Page 10 of Royal Sons MC

King chuckled. “Never tell a brother to hit you. He just might. Whatever is bugging you, don’t let it consume too much of your time,” King warned.

Tymber watched through the window as King got on his Harley, the bike rumbling to life seconds before he pulled out into traffic, several other bikes falling in line behind him. Yeah, he wouldn’t forget the other man’s words.

A text dinged from where he’d left his phone. Tymber ignored it while he locked up the front of the shop. He cleaned up his station, then gazed around at the space. Besides him and his two partners, Ember, and Lincoln, they had three other artists who worked for them, plus a receptionist. This late at night, it was just him, and he could appreciate all they’d achieved, the three of them, after leaving the military. None of them left the place dirty or cluttered, something that had been drilled into them while in boot camp. However, he wasn’t a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old with a chip on his shoulder anymore. After five years, he’d known the life of a soldier wasn’t his. Between the three of them, they bought the location where their shop was located, creating a business he was proud of. There was an apartment above the shop that each had used at different times, like tonight when he didn’t feel like riding the fifteen miles home. Bone tired was what he felt.

After he reassured himself the place was locked up, he shook the gate they’d installed along the front of the room, ensuring it was secure. If vandals tried to break in through the glass front, they couldn’t get through without going through the locked gate.

He picked up his phone, raising one brow at the text. “Who do you think you are, my daddy,” he mumbled, his fingers flying over the keys while he headed toward the back. The immediate text back had him chuckling. He pressed the call button for Lincoln instead of responding via text.

“What up?” Lincoln’s deep voice echoed down the line.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You got cameras in the shop I don’t know about?” He entered the code into the lock at the top of the stairs, glad they’d had the foresight to install one that didn’t require a key.

“Shit, I don’t need to watch you to know what’s going on. The motion sensors alert me when someone walks across the threshold. From there, I pull up the app from the security company, just like you could. I didn’t know you were working late?”

He explained about the appointment with King and how the other man had wanted the piece done yesterday, which in Tymber’s world meant right that minute.

“You better stay on their good side,” Lincoln warned.

“Thanks, ma, I surely will do just that,” he said in a fake drawl before locking the door behind him. A nightlight glowed from one of the outlets, but the curtains in the front were open, allowing light from the streetlights and the moon to illuminate the space.

“I’m glad to hear you’re taking this shit seriously. I’ll be in the shop early. Do you want me to bring you some breakfast?” Lincoln was one of his best friends, his warning coming from the heart rather than him just being a jackass.

Like him, Link had both arms tatted up along with his back. However, Tymber’s chest now sported a huge piece over his scar, blending it with the artwork. Some days, he didn’t think about what he’d have done if he’d not found out he had the big C word so early. He’d likely be dead instead of standing in the middle of the apartment listening to Link mumble. “Shoot me a text when you’re on the way. If I’m still here, I’ll take you up on that,” he agreed, hanging up after a few more words.

Tymber went to the bedroom he used and looked at the clock beside the bed. The bright light of the numbers swam in his vision. “Fuck, I’m whipped.” He pressed a button on top, dimming the lights. He was going to sleep for the next twelve hours. His eyes caught onto the last numbers that had called him. Link, King, and Ivy. His thumb hovered over the keys to call Ivy with the thought of her. Without giving himself a chance to back out, he pressed the call button, waiting for Ivy’s voice or her voicemail to pick up. It was after midnight, so he wouldn’t presume she’d be up, but he wanted to hear her voice. After doing the memorial piece for King, his mind was a jumbled mess. Hearing a sleepy Ivy answer had his dick jerking in his jeans.

“Hey, lumberjack, what’s going on?”

Her tone wasn’t angry at him calling so late, which gave him hope. “I just finished doing a tattoo and thought I’d see if you were still up.”

The sound of fabric shifting had him imagining her in bed, nekkid. If only he were there to see for himself. Instead, he stripped his shirt off while holding the phone out. Next, he stripped out of his jeans, letting them lay where he dropped them. Her deep breath through the phone met his announcement.

“I want a tattoo of a quote. Do you have any appointments open, or maybe one of your other artists could do it?”

Tymber climbed in bed, his instant denial never spoken. If Ivy wanted a tattoo, it would be him inking her perfect skin, not anyone else. “What do you have in mind?” he asked, getting comfortable while she spoke. “Words on a body can be tough. Do you want to write it yourself, and I use it to make a stencil, or do you trust me and my writing?”

“I have shit for penmanship. How’s yours?”

Again, the sound of her shifting around made all kinds of thoughts swirl in his brain, but he ruthlessly pushed them back. “How about this? Tomorrow, you come to the shop, and we’ll figure it out?” Seeing her again shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. But, fuck, he’d never really wanted or needed to see a woman the next day, not even ones he’d somewhat dated. His mind ground to a halt. Had he been a dick all this time, he’d considered himself one of the good guys? Mentally, he shook the thought away. He was always upfront with women and never led them to believe he was the forever kind.

“I can do that. I, uh, I have some errands to run in the morning. What time is your last appointment?”

IVY CHEWED ON HER THUMBNAIL, the taste of acrylic filling her mouth when she bit too hard, breaking off a piece of her pretty nail color. Another errand she’d have to do tomorrow, or rather later today since it was almost one in the morning. Tymber gave her the time he’d be free, his tone not revealing how he felt about seeing her again. She took a massive leap of faith and told him she’d see him at six the following evening. Before she could hang up, she heard him speaking.

“What did you say? Sorry, I was distracted.” Shoot, even to her ears, that was a flimsy excuse.

“No worries. I was just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner afterward?”

Was that hope in his words or her wishful thinking? Either way, she was grabbing onto his offer with both hands. They talked for another half hour. His quick wit made her laugh more than she’d done in forever. Tomorrow, she’d get the words she’d thought of earlier inked on her ribs, then dinner with the sexy lumberjack.

“See you later,” Tymber said.

“Alright, sweet dreams.” Good God Almighty, what the hell made her say that? She squeezed the phone in her palm, her eyes closing while mentally berating herself.

“I sure hope they are,” Tymber agreed.

Her death grip relaxed as a laugh tumbled from her. He hung up without another word, but her mind wouldn’t shut down quite so quickly. Damn, she was so off her game it wasn’t funny, coming on to a man she barely knew like she had. “Oh well, what do all the cool people say? Yolo, motherfuckers.” Ivy’s laugh ended as she thought of Luke and his love of the YOLO way of living. He’d even had it inked on his body, only to have it covered up a few months later. “Such a silly man,” she whispered, wishing he were there to tell her what she should wear on her date with Tymber.

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