Page 42 of Under Kid’s Protection

Sitting in the office, he closed the spreadsheet he used for payroll before he shut down the computer. He glanced at the screen for the closed-circuit camera monitoring the floor and noted the tattooer still had his head down as he scratched ink into his client’s skin. Nope. He couldn’t leave yet.

With a groan, he scrubbed his face with both hands. Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his back. His entire body ached like someone twice his age. Between setting up the clubhouse and the long hours at the studio, he’d burned the candle at both ends. What he wouldn’t give for a night off.

Soon. When everything calmed down and they could settle into a routine, he could relax. Probably after their Halloween charity event. The clubhouse would be set up by then and all his focus could go toward his shop. For now, he had to keep up with the nonstop pace.

He blew out a heavy breath, his gaze landing on his sketchbook. He’d offered to cover up the brand the Bloody Scorpions had left on Carrie. Clenching his jaw, he recalled the image of the dark hook poking out from the nest of curls adorning her pussy, and it made his blood boil.

Carrie was a graceful woman who embodied feminine energy. She liked every one of the shades of purple that existed. Her apartment appeared as though Barney threw up all over but in a tasteful, flowery sort of way.

Kid didn’t fit in her space. He was covered in tattoos and often wore black. He wasn’t gentle and most wouldn’t call him kind. Yet he’d never felt more at home than when he nestled into the purple and white bedding of her bedroom.

He was exactly like the harsh scorpion tattooed on her body. Neither of them belonged. Somehow, he needed to cover heavy saturated black lines with something daintier and wispier.

After flipping to an empty page, he reached for a pencil and dragged it along the paper. Flowers and swirls were her style. A rose or an orchid would be lovely, but did he have the talent to cover such ugliness with beauty?

Were anyone else to come to him with such a request, he wouldn’t have an iota of hesitation. He’d be able to cover that shit and well. However, Carrie wasn’t just a random person off the street seeking new ink.

Imagining her smile, hearing her laugh, and recalling how her apartment smelled when she made brownies from scratch three days ago had him grinning like an absolute moron while he drew flower after flower design. Despite the utter darkness surrounding her, happening to her, and crashing on her couch, she got up every day and made the best of her circumstances.

As he shaded the petal of a beautiful bell-like flower called foxglove beardtongue, he recalled his grandmother’s garden. As a child, in the summers, he’d help her tend to it, and she’d teach him about all the blooms. This particular one was her favorite. She told him it possessed the ability to heal. Different parts of the plants cured different ailments. Everything from toothaches to burns.

Smirking to himself, he decided he couldn’t think of a more fitting image for Carrie. A medicinal flower that appeared tiny and delicate, but in reality, could be potent and powerful. While she looked unassuming and frail, he’d learned she was stronger than any person he’d ever met. She’d survived what had been meant to destroy her.

Foxglove beardtongue. Sitting back, he smiled at the drawing, eager to put it on her. This would be the flower he’d used to cover what the Bloody Scorpions had done to her. Beauty would replace repugnant. She’d love it.

Just as he leaned over to add more details to the design, bells chimed, indicating someone had entered or left the shop. Kid’s head swiveled, and he narrowed his eyes at the screen as the camera switched to the door.

Three men wearing suits entered his shop with their heads down, blocking their features from his view. Kid’s hackles rose, and he glanced at his phone. After he tapped it awake to get the time, suspicion snaked up his spine. Nearly eleven at night was far too late for new customers. The door should’ve been locked.

Cautiously, he slid off his stool and opened the top drawer of his desk. From within, he pulled his 9mm Smith and Wesson M&P and tucked it behind his back into the waistband of his jeans. Men in suits weren’t uncommon, but at this hour, they definitely were rare. Especially considering there were no high-end lounges or similar nearby. Whoever they were, they hadn’t shown up to get ink.

Tugging the bottom of his cut, ensuring it hid the weapon, he headed out of the office and sauntered onto the main floor. The artist he had working for him that night wasn’t involved in his world. They may live in Oklahoma, where guns were a common sight, but Kid didn’t want to spook his employee. He hoped his suspicious guests knew how to be discreet as well.

“Hey there,” he greeted cheerfully as he got a better look at his evening guests. “We’re actually closed for the night, but maybe we can get something on the books for you.”

Kid settled behind the counter and pulled out the appointment log beside the register as he studied the two bulky men flanking the slenderer one in the center. Each were clean-shaven, with short dark hair and deep-brown eyes. The one on the left had the fringe of a tattoo on his neck, peeking out from the collar of his suit. The other had a large skull on the top of his hand.

The man in the middle, who lacked both inches and pounds compared to his companions, smiled warmly at Kid. His gaze lingered on the patch on Kid’s vest that read vice president. He licked his bottom lip before shifting his focus to Kid’s features.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in a thick Spanish accent as he offered his hand. “Arturo Rojas.”

Kid hesitated a moment, staring at the offered appendage. Was that supposed to mean something to him?

“Kid,” he said and shook Arturo’s hand quickly.

“Rumor has it,” Arturo began as he scanned the artwork on the walls. “You’re new in town.”

“Not really,” Kid said, watching the three of them carefully.

The man with the neck tattoo picked up a portfolio for an artist of the shop and sat on the couch. Quietly, he thumbed through it, humming his approval of the work.

The one with the skull on his hand stared at the T-shirts on the wall.

Arturo rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again. “You and your brother bought the old nunnery nursing home by the Harrison Baptist church.”

What was this guy’s deal? Who was he, and what did he want? “Yeah.” Kid nodded, keeping his guard up.

His artist reviewing proper tattoo care with the client grew louder as the pair approached. Kid didn’t take his attention off Arturo. They continued to stare each other down as the oblivious artist and recently tattooed man chatted at the door before the client exited.