Page 32 of Ink's Devil

“You don’t have to explain anything. Got a lot of brothers who come from fucked up homes. We can’t choose our blood family.” He pauses. “Makes a fuckin’ difference when you can choose the one you want.”

“Like you’ve chosen your club,” I interpret.

“Too fuckin’ right I have.” Breaking off, he looks first toward me, then toward Mom. “Might need to know a few more details, but you’ll have the club behind you if he or his father cause you any problems. Here’s the thing, Beth is Mel’s friend, and Mel’s a claimed woman. I’m… with… Beth for now. Club will help if it’s necessary.”

“Already knew you were going to be a good’un, Ink. My Beth doesn’t read people wrong, and you’ve proved it this afternoon. I’ll go rescue the roast, then I’ll satisfy your curiosity while we’re eating.”

I send an apologetic look Ink’s way. “I’ll help, Mom.”

Ink looks around, seeing the bare dining room table asks, “Tell me where you keep the silverware and I’ll set the table if you want?”

Luckily Mom had turned down the oven during the argument, so dinner is soon saved and back on track. Shortly, she’s putting everything on serving plates and Ink’s carrying them to the table. After we sit down, we take a moment sorting our plates out, then a minute longer to appreciate the food Mom has lovingly prepared.

“You see much of your son, Patsy?” Ink asks at last.

“No.” Her brow creases with the pain I know doesn’t lessen. “Six years ago, he discovered his father. Didn’t care he’d neglected him for most of his life, hit it off apparently. Left home as soon as he turned eighteen and lives with him now in Denver. He’s only been back a few times, full of his father’s praise.”

“Which you aren’t buying,” Ink observes.

“Which I’m not buying,” Mom agrees. “Know it makes me sound like a bitch, but I kicked his dad’s ass to the kerb when I found out just what he was into.”

“Which was?”

“This and that and anything else that brought the dollars in without him doing an honest day’s work. Money laundering was what I caught him doing, but there’s probably worse.”

“You kept him away from his children?”

“Huh,” she scoffs. “He didn’t have much to do with them when he was here. I’d have let them stay in contact, he’s blood after all, but he didn’t make any effort.”

Ink’s eyes meet mine and soften. I shake my head slightly, any abandonment I’d ever felt was long gone now. Lucky escape was how I saw it instead. I wouldn’t want to be involved in criminal activity, not in the way I’m convinced Connor is. Sure, that’s why I’m dating a biker, I grin to myself, then I roll my eyes, and pull myself up. We’re not dating. I don’t know what would describe it, but it’s not that.

“What’s your ex’s name?” Ink asks Mom, deceptively casually.

“Phil Foster,” she supplies.

Ink’s eyes close briefly, then his head moves side to side. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him.”

“He relocated to Denver years back,” I explain. “And Connor didn’t sound like he was a fan of the Satan’s Devils.”

“He certainly knew our reputation,” Ink notes. “Though perhaps more from the old days. Phil ever live in Pueblo?”

“Until he moved out, yes. He left, what, eighteen years ago now? Connor would have been four.”

“You get your height from him?”

Ink has addressed his question to me, but it’s Mom who laughs and replies, “No, Phil’s not much taller than me. It must have come down from my side, a recessive gene or something. Beth’s maternal cousins are all over six feet tall. I used to wonder whether Beth would ever stop growing, and Connor turned out the same.” She pauses, and a glint comes into her eyes. The glint that makes me swallow rapidly. “You’re not on the short side yourself, Ink.”

“No, ma’am, I am not.”

Mom’s not finished. “I always wondered whether Beth would find a man big enough for her.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that shows she’s well aware of how her comment could be misinterpreted.

I take it the safest way it could be meant, and say airily, “Oh, his club’s full of tall, single men, Mom. I’ve started with Ink, but I’ll be working through them all in time.”

Ink makes a noise that sounds like he’s choking, then turns to me with steel in his eyes, to find me winking. Mom’s bent over the table wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.

Leaning closer so only I can hear him, he whispers, “You’ve earned yourself another punishment with that quip, little girl. One for each of my single fuckin’ brothers.”

Whispering back, I ask, “Er, how many are there?”

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