Page 13 of Royal Sons MC

Chapter Five

Tymber tried to keephis gaze from dropping to the hardened nipples pressing against the thin black material, but it was a losing battle. For one, she was one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen. For two, he had his ink on her. All he thought about while he’d been inking her was how fucking sexy she looked. Her head was pillowed on her jacket while she slept. “You can squeeze me as tightly as you want.” And if that was a double entendre, so be it.

Her sigh lifted her breasts, drawing his attention again.

“I have a feeling anything with you could get twisted into something dirty,” she muttered but smiled.

They walked outside, the night still warm and filled with possibilities. He slung his leg over the bike, strapping the skull cap on once he settled. “It’s an art, one I’m a master at.”

Ivy put the helmet on, showing she’d done it before. He wondered who, what, where, and when but bit his cheek to keep from asking. One day, he hoped to know all her secrets.

Ivy straddled the bike, her arms coming around him naturally. “Come on then, show me what you can do.”

The feel of her tiny body snuggling up to his back, the sweet press of her breasts against him, made him aware he was treading on dangerous grounds—one where his heart was laid open. “I’ll keep you safe. Just hold on tight and don’t let go.” The words meant more than he let on.

Three weeks later...

Tymber closed the shop, his hand reaching for his phone on autopilot. The bells above the door rang, making him glance up to find two members of the bikers’ club standing in his doorway. “Hey, guys. I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

“Yeah, who’s gonna make us leave?” The two men stood side-by-side, their arms crossed over their chest.

He held his hands up, not realizing he’d already dialed Ivy’s number. “Do you want a tattoo, or what? If it’s cash, well, I’m afraid to say there’s probably less than a hundred in the register since most of our clients pay with cards.”

No way in hell would he show their appearance shook him.

“You’re wanted at the clubhouse. You can follow us on your bike, or...” the rest of his sentence was left off.

Tymber eyed the two men. He was sure he could take them both but fucking up the tattoo shop wasn’t on his list of things to do this year or next. “What’s this about?” he questioned.

“King will tell you when you get there. You going to come on your own, or what?”

Tymber shrugged. “I’ll follow you. Although I don’t understand what the fuck’s going on, I much prefer to arrive on my own than whatever you had planned.”

The one who’d done all the talking shoulder-bumped the other. “Get his phone. King said he didn’t want the cops involved. This wannabe looks like he might try calling the poe poe. Ain’t that right, Tree?”

At the other man’s jibe, Tymber held his phone out, the screen lighting up with Ivy’s name. He quickly pressed the side, locking his phone so the two men couldn’t go through it. Not that he had anything to hide, but he’d be damned if he allowed them access to his shit.

By the time he pulled into the gravel lot behind the other two bikes, he was seething. He thought of grabbing the gun he kept in his saddle bag but decided against it. Going into the Royal Sons’ house with a gun was a sure way to get his ass hurt, shot, or killed.

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