Page 184 of Misrule
“I can do a quick printing of this month’s spreadsheet, Val.”
“You and Stretch do your usual,” Val responded. “We not here about the shops. This about Knox.”
“Shops?” Knox echoed.
Val nodded.
Gabe grinned. “The club owns part of my tattoo shop. We opened a second location in downtown Portland six months ago.”
Surprised, Knox glanced between the two of them. “I didn’t know that.”
“You not required to know that,” Val imparted.
“I’m part of the family,” Knox insisted.
“But not part of the club,” Val answered as though he spoke to a two-year-old. “Not a member,” he added before Knox thought of a reply. He turned to Gabe. “Knox want ink.”
Gabe studied Knox from head-to-toe, then burst into laughter. “You?” he said around howls. “You’re not a tattoo-type man, Knox.”
Knox narrowed his eyes. He had never been laughed at as much until he met Outlaw and crew. However, they didn’t “pick” only on him. They teased each other mercilessly, too. “I didn’t know you needed to betypeto have a tattoo.”
Val And Gabe exchanged glances; both seemed ready to explode with mirth.
“You know what we mean, Knox,” Val chided. “You downed us partlybecausewe inked.”
Instead of denying the statement—which would be a blatant lie—Knox glanced away.
“It’s like this,” Val continued. “We don’t give a fuck if you tatted or not. As long as you respect us,acceptus, you fine in our book. If you want a tattoo just to get in good with us, we can leave right now.”
“It isn’t for any of you. It’s for Roxanne.”
Val’s eyes widened. “She asked you to get inked?”
“No, of course not!” Knox huffed out. “But…but…”
Knox feared he’d really lost her because, for the past two days, since the morning he’d found her preparing for breakfast, Ophelia had come to the club for cooking duties. Roxanne was determined to shut Knox out.
Change for him didn’t come easy. He’d been so quick to blame Callie for the end of their marriage, accusing her of tearing down his self-esteem, when he’d been as much to blame, if not more. It took his nastiness to Roxanne to realize his transgressions. Since his divorce, he’d still been living under the delusion that he’d changed. That he’d been the injured party.
That life was black and white. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“Ever wonder who yanked a potato up from the earth and decided that might be a good thing to fucking eat?”
At Val’s stupid question, Knox blinked. He was waging one of the most important battles of his life—regaining Roxanne’s heart, her trust—and… “Excuse me?” he asked, Gabe’s snicker annoying him a little more.
Val shrugged. “Or who saw mushrooms and grabbed a few to munch on? How many motherfuckers pushed up their dicks after croaking from eating poisonous mushrooms before the non-lethal motherfuckers were found? I mean, who the fuck looked at that shit sprouting from the ground and decided it was a good-ass idea to pick them up to fucking chomp? Mushrooms sure don’t look tasty, even after they cooked.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Knox asked in outrage.
Amusement lit Val’s face. “Am I, Knox? You think I got fucking time toreallythink about that shit? It might cross my mind sometimes.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why you think Mort called and asked me to bring you to Gabe? He could’ve given you directions or let you choose your own shop.”
“As if,” Knox said tiredly.
First, Mortician had called him and told him to meet Val at the club in and hour. Five minutes after that call ended, Val texted Knox to see if he was on the way. They acted as if he didn’t have a fucking job. Because Mortician was willing to help him, however, Knox had made an exception and left the office for the day. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn why he asked you to accompany me, Val. I’m just ready to be put under so I can get the tattoo.”
“Put under what?” Gabe asked in confusion.
“You’re the tattoo man—”
