Page 11 of Gunner

“Fine, I may have alluded to that.”

Turning back to Cash, I asserted, “You need help, brother. It’s my job to make sure you get it.” Then I turned to King. “I suggest we all talk to her. Three sessions, club girls and old ladies too.”

“Why?” King asked, trying to read something in my insistence.

Ok, maybe I felt guilty for the way I spoke to her. But I wasn’t telling these assholes that. Besides, I was right.

They all needed fucking therapy.

“You have to admit everyone has shit to deal with.”

“We can deal with our shit without a fucking therapist. We don’t talk outside the club.”

King slammed the gavel down and that was the end of it.

The winters in Nebraska were fucking awful.

Five years and I still wasn’t used to the amount of snow or freezing my balls off every time I walked outside in January.

It was good for business though.

I ran a tattoo shop in town, and the winter months were a great time for people to come in for new ink.

Most of the officers didn’t have actual jobs, making themselves available for whatever was needed. But I loved my work.

I had two employees. Bruce Jenkins, a twenty-eight-year-old artist who excelled in realism tattoos. And then there was Indigo Cambridge, a twenty-four-year-old artist and piercer.

I was bent over my client when I heard the bell of the door jingle, and Indigo called out to whoever had just come in.

“I’ll be right there.”

I didn’t pause what I was doing until I heard her reply.

“No problem. Take your time.”

I knew that voice immediately.

I turned off my gun and leaned back on my rolling stool so I could look past the privacy screen.

There she was.

The woman from the bar was standing with her back to the counter, looking at the wall of tattoos.

What was she doing here? Was she looking for me?

“Hey, man, you ok to take a break for a minute?”

“Sure, Gunner.”

I stood up and walked around the screen toward the main area of my shop.

“What can I do for you?”

She turned around, her mouth open to say something until she saw who was standing in front of her. She closed her mouth quickly and folded her arms across her chest.

“What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

Clearing my throat, I folded my arms to match her stance and glared at her. “This is my shop. By my estimation that makes you the one following me.”

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