Page 78 of Biker Daddies

Without protection.

Come dripping down her thighs. Her hair a mess. Her lips pouty and abused from our kisses.

Yeah, I can see why he won’t speak to us.

The tattoo gun in my hand buzzes while the man under me whimpers in pain. He clutches the table until his knuckles turn white. He keeps squirming and I stop, dipping my needle in water, rolling my eyes.

Women sit for tattoos so much better than men.

“Maybe we should take a break,” I offer, even though we’ve only been going for thirty minutes.

“No. No. I’m okay. I can do this.”

His tattoo is simple. I’ll be done in fifteen if he can sit.

“Well, I’m wondering if we need to reschedule,” I say, setting down my tattoo gun. “You’re moving a lot and I won’t have my lines fucked up.” I snap my gloves off and toss them in the trash. “Get with Colt up front. He’ll reschedule you.”

He turns around, sweat beading on his forehead, and it looks like he’s two seconds away from passing out. “No, man. I swear, I’m good. How much longer?” He swallows.

“Fifteen minutes if you don’t move. Thirty if you can’t sit still.”

He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and swings his legs off the table to stand. He sways and I dive for him, wrapping my arms around his torso as his knees buckle.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re slurring your words.” I go to set him back down, but he falls limp in my arms. His eyes roll to the back of his head and his face is pale. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to be kidding me.” I shake him a bit, the sweat rolling down his temple. “Hey, hey, buddy. Come on. Wake up.” I tap his cheek but he doesn’t move. I hang my head and groan. “Colt, call 9-1-1 and someone get me a wet cloth please.”

Bane rushes into the room with a cloth and I snag it from him, pressing it on the guy’s forehead.

“I’ve called them. They’re on their way,” Colt says, coming into the room to help me. “He didn’t last very long, did he?”

“He didn’t stop squirming. From the very beginning. He couldn’t handle the pain.”

“Ah, well. A lot of people think they can. It isn’t for everyone.” Colt is always great at making people feel better about their choices.

“Well, he has a half-naked lady tattooed on his shoulder. It’s better than what it could have been,” I say, hoping the guy is okay.

“I mean, you offered him the numbing cream?”

I glance up at Colt and my face hardens. “No, Colt. I didn’t know we finally had it in. Where is it?”

“It’s…” A look of recognition hits his face and he crinkles his nose. “It’s in a box, in the back, from when shit was delivered the other day and I forgot to open it. And I might have forgotten to tell you it was here.”

I run my fingers through my hair and tug on the strands. “Colt! What the hell, this could have been avoided.” The sirens sound in the distance and they get louder the closer they come.

“Sorry. I forgot. You know, with Harlow and stuff.”

“Don’t use our girl as an excuse,” I spew at him just as the paramedics rush in.

My client comes around when they trap him to the gurney.

“Aw man, did I pass out?”

I pat his shoulder. “No buddy, you’re fine. You fell asleep, rolled off the table, then smacked your head on the floor. That knocked you out.”

Bane chuckles, then coughs to cover it.

“Really? Oh, good. Whew. I was worried. I didn’t want to pass out in front of the Venom Vultures when I wanted to talk to them about prospecting. That would have sucked. Oh, man. Thank god.” He exhales on a laugh as they strap his head down. “My head doesn’t hurt though.”

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