Page 39 of Anchor

“The fucker’s getting laid, Bulldozer. Why else would he whistle, especially when he doesn’t fuck the clubwhores,” I hear Art say loudly from down the hall, and I roll my eyes as Bulldozer replies, “I don’t give a shit; his whistling is fucking annoying, even if he has stopped for a moment.”

I hear Art chuckle, then say, “I’m off to the diner for some grub, you in?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bulldozer replies, “anything to get away from the whistling and humming. I swear I don’t know what has gotten into him, but it’s fucking annoying.”

“Maybe it’s whoever he keeps texting,” Art says, his voice getting quieter, and I grin at the two chatterboxes and lean my head back toward the door to see Bulldozer, the large fucker, rush past, throwing me the middle finger in the process.

“Fucker,” I chuckle and stand.

I need to get on with this piece before my client comes in next week, and it needs to be fucking perfect.

I grab my digital sketch pad and turn it on but frown when I hear Cazza at the front desk shout, “You can’t go back there,” and I quickly put my pad down and rush out of my room, expecting some big fucker trying to harass her. Still, as soon as I enter the front desk, I scowl, recognizing that fucking banker Heaven dated a few months back, and when I say dated, I mean they went out once, and she allowed Micha to call her home from the date, just like she had with all the others except once when she messaged me an SOS.

“Can I help you?” I raise a brow and ask as I look him up and down in his khakis and sweater vest, looking out of fucking place in the black and red room full of artwork that myself, Bulldozer, and Art have done.

Fuck, when my wife said she only dated men the opposite of me, she wasn’t fucking lying. Short, thinning blonde hair, and a little bit of a beer gut.

“Yeah, actually, I’m looking for Anchor,” the pompous idiot says, looking me up and down and sneering when he sees the cut.

Huh, guess we don’t bank where he works….

I tilt my head at the idiot and confirm, “Well, that would be me, but I’m guessing you're not here for a tattoo because you don’t look the type.”

He curls his lip at me and looks me up and down again, actually seeing me this time. I can’t help the smirk that takes over as he sizes me up, knowing I’m a good three inches taller than him and at least a hundred pounds bigger in muscle.

He points at me and snaps, “I’m here to tell you to stay the fuck away from Heaven. She’s mine!”

I raise a brow at him as Cazza’s mouth parts in shock, her caramel eyes wide before she jumps in with confusion and asks, “Does he mean Heaven from high school Heaven, the girl you were head over heels in love with Heaven?”

The dickhead before me laughs and says, “The dirty biker couldn’t get the girl, huh?” then he glares my way and demands, “Stay the fuck away from my girl! We’re dating, and soon, she’ll introduce me to her son!”

He did not just fucking bring up my son!

I fist my hands, trying not to hit this fucker first, knowing I don’t need the shit, though maybe my wife could represent me, even though she’s gone into family law.

Fuck, that would be hot….

“Hang on a second, Heaven has a kid?” Cazza gasps in shock before anger takes over and growls, “And she never told me?!”

I roll my eyes at the five-foot fierce woman, then look back at the soon-to-be dead guy, and I picture myself stabbing my tattoo gun into his eye. I smirk, causing Cazza to raise a brow at me like she can read my mind, but we both know she can’t.

She doesn’t even know Heaven and I are married—or didn’t…because I’m about to out us.

I tilt my head at the fucker, and I state, “Let me get this right, you came here, to my tattoo parlor, that’s mostly full of MC brothers, one percenter ones at that, to threaten me?”

I see him swallow, and his voice trembles as he confirms, “That’s right, I did. We’ve been dating for months….”

“Huh,” I say with a faux confused look because we both know he’s a lying fucker. I point at him and confirm, “You have been dating Heaven for months?” He scowls but nods like the clueless fucker until I say, “Mywife, Heaven?”

Fluid sprays before me and I turn my head and see Cazza choking on her coffee, her dark purple hair wet at the tips. I look back at the banker.

I should really get his name before I hit him; it seems like the right thing to do, right?

I chuckle softly; nah, I don’t give a shit. The idiot shouldn’t have come to my place of work and threaten me to stay away from my own goddamn wife.

“She-she’s not your wife,” he stutters, anger flowing off him.

I smirk and confirm, “Indeed she is, she has been for eleven years today. We married after she graduated high school, and her son ismyson, fucker, so think again if you think I’ll allow him anywhere near you ormywife!”

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