Page 78 of Gunner

“Alright, what is it?”

“A rose.”

I stared at the kid, my lips parted. “You want it to say mom, too?” I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it.

“No, fucker, just a rose.”

He was such a surly little bastard.

“Where you want it?”

Mimic removed his cut, laying it on the chair, then pulled his henley over his head. “Right here. I want it to cover the whole area.”

He pointed to an empty spot on his left pec that was about five or so inches.

“You have a specific look in mind?”

“No, just freehand it.” Mimic leaned back and closed his eyes. Despite giving him a hard time, I knew it meant something to the kid. I had been doing his tattoos since he joined the club and each time, he had told me he was saving that spot for something special. I figured it must be something about his mom.

Or maybe it was for Sam.

She had taken over as the mom he needed. She’d become the mom we all needed, making sure we all felt loved. She was even trying with Freeway, but he was a son of a bitch who treated all women like they were only useful for feeding him and fucking him.

What the hell Steele was thinking sending him here, we didn’t know. He was pretty tight-lipped with what was going on with the club now that we were no longer a 1% percent club ourselves.

By the time I was finished, Mimic had a killer tattoo of a rose in bloom, surrounded by a stem of thorns. A teardrop clinging to the edge of one petal.

“Alright, man, tell me what you think.”

Handing him the mirror, he sat there staring at the new tattoo. His face was a blank expression, but his eyes. His eyes told me everything I needed to know. This kid hadn’t just been hurt. He had been damaged almost beyond repair.

Sam was piecing him back together. One small act of love at a time.

“Heard you went to Sam’s ultrasound today.”

“Yea,” he rasped, still staring at the tattoo in the mirror.

“You see the baby?”

He nodded; his eyes remained locked on the small hand mirror. I was worried he didn’t like the tattoo.

“They know what they’re having?”

“Yea,” he croaked, finally putting the mirror down. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he shrugged on his cut.

“You gonna tell me?”

Mimic smiled at me. Fucking smiled. I’d never seen this kid smirk let alone fucking smile.

“Nope. Momma wants to tell everyone tonight.”

“I guess everything is ok then?”

Trying to get answers from this kid was like pulling fucking teeth.

“Everything’s perfect. Thanks, brother.”

Mimic left, and I sat there wondering what they had found out that made the kid who was a fucking storm cloud in the clubhouse actually smile.

---