Page 18 of Ink's Devil

He throws up his hands. “I’m going to get a beer. Go see her, talk to her, fuck her, but do something, or else I might have to take away your gun. You look like you could kill someone right now.”

He’s the enforcer. He’s allowed. But hey, disarming me at the prez’s birthday party would be embarrassing.

I wait maybe five seconds after he’s walked away, then as if there’s an invisible piece of string pulling me across the room, I close the gap between us.

“Get out of here.” I glare at Judge, then turn the force of my stare onto Sparky. Judge raises his hands and steps back.

Sparky, though, he unwisely decides to taunt the beast as he puts an arm around Beth. “We were just getting acquainted.”

“Well you can get un-fuckin’-acquainted fast. And unless you want to lose that arm, take it a-fuckin’-way from her.”

Beth’s eyes meet mine, she looks shocked, which probably matches the way I’m feeling.What the fuck am I doing?

The room is crowded and busy. People are jostling around us making their way to the bar and returning with plates laden with food. Automatically, I move Beth out of the way when a brother steps back and nearly bumps into her.

For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say. I know how to fuck, but not how to speak to a bitch. If she asks me why I chased the others off, what could I tell her? My mouth has gone dry, and I swallow, trying to find some justification for sending my brothers away. Christ, I may as well have peed on her. All I can think to express is,Let’s go fuck.

But she’s different today. Last week, it had been clear what was on her mind, today she looks nervous, unsure. Like the little girl I’d come to know her for, not the put-it-all-out-there woman who had brazenly approached. Suddenly it’s me who’s uncertain. Would she even want a repeat if I made the suggestion?

Could she be thinking,been there, done that?Would she prefer me to step away? Would she really have liked to see what Sparky or Judge could offer? It dawns on me I don’t like it when the tables are turned.

As her mouth opens, I only need to incline my head slightly to hear her words.

“I, er, I was just going to get some food.”

Food. Fill a plate, find a table. Sit down and talk. Conversation with a bitch? Not what I normally do. I know fuck all about girly shit and stuff she’d probably want to talk about. I don’t watch TV apart from the odd game or that show where they customise motorcycles. I glance at her again, noticing she’s not meeting my eyes, and she’s shifting from one foot to the other.

I could shrug, walk away, leave her to her own devices. “Sure, let’s fill a couple of plates,” I find myself saying, telling my cock it will have to behave while I feed a different appetite instead.She’s here for a birthday party, fuckface.

The old ladies have done us justice. Before Vi, Jay, and Steph came along, the sweet butts reluctantly prepared food under the direction of Jeannie. Now Steph and Vi have taken charge of the kitchen, the quality of what they make has definitely taken an upturn. Add in Mel and her offering of cakes and desserts and we’re set. Of course, the women don’t spend all their time cooking for us men, even we’re not as cavemen as to expect that. But on a day like today, they’ve gone to town.

I grab a few items then look around, most people are eating standing around the laden bar-top as though not wanting to step away and miss anything. So there are a couple of tables empty. Pointing out one and signalling my intention with a jerk of my head, I’m pleased when Beth steps in line behind me.

We sit, and for a moment all we do is stuff our faces. What can I say? This is good shit and eating it hides that neither of us seem to know how to kick off a conversation.

“You work with Mel?” I say lamely, once my plate is clean. I already know that.

“I do.” She smiles. “And do you work?”

She clearly doesn’t know much about the club. “I do.” I throw her simple reply back at her. But rather than letting the conversation run dry, I give her more. “I work at our auto-shop. All the brothers have jobs. It’s not all riding around and having fun.”

“Is your shop busy?” she asks with genuine interest. “Don’t people worry about bikers working on their cars?”

“I’m an ex-Marine, Pyro and Mace are ex-Army. We learned our trade when we served.” Among other things, but no need to go into that. “Got all the certificates and qualifications. We do fuckin’ good work. Many of our customers are regulars and wouldn’t go anywhere else. Got enough going on, we employ civilians as well.” We’ve got a good reputation which we deserve. As she looks interested, I continue, “As for bikes, doesn’t matter whether men wear a cut or not. There’s nothing a man with a motorcycle likes more than chatting with like-minded folks. We get people riding out just to talk about customisation and shit like that. Even get a few come down regularly from Denver and other surrounding towns and cities.”

She nods, and it would appear she’s impressed. “You live here? At the club?”

I jerk my chin in an upward direction. “Yeah, I’ve got a room here. Most brothers have. Well, Hell, Bomber, and Buzz have lived in town for years, Demon moved out a year back, and now Beef and Steph have got a house too. And of course, Pyro and Mel, but you know that. The rest of us live here.”

“I live with my mom.” Without me asking for an explanation, she tells me why. “It’s cheap and convenient. Oh, I pay rent, but not as much as I would with my own place.”

“You must get on well with your mom.”

“Yes.” She grins. “She’s just turned fifty but looks much younger, people often think we’re sisters. She’s got a young outlook on life. She’s also become a good seamstress over the years, so she can do my clothes. She’s branched out and made it into a small business.”

My eyes crease. “Clothes?”

Her hand waves toward herself. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit taller than most girls. These skinny jeans are a man’s size and fit alright, but tops they make for big girls assume they’re large everywhere.” She indicates her breasts and holds her hands a few inches away from them. In doing so she draws my attention to her body, and I can’t help but focus on her tits. The memory of how they felt under my hands and mouth makes my cock start to misbehave once more. I try to focus on what she’s saying. “Mom alters tees and stuff that’s long enough but too wide. And some things she makes completely from scratch. She had to start altering my clothes when I started my growth spurt and didn’t stop, so she’s had plenty of practice.”

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