Page 68 of Badass Biker
“It’s just for show. Literally, showing off.”
“Got it, flaunt it, right?”
“Yes.” She stabbed a piece of salmon.
“And they all pat each other on the back for good investments, promise to help each other out in the future.” He looked around. Humans were all the same really, whatever circles they spun in.
“That too.” She sipped her champagne. “So, tell me, in case they ask. What’s this all about?” She touched his arm.
“The tats?”
“Yes, what do they mean? There are so many images.”
“They all mean something. That one you’re touching, the gravestone.”
“WithNixwritten on it.”
“Yep, a tribute to an old friend.”
“What happened to him?”
“Shot in the heart.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Play with fire, you get burned.” He paused. “And this one.” He tapped a skull. “Is a reminder of a day in Mexico. Day of the Dead, you heard of it?”
“Of course.”
He kind of smiled. “It was an … interesting day.”
“Because?”
He didn’t answer.
She ran the tip of her finger to the silhouette of a man playing a trumpet. “And this one?”
“New Orleans.”
“You been? I’d love to go.”
He shook his head and his throat tightened. “No. My father and I had planned to go. He loved jazz.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Carter hesitated for a second, a burst of memories colliding with a tornado of emotions. His jaw tightened. “He was killed before we had the chance.”
She didn’t speak, but her eyes flashed with sympathy.
He didn’t want sympathy. What good would it do? Shit had happened and there was no turning the clock back.
Fortunately, she seemed to sense this, and instead of speaking, she touched his face, just below his left eye as though wiping away an unshed tear.
And Carter’s tears were always unshed. He wasn’t the crying sort.
He controlled a long breath out and reached for her locket. “This is something you wear always, right?”
“Yes.”
