Page 13 of Royally Twisted

Chapter Five

Tymber tried to keephis gaze from dropping to the hardened nipples pressing against the thin black material, but it was a losing battle. For one, she was one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen. For two, he had his ink on her. All he thought about while he’d been inking her was how fucking sexy she looked, her head pillowed on her jacket while she slept. “You can squeeze me as tightly as you want.” And if that was a double entendre, so be it.

Her sigh lifted her breasts up, drawing his attention again.

“I have a feeling anything with you could get twisted into something dirty,” she muttered, but smiled.

They walked outside, the night still warm and filled with possibilities. He slung his leg over the bike, strapping the skull cap on once he settled. “It’s an art, one I’m a master at.”

Ivy put the helmet on, showing she’d done it before. He wondered who, what, where and when, but bit his cheek to keep from asking. One day, he hoped to know all her secrets.

Ivy straddled the bike, her arms coming around him naturally. “Come on then, show me what you can do.”

The feel of her tiny body snuggling up to his back, the sweet press of her breasts against him, made him aware he was treading on dangerous grounds. One where his heart was laid open. “I’ll keep you safe. Just hold on tight and don’t let go.” The words meaning more than he let on.

Three weeks later...

Tymber closed up the shop, his hand reaching for his phone on autopilot. The bells above the door rang, making him glance up to find two members of the bikers’ club standing in his doorway. “Hey, guys, sorry but we’re closed.”

“Yeah, who’s gonna make us leave?” The two men stood side-by-side, their arms crossed over their chest.

He held his hands up, not realizing he’d already dialed Ivy’s number. “Are you wanting a tattoo, or what? If it’s cash, well, I’m afraid to say there’s probably less than a hundred in the register since most of our clients pay with cards.”

No way in hell would he show their appearance shook him.

“You’re wanted at the clubhouse. You can either follow us on your own bike, or...” the rest of his sentence was left off.

Tymber eyed the two men. He was sure he could take them both but fucking up the tattoo shop wasn’t on his list of things to do this year, or next. “What’s this about?” he questioned.

“King will tell you when you get there. You coming on your own, or what?”

Tymber shrugged. “I’ll follow you. Although I don’t understand what the fuck’s going on, I much prefer to arrive on my own than whatever you had planned.”

The one who’d done all the talking shoulder bumped the other. “Get his phone. King said he didn’t want the cops involved. This wannabe looks like he might try calling the poe poe. Ain’t that right, tree?”

At the other man’s jibe, Tymber held his phone out, the screen lighting up with Ivy’s name. He quickly pressed the side, locking his phone so the two men couldn’t go through it. Not that he had anything to hide, but he’d be damned if he allowed them access to his shit.

By the time he pulled into the gravel lot behind the other two bikes, he was seething. He thought of grabbing the gun he kept in his saddle bag but decided against it. Going into the Royal Sons’ house with a gun was a sure way to get his ass hurt, shot, or killed.

With ease, he kicked the stand down on his bike, the motorcycle’s rumble stopped as soon as he pushed the button, silencing his ride while the other two did the same. The loud thump of music could be heard from inside the spacious looking building. He didn’t realize the MC had a home as close to his until they’d began riding up and away from town. When they’d pulled into a drive that was almost unnoticeable, he began to worry. Lights up ahead had kept him on the path. They passed a home twice the size of his and another smaller yet still big one, before coming to the huge clearing where another building sat, the lights and sounds inside reminiscent of a bar. Only the line of bikes outside, along with a few other vehicles let him know this was where the club met and hung out.

Knowing it would do him no good to ask the two jackasses who’d ridden out with him what was up, he walked forward, waiting at the door for one of them to open it. One didn’t just barge into a clubhouse without permission, that he knew from talking to King.

The door opened, the music blaring interrupted his thoughts. “You three gonna stand out here all night or you coming in?”

Tymber looked the other man in the eye, uncaring what protocol suggested. This wasn’t the president or the vice president, but his rockers were slightly different than the two other men. Fuck, he swore. They’d sent prospects to get him. Meaning he was screwed. Only he didn’t know what he’d done. The last time he’d saw any of the members had been when King came for his last tattoo. That had been almost a month ago, and in the weeks between, he’d done nothing but work and spend time with Ivy. Damn, he wondered if she was pissed at him for standing her up. Tonight, he’d planned to cook her dinner at his place. He didn’t have any plans past that, other than to go with the flow. Hell, for weeks he’d gone to bed with her name on his lips, her taste in his mouth, yet he still hadn’t pushed their relationship to the next level. Not because his body didn’t ache to fill hers, but for the first time, he wanted to get to know the woman, wanted to build something that was more than sex. Finally, he was sure they had that, with the promise of more. Yet, here he was, being led into the lions’ den like a sheep to the slaughterhouse.

“Ah, I’m glad you could make it. Did my prospects give you any shit?”

Tymber barely kept from jumping at the words spoken so close to his ear. He hadn’t even seen the man come up, let alone felt the air stir as he moved into his space. “They were very closed lipped on why I was being summoned up here. No, I take that back. They mentioned something about me not liking it if they had to force me. So here I am, what the fuck’s going on?” He turned, leveling King with his stare.

King slapped him on the shoulder, then steered them toward the back. People parted for them without being told, giving Tymber an idea of the power this man had. He almost wished he could call back the challenging words.

“I always did like you, Tymber. First time I met you, I knew you had grit.” King swept his arm out in front of him. “You hungry, thirsty?”

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