Page 9 of Royally Twisted

Ivy and Darian worked through the rest of the evening, filling five large garbage bags with trash and things Darian said he no longer wanted or needed. Her hand brushed over the clothing left in the walk in closet, the familiar scent of Luke’s cologne tickled her nose. When Darian sighed, she’d looked up to see the pain he couldn’t erase from his busted up face. “I’ll see you again,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she meant Darian or Luke, only knew her world was being rocked again. Fucking Royal MC and their bastard ways.

It was close to midnight. The apartment was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Her mind wouldn’t settle. Fear no longer something she seemed to feel. Everyone she’d cared about was gone now that Darian had left. “How pathetic, the only men in my life had loved each other, leaving me on the outside looking in.” That had been her life growing up. Luke was her angel when she’d needed him. His loss had a sob escaping before she could quell it. Her body moved on autopilot, making sure the newly replaced door was locked with three sets of deadbolts. It would be a hell of a lot harder for the Sons to break down a steel door with deadbolts like she had installed. Luckily, she knew of a locksmith who also replaced doors, his grey hair had looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket, resembling Albert Einstein, but he’d been fast and efficient, everything she’d needed. He’d looked at the door then her, shaking his head, but didn’t say anything more until the new door was in place. She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him to mind his business, only holding the sharp retort in because he truly appeared genuine in his comments and suggestions.

Like she needed him, or anyone, to tell her to lock all three locks and to not open the door unless she knew who was on the other side. Now, hours later, that same door taunted her. If she and Luke would’ve had the door a month ago, maybe just maybe, he’d still be alive. Instead, he and Darian had been making out on the couch when King had strolled in. She shuttered imagining what the big man had looked like in that moment. Luke said he and Darian hadn’t been caught outright, but he worried King or Duke would find out. “Why didn’t I convince him to come out?” she asked, banging her head against the wall. The pain from the impact didn’t stop her from doing it again.

Getting up, she triple checked the locks, then walked down the hallway, hating the emptiness of the apartment and her heart. Tomorrow, she’d see about a new place to live.

Chapter Four

“What do you think?”He held a mirror out for King to take. The big son of a bitch didn’t have a lot of open canvas on his body, but Tymber had taken the art already there as a layer beneath what he was putting on him. The end result was kickass, in his opinion. Luckily the president of the MC agreed, his dark eyes taking in the two clasped hands holding a rosary with the wordsBrothers Forever. Even In Death, written along the cross that hung from the praying hands.

“Looks great, man. Thanks for getting me in at the last minute.” King shrugged into his leather cut, his dark eyes not missing anything. “If you ever need anything, give me a holler.” He held his hand out, shaking Tymber’s.

“I appreciate that. I don’t need to give you aftercare instructions, do I?” he asked, shaking his head at the absurd notion. The other man had almost as many tattoos as he did.

“I’m good. See you around,” King stated, his hand releasing Tymber’s. “Remember what I said. You need anything, give me a holler. The Sons will come without a question.”

Tymber agreed to call if the need ever arose. In the back of his mind, he contemplated what could happen that he’d need the help of the club. He knew about patches and their significance, which was how he knew King was the president. Not seeing a 1% patch on the cut didn’t mean they weren’t an outlaw club, it just meant they didn’t announce it to the world, or he missed it. Nobody could ever say he was a fool, and only a fool would’ve asked a member of the Royal Sons MC if they were or not. He preferred to keep his head attached to his unbeaten body, thank you very much. Not that he was scared to take on any of the club members one on one. However, he was pretty sure if you fucked with one, you fucked with them all. He hadn’t survived fucking breast cancer, only to get his ass handed to him by one of the brothers.

“You look like your contemplating a big problem. Want my advice?” King asked from the doorway.

He had to shake himself to pull his mind back to the present. “Hit me with it.”

King chuckled. “Never tell a brother to hit you, he just might. Whatever is bugging you, don’t let it consume too much of your time,” King warned.

Tymber watched through the window as King got on his Harley, the bike rumbling to life seconds before he pulled out into traffic, several other bikes falling in line behind him. Yeah, he wouldn’t forget the other man’s words.

A text dinged from where he’d left his phone. Tymber ignored it while he locked up the front of the shop. He cleaned up his station, then gazed around at the space. Besides him and his two partners Ember and Lincoln, they had three other artists who worked for them plus a receptionist. This late at night, it was just him, and he could appreciate all they’d achieved, the three of them, after leaving the military. None of them left the place dirty or cluttered, something that had been drilled into them while in bootcamp. However, he wasn’t a fresh faced eighteen year old with a chip on his shoulder anymore. After five years, he’d known the life of a soldier wasn’t his. Between the three of them, they bought the location where their shop was located, creating a business he was proud of. There was an apartment above the shop that each of them had used at different times, like tonight when he didn’t feel like riding the fifteen miles to home. Bone tired was what he felt.

After he reassured himself the place was locked up, he shook the gate that they’d installed along the front of the room, making sure it was secure. If vandals tried to break in through the glass front, they wouldn’t be able to get through without having to go through the locked gate as well.

He picked up his phone, raising one brow at the text. “Who do you think you are, my daddy,” he mumbled, his fingers flying over the keys while he headed toward the back. The immediate text back had him chuckling. He pressed the call button for Lincoln instead of responding via text.

“What up?” Lincoln’s deep voice echoed down the line.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You got cameras in the shop I don’t know about?” He entered the code into the lock at the top of the stairs, glad they’d had the foresight to install one that didn’t require a key.

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