Page 188 of Misrule
A knot dropping into the pit of Knox’s stomach. “Roxanne is sad?”
“She love you. Mort said the whole time he was on the phone with Bailey last night, she was crying because Roxanne…” Val shrugged.
“Roxanne what?”
“I’m not talking for her,” Val said with infuriating vagueness. “If you doubt she love you, seeing that ugly ass ring on her finger should convince you.”
Knox stiffened. “That is a family heirloom.”
“Don’t give a fuck,” Val retorted. “The shit ugly. Made for a late nineteenth century or early twentieth century bitch. Not a bitch on wheels like Roxanne. She deserve bling befittingher.”
Alarm raced through Knox. Every time he thought of something that would put more distance between him and Roxanne, he panicked. “Has she complained about the ring?”
“Roxanne don’t do shit like that,” Val chastised.
Knox had seen the way she looked at the ring when he’d slid it on her fingers. She’d even expressed misgivings. Yet, he’d expected her to do just what she had—accept it without complaint because it was a Harrington heirloom.
No wonder she didn’t want anything to do with him. Desperation crept into him. “I’m getting a tattoo,” he said with determination. “Maybe, I can have the club’s insignia on my back like most of you do, Val.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Knox. That shit’ll get you killed,” Val said calmly. “You don’t wear club nothing unless you in the fucking club.”
“Of course,” Knox said.
“I love dragon art,” Gabe said. “The dragon is symbolic for determination, bravery, and physical prowess.” He removed his T-shirt and turned, presenting his back that had a tattoo of a huge red dragon, shooting black fire. It extended the width of his shoulders and the length of his spinal column, although his neck was clean.
Knox worked with Val and Gabe to come up with a variation of the dragon tattoo. Instead of his back, Knox decided to have it on his chest. Somehow, Val convinced him to also get a tattoo on his arm. Knox filled out and signed a consent to tattoo and waiver and release to all claims. The single form had all types of questions. Though Gabe knew him, he demanded a copy of Knox’s driver’s license. It was both impressive and legitimate.
Once Knox had his shirt off and was back in the chair, Val held out the same bottle of rum Knox drank from earlier.
“Put that away,” Gabe said. “Liquor thins the blood, Val. He’ll just bleed more.”
“Bleed?” Knox echoed. “What do you mean bleed?”
“I always drank when I got my pieces,” Val pointed out.
“You always drink,” Gabe shot back with a chuckle.
Val flipped him off, ignoring Knox’s question just as much as Gabe did.
“Why am I going to bleed?” Knox demanded, determined to get an answer.
“You’re going to have a needle plunging into you seventy-five times per second,” Gabe answered with concerning nonchalance, “so, of course, you’re going to bleed. The droplets will be tiny and barely noticeable.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, Knox,” Gabe answered. “Positive.”
“Fine. Let’s get on with it.”
“I’m still thinking about a cock piercing,” Val announced as Gabe began cleaning Knox’s chest with rubbing alcohol. “You ready to do it yet, Gabriel?”
“I already told you I’m not touching your cock, even though I’ll be wearing gloves. Let Amanda do it.”
“No fucking way. Amanda not my wife, first of all. She don’t get to touch my goods. Zoann would divorce me and Outlaw would kill me. Besides, even if Puff would be okay with it, my dick don’t know it wouldn’t be her hands. Motherfucker going to get a cockstand. That’s just the way he is.”
“It wouldn’t tell the difference between my hands either,” Gabe pointed out.
“You got big, rough hands,” Val said.
