Page 162 of Menace

And why was he so overprotective?

That awful club, the Grave Robbers MC, had issued threats against the club and against Lucky specifically. And if he was being threatened it meant we were as well. If it was any other club, a club that followed the code of not targeting women and children, we would have been fine.

The Grave Robbers were into human trafficking so we weren’t safe.

They were under the impression the SWMC executed two of their members when it had been Cole who shot them. The FBI had taken responsibility for their deaths, letting it be known they had been killed by an agent during the operation against the Los Rojos cartel.

Stupid assholes didn’t believe them.

I wasn’t supposed to know but Lucky told me the club had a family member of the Grave Robbers’ president in their cells. He was their bargaining chip. When he told me it was the awful prospect who had betrayed me to my brother I didn’t give a shit. He could rot in the cell for all I cared.

I haven’t been back to work at the studio since Ry and I had been taken. At first I had been recovering from my wounds but once healed it was my man being his overprotective self that kept me from working. Lucky was driving me nuts with his hovering but it came from a good place so I let it go. Most of the time.

Last night I finally persuaded him to let me go in for three hours today. Of course he appointed himself as my guard.

What he didn’t know was that the three hours were allocated to him.

I was going to put my mark on my man. Permanently.

He liked the raptor wings Killian, or Kill as everyone now called him, had designed for me, always clasping his hand around my throat and rubbing his thumb over the red heart between the wings. The tattoo hadn’t been fake for a while, it was the real thing. When the fake one started fading I had him do a real one, just the wings and the heart, not all the rest. It had been easy, he had worked on it at night when the only people around had been Bren and Viper.

With Kill’s help I’ve designed a more masculine pair of wings, darker, more ominous, and instead of a red heart it had a cartouche between the wings.

In the cartouche were my initials.

H D.

Front and centre on his throat. No bitch was going to miss that damned claim.

And why was it necessary to claim him so visibly?

The club whores.

There were one or two of them who were playing with their sick leave. Maybe even with the grave. They were under the impression that until he put his patch on my back he was fair game.

Bullshit.

After today they will have visible proof that he was mine.

At least until he makes it official by giving me his property patch.

It was due to happen soon but I wanted a visible mark on him showing the world he was mine.

Hence the throat tattoo.

Arriving at the studio I immediately started setting up my station while Lucky put Ry down in his little bed in the breakroom then went into the office to talk to Ink. It kept him out of my hair while I set up.

It was time to get my man in my chair.

Knocking on Ink’s open door I held up the sketch and both men looked at me, one with a grin the other in confusion.

“I’m ready for you, love. Let’s get you prepped and get started.” I tried hard to look casual but it wasn’t working.

Lucky looked at me then at Ink. “Who you callin’ love, baby? Me or him?” He growled.

I laughed outright. “You of course.”

I tipped my head towards my station. “Come on, let’s go, you only gave me three hours so we need to get started so I can get the first part done.”

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