Page 17 of Sin for You

A moment later, a large shadow moved up, looming behind that glass. The owner of that silhouette was impossible to see through the pictures and photos stuck to the glass door, but there was no way to mistake Bull for anyone else. The sheer size of him was a dead giveaway.

My belly squirmed and fluttered as the sounds of him unlocking the door reached me.

Then it was opening and I was staring up at him.

“Hey,” I said, not sure why I felt so awkward all of a sudden.

He lifted his chin in greeting and opened the door wider. “My room’s at the back,” he said and shut and locked the door after me.

The shop was empty. Cal would be home with Cassy, and Dane was obviously upstairs. So it was just the two of us.

He motioned for me to head to the back, so I did. A door to a small room stood open. Bull again motioned me ahead of him.

I walked in. “How did Dice’s tattoo go today?”

Bull was watching me closely. “Yeah, good.”

“What did he get?”

“I finished up his back piece…and he wanted his woman’s name as well.”

I swallowed at the way he said his woman, all rough and gritty.

His words from the night before echoed through my mind.

“So whenever they’re here, in this bar, you’re mine, understand?”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his massive arms. “So what am I doing for you?”

The inappropriate things that instantly bounced through my mind were numerous and dirty as hell. My face heated, but I ignored it and handed him the photo I was holding. “That’s my mom. The cross hanging around her neck—do you think you could do something like that?”

His melted-chocolate gaze lifted to mine and softened. “Size?”

I tried to ignore it, and showed him roughly.

He stared down at the picture again and nodded slowly. “Yeah. Take a seat while I draw something for you. We’ll go from there.”

He pulled a stool with wheels out from under a drafting table, and I watched in awe as he took a pad in those huge hands, a pencil in his long, thick fingers, and started sketching something out. I mean, I knew he had to be artistic to be a tattooist. And I knew Bull could draw. All three of the Calero males were gifted in that way. But to see him in action? That was something else.

It didn’t take him long. And a little while later he lifted his head and handed me the pad. “How’s that?”

I looked down at it, stunned. It was my mother’s beautiful cross, every detail, the delicate swirls and engravings, the gemstones, all of it.

“This is…it’s perfect,” I said, fighting back tears. God, why was this affecting me so much? She’d been gone most of my life. I barely remembered her. I looked up at Bull. “She always wore this…I don’t have a lot of memories of her, being so young when she was killed, but I remember this. It had belonged to her mom before her. She was buried wearing it.”

Bull’s hands dropped to his massive thighs, brown eyes locked on me.

“I don’t know, I’ve always felt this disconnect, you know? I’ve carried around a lot of baggage where my mom was concerned. Anger at the person who chose to get in their car drunk. Resentment at Mase that he knew her better than me, that I never had her as long, that I didn’t know her like he did.” I shook my head. “I know how selfish that sounds, believe me. But I made peace with it, embraced what she was to me, and this, this cross makes me feel close to her.”

“You look a lot like her,” Bull said. “Same eyes.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “Same mouth.”

I smiled even as his words pulled at something low in my belly. “Thanks.”

“You want to change anything? Size okay?”

I shook my head. “No, this is perfect.”

He took the pad from me and got to work making a transfer of it.