The burn of the tattoo gun was one I appreciated. I wasn’t a masochist, but there was always something fucking sensational about getting inked, and when Ink was behind the gun? You knew you were about to get good shit.
The rules of induction into the MC were that you wore your cut at all times unless you were in a cage, because that was just disrespecting your cut. When you became a prospect, your name would slowly morph into a road name, one that your brothers usually picked. You got the Hell’s Rebels’ insignia tattooed on your body somewhere—it was a hog-riding skeleton who flipped the world the bird—and finally, you picked a sigil that matched your road name and had that inked on you as well.
I wore my insignia on my throat, and I wore my sigil all the way up my left arm and along my abdomen—a wall of flames.
I’d liked to have said that being in a one-percenter MC meant there were no rules, but fuck, this wasn’t chaos. We were a brotherhood, well established, and one that was geared to making a nice and tidy profit on our ventures. But those rules, aside from any dictates that came from the council, covered almost all of them.
Except one.
If you took an old lady, that meant something. It was more than being married, more than even becoming a father. That old lady took your sigil when she became yours, and through that link, if you were ever killed or tossed in jail, the MC would protect her.
She took your sigil. You took her name on your body.
A simple exchange.
As I lay here, Lucifer was being etched across my chest. I should have gotten this years ago. Whether she was here or not, she’d been mine since she was seventeen, and I’d done her a disservice by not wearing her name on my body. I wore it on my fucking heart, so why not on my chest too?
We were onto the ‘R’ now, and my skin was stinging slightly but I liked the burn. Loved the way it sent endorphins winging around my system like I was on coke. Fuck, it was a cheaper and safer high than blow too.
Lucie’s hand was tucked firmly in mine as she laughed with the others. Axe and Wolfe wore her name now too, and Dagger was up after me.
The MC didn’t like the fact that we were sharing her, but when we reminded them of the rule that they had to do what the council said, and we were the fucking council, that had them shutting up over the past couple of days. We were doing nothing wrong, nothing that went against the aforementioned bylaws of the club, so they could go fuck themselves or say hello to my brass knuckles.
“…can I go after Dagger?”
I hadn’t been focused on the conversation going down between my brothers and woman. Sometimes, I just treated them like white noise and found that more comfortable.
Even though I’d die and kill for them all, they talked too much. Amaryllis and I gelled well on that score—she liked to sit in silence and read. Me? I just liked the silence. Liked studying the world around me. It was far more interesting than the shit on TV or in a book.
“What ink are you getting, babe?” I rasped, tuning in now since I was curious.
“An amaryllis.”
Ink snorted. “You think I know what that looks like?”
She flipped him the bird. “Google the fucking thing. Not hard, dumbass.”
Ink dipped his chin, but I saw his grin and smirked at him—my woman had attitude and wasn’t afraid to dose out her shit. That was the joys of having a princess who’d been raised in the club… not that I wanted Amaryllis to be that way. I already had my eyes on those little pricks who were sniffing around her. If she changed, became mouthier like her mom? That was like catnip to bikers.
Grumbling to myself, I glowered up at the ceiling as Ink finished up his work on me. When I was wrapped up, I shrugged into my tee and then into my cut. As Ink took a quick piss break and grabbed some coffee, I sank back into the sofa, crossed my legs at the ankle, and chilled. When Amaryllis sank beside me, I cut her a look. She shot me a nod, curled into my side, and pulled out the e-reader I’d gotten her yesterday. It was already surgically