Page 17 of Ride Long
By the timethe sun went down, and the compound hummed with the sound of men returning, I was sporting a new set of fake nails, black and sharp, and had developed a tentative friendship with the posse of Old Ladies. It was a start, but when Ratchet walked into the common room, his gaze found mineinstantly.
He was looking forme.
I hadn’t forgotten his offer and my subsequent acceptance, but now he was here, the gravity of what I was about to do hit me. I was about to enter the domain of men, declaring myself a soldier of Fortitude. Something no woman had ever done. My dad was gonnaflip.
I rose to my feet, aware of the eyes watching me. Apart from the women I’d hung with that day, no one else had approached me. To many, I was still an unknown quantity, and I would remain that way until I proved myself. Words meant nothing if you didn’t have the balls to act on them. Getting the Fortitude brand was the first of manyactions.
I followed him from the common room, through the compound, and to his rooms. To my surprise, Sam came with me, not wanting to leave me alone with the biker. It seemed she took her duty in keeping an eye on me veryseriously.
Ratchet’s room was cleaner than I expected to be. In one corner, he had a little tattoo station set up. There was a set of drawers where he kept all his inks and tattoo guns, a seat with a wide armrest and an old office chair, and a floor lamp that bent in all kinds ofdirections.
He sat in the chair, eyeing Sam as he began setting up for the tattoo. He pulled on some latex gloves and sprayed down the armrest with a bottle of disinfectant, wrapping it in plastic wrap when he was done. He got out a tattoo gun from one drawer and hooked it up, sliding a fresh needle into thebarrel.
I sat in the chair and set my hand on the plastic wrap as he turned on the lamp, angling it overus.
“You sure you want to be here, Sam?” Ratchet asked, holding up the tattoogun.
She swallowedhard.
“You want one, too? A little butterfly orsomethin’?”
“I, ah… Harley will be looking for me,” she muttered before scurrying out thedoor.
Ratchet frowned but didn’t comment on her behavior. He’d deliberately scared her off. How Harley treated her must be a well-known fact around here.And they let it happen…But something told me Ratchet was in a preventative mood, and knowing it made me look at him from a slightly differentangle.
“Marini know you’re doing this?” he asked, wiping down the skin on mythumb.
I shrugged as he placed the preprepared stencil and pressed itdown.
“He don’t know?” He peeled the paper away, revealing thedesign.
“I told him this time was going to be different,” I replied, inspecting the crossed swords. I wanted to puke, but it was just a bit of ink. I’d given Chaser a ton of shit about being branded, and here Iwas…
Ratchet snorted, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He filled a little red cap full of black ink and smeared some clear ointment on my finger. Reaching for the tattoo gun, he hooked it up to the power supply and pressed his boot on the pedal. The room filled with a buzzing sound as he adjusted the speed the needles were flyingat.
“Am I going to regret this?” heasked.
“If you were worried about it, you wouldn’t be sittingthere.”
Hegrunted.
“I’m no one’s Old Lady,” I said, lowering myvoice.
“Nice fingernails,” hedrawled.
“You play your games Ratchet, and I’ll play mine. I still won’t blink when I pull thetrigger.”
We stared each other down for a tense minute before he leaned over and fired up the tattoo gun. There was myanswer.
The needle moved across my skin, the vibration shooting through the bone. As soon as it started, Ratchet lifted the gun and wiped at the line, removing the excess ink from my thumb. Then he went again, following the purple lines of the stencil until he’d completed the whole design. He cleaned it off one last time, then movedaway.
“There,” he said, rolling the chair back and dipping the tip of the gun into a cup of water. The machine buzzed as he cleaned the ink from thebarrel.
Lifting my hand, I wiggled my thumb. It was a little red and angry, but it felt allright.
“Not so bad,” I said, delivering myverdict.
He laughed and shook his head. “You want it to heal properly, so put some of this on it.” He tossed me a little tube of cream. “It doesn’t matter how it looks. Just matters that it’s there. Don’t pick at thescab.”
“It scabs? Gross.” I made aface.
“Welcome to Fortitude, Sloane,” he said. “Strength inadversity.”
“What is dead may never die.” I made the peace sign with myfingers.
Ratchet scowled and tilted his head to theside.
“What? Bikers don’t watchGame of Thrones?” I wiggled my thumb at him. “I believe in paying the Iron Price. I take what I want from those I’ve fuckedup.”
“You’ll get on just fine around here,” he said with a grin. “Justfine.”
