tonight, and then the patching ceremony tomorrow. I have a few other patchwork tattoos, none of which mean anything, but I left my inner left forearm empty, waiting for the day I earned my ink .

The night is dark behind us, but the tattoo shop is bright and warm.

What I wasn't expecting, though, is the stunning beauty behind the counter.

It isn't Leana. A short woman, about my age, with long black hair that is somewhere between curly and wavy, smiles as we enter.

I'm not too proud to admit that the air I'd been breathing rushes out of my lungs as if it needs to get closer to her the same way I do.

Almond brown eyes squint at the sides in a genuine smile, and my heart somersaults in on itself.

A cute, button nose sits above two of the most plump, kissable lips I've ever seen, and suddenly, I am questioning the loyalty to the Saints and Sinners I've just proven.

If this woman told me to leave with her, I would without hesitation.

I'm not sure there's much I wouldn't do for her. Kill a brother? Move to the moon?

I wipe my sweaty palms on my worn jeans and try to recall if I'm wearing a clean shirt or not. I resist the urge to sniff an armpit.

Her gaze bounces between Scar and me. "Diesel?"

Fuck. My name on her lips has my cock straining against my zipper. I slide behind Scar again and adjust it. Luckily, I'm able to tuck it down one boxer brief leg before Scar wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me forward. He slaps my chest with a thump proudly.

"This is Diesel. He's earned his cut and is getting his club tattoo."

Her smile widens as I frown. What the hell does this angel know about motorcycle gangs?

"That's amazing, Diesel! Congratulations. I'm sure you're proud." She looks at me like she's proud .

Heat creeps up my neck and cheeks all the way to my fucking ears at her praise. Her eyes fall to my cheek, and they shrink even further behind the apples of her cheeks, like she thinks my blush is adorable.

I clear my throat.

I don't want her to think I'm adorable. I want her to think about my head between her thighs.

"I have you with Maddox today. Let me tell him you're here." She slides gracefully off the stool, and I'm gifted with the image of the back of her creamy thighs. Lines creased in them from the stool. Her thighs crawl up into two of the most biteable ass cheeks I've ever seen.

Goddamn.

Scar shakes me again. "You're drooling."

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, causing Scar to laugh louder. My blush deepens. He'd meant figuratively.

I fidget nervously until she comes back and sits back down on the stool.

"He's just finishing cleaning up. He'll be out once he's ready for you," she says with a polite smile. While she's beautiful being polite, I want to see her wrecked. I want to see her under me, pale cheeks flushed red, black hair spread across my pillow.

Scar strides over to the counter and leans against it. "Know much about MCs, little girl?" he asks, a flirt in his mocking tone.

"I know more than you'd think," she says, holding up her Kindle and waving it at Scar for good measure. She's not intimidated by him at all, and I'm a little in awe. "MC smut is one of my favorites."

"Smut? Like those kissing books?"

I lean forward, suddenly needing to know everything. Are the main characters in the smutty books she reads in motorcycle clubs? Does she love that? What does she know about MC life? Is what they write about realistic? Does that mean I have a chance with her?

She chuckles at Scar's reference. "Yep! Love me some kissing books."

"My old lady reads those. Got any recommendations that make the bikers look good?"

"Oh my gosh, where to start!? So many good ones. What are some of the other tropes your wife likes?"

"Uhhh... tropes?"

"Text her and ask!" the new girl says excitedly, and I fall in love with the glimmer in her eye. Fuck, she's cute when she's excited.

Scar pulls out his phone and types away at it.

"Three tear drops?" she asks, not at all shy about it. Maybe she doesn't know the meaning.

I wince. Would she see me differently if she knew what MCs are really like outside of a fictional romance? It's not glamorous. It's not legal. Most of it's not even moral.

"Nikki!" Maddox shouts, coming around the half-wall. She startles and fumbles her Kindle a little. I want to punch his teeth in. He can't fucking yell at her like that. It'll earn me my first teardrop tattoo tonight if this fucker thinks he can get away yelling at her like that.

But Scar doesn't miss a beat, still looking down at his phone. "Yep. Three unfortunate souls met an early end because of me."

Maddox leans into Nikki's space, and I step forward. I'd really like to get this tattoo without bloodshed, but no one is going to speak to her threateningly like that. Not in my presence.

"You don't fucking ask people about that," he growls at her, and I take another step forward.

But instead of cowering or apologizing, she simply ignores the large man.

Instead, she grabs Scar's attention and places four fingers against her own cheek, fingertips where the teardrop tattoos would rest on her, and taps her cheek lightly with a wink.

Scar throws his head back on a full belly laugh.

"God, I like her."

Maddox motions for me to follow him back to his station, his shoulders set with tension. I follow, eager to place some distance between him and Nikki.

Nikki simply hums to herself, noncommittally, tilting her head back and forth, like maybe she's lying, maybe she's not.

Once Scar stops laughing, he takes in her face again. "I can't tell whether you're serious or not."

She kicks her leg out coyly, one ballet flat dangling off of her toe.

"I guess we'll never know," she teases back, and I warm at the way she so effortlessly blends with my family.

I sit in Maddox's chair and place my forearm up on the armrest. He maneuvers into place.

My eyes track back to the front of the shop, watching the back of Nikki's head as she and Scar chat and laugh together.

I want to ask them to turn down the old school rock so I can eavesdrop, but Maddox simply shows me the logo stencil and shaves my forearm to apply it.

"She's not for you," Maddox says, still lining up the stencil the way he wants it. He's done a dozen of these, so this is boring and routine for him.

"Excuse me?" I ask, reluctantly being pulled out of my obsessive staring .

"Nikki. She's not the type of girl for you," he says again, this time glaring at me to my face.

I bristle at the insinuation - that somehow, I'm not good enough for her.

Or that she's too good for me. Which, of course, is fucking true.

I have nothing to offer her. As a patched member, I'll be given a small allowance, and I have my cabin, but that's it.

I can't even provide her with stability.

I'll be on the road whenever the club calls me.

But I can give her everything else - time, attention, affection, pleasure.

If she can settle for that, maybe I'd have a shot.

I can make her so delirious with orgasms she won't notice my poverty.

I'm used to proving myself. I can prove myself to her.

And who the fuck is he to warn me off of her? Does he have plans of his own to make her his? Does he want her to himself, so he's warning me off?

Fuck him.

"Oh, yeah?" I volley back. "And what type of girl is for me?"

"Bad girls. Girls with daddy issues. Strippers. Sweet butts, or whatever you call your club girls."

I flex my fist as he kicks the machine on. He's probably not wrong. Those girls have low expectations and don't care that I don't have a career or money to offer them.

But fuck, I've had to prove myself my entire life. I can prove to him, and her, and the world that I'm worth it. I wrestle with a kernel of a doubt that maybe I'm not.

The bite of the needle in my forearm is a welcome distraction. It blocks out the self-doubt. And I have no desire to continue this conversation over the sound of the machine .

I know I'm not good enough for her, but if she were willing to let me try, I could be.

All I know is that I didn't believe in love at first sight.

I'm not even sure I believed in love at all.

But want at first sight? Need at first sight?

Obsession at first sight? Yeah, that's definitely a thing.

And I learned that the moment my eyes found her.

"How long has she been working here?"

My eyes scan back to the back of Nikki, partially obscured by the half-wall, as if attracted by magnets.

"A week, why?"