Royally Twisted (A Royal Sons MC Book 1) Read online

  It was close to midnight. The apartment was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall. Her mind wouldn’t settle. Fear no longer something she seemed to feel. Everyone she’d cared about was gone now that Darian had left. “How pathetic, the only men in my life had loved each other, leaving me on the outside looking in.” That had been her life growing up. Luke was her angel when she’d needed him. His loss had a sob escaping before she could quell it. Her body moved on autopilot, making sure the newly replaced door was locked with three sets of deadbolts. It would be a hell of a lot harder for the Sons to break down a steel door with deadbolts like she had installed. Luckily, she knew of a locksmith who also replaced doors, his grey hair had looked like he’d stuck his finger in a light socket, resembling Albert Einstein, but he’d been fast and efficient, everything she’d needed. He’d looked at the door then her, shaking his head, but didn’t say anything more until the new door was in place. She had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him to mind his business, only holding the sharp retort in because he truly appeared genuine in his comments and suggestions.

  Like she needed him, or anyone, to tell her to lock all three locks and to not open the door unless she knew who was on the other side. Now, hours later, that same door taunted her. If she and Luke would’ve had the door a month ago, maybe just maybe, he’d still be alive. Instead, he and Darian had been making out on the couch when King had strolled in. She shuttered imagining what the big man had looked like in that moment. Luke said he and Darian hadn’t been caught outright, but he worried King or Duke would find out. “Why didn’t I convince him to come out?” she asked, banging her head against the wall. The pain from the impact didn’t stop her from doing it again.

  Getting up, she triple checked the locks, then walked down the hallway, hating the emptiness of the apartment and her heart. Tomorrow, she’d see about a new place to live.

  Chapter Four

  “What do you think?” He held a mirror out for King to take. The big son of a bitch didn’t have a lot of open canvas on his body, but Tymber had taken the art already there as a layer beneath what he was putting on him. The end result was kickass, in his opinion. Luckily the president of the MC agreed, his dark eyes taking in the two clasped hands holding a rosary with the words Brothers Forever. Even In Death, written along the cross that hung from the praying hands.

  “Looks great, man. Thanks for getting me in at the last minute.” King shrugged into his leather cut, his dark eyes not missing anything. “If you ever need anything, give me a holler.” He held his hand out, shaking Tymber’s.

  “I appreciate that. I don’t need to give you aftercare instructions, do I?” he asked, shaking his head at the absurd notion. The other man had almost as many tattoos as he did.

  “I’m good. See you around,” King stated, his hand releasing Tymber’s. “Remember what I said. You need anything, give me a holler. The Sons will come without a question.”

  Tymber agreed to call if the need ever arose. In the back of his mind, he contemplated what could happen that he’d need the help of the club. He knew about patches and their significance, which was how he knew King was the president. Not seeing a 1% patch on the cut didn’t mean they weren’t an outlaw club, it just meant they didn’t announce it to the world, or he missed it. Nobody could ever say he was a fool, and only a fool would’ve asked a member of the Royal Sons MC if they were or not. He preferred to keep his head attached to his unbeaten body, thank you very much. Not that he was scared to take on any of the club members one on one. However, he was pretty sure if you fucked with one, you fucked with them all. He hadn’t survived fucking breast cancer, only to get his ass handed to him by one of the brothers.

  “You look like your contemplating a big problem. Want my advice?” King asked from the doorway.

  He had to shake himself to pull his mind back to the present. “Hit me with it.”

  King chuckled. “Never tell a brother to hit you, he just might. Whatever is bugging you, don’t let it consume too much of your time,” King warned.

  Tymber watched through the window as King got on his Harley, the bike rumbling to life seconds before he pulled out into traffic, several other bikes falling in line behind him. Yeah, he wouldn’t forget the other man’s words.

  A text dinged from where he’d left his phone. Tymber ignored it while he locked up the front of the shop. He cleaned up his station, then gazed around at the space. Besides him and his two partners Ember and Lincoln, they had three other artists who worked for them plus a receptionist. This late at night, it was just him, and he could appreciate all they’d achieved, the three of them, after leaving the military. None of them left the place dirty or cluttered, something that had been drilled into them while in bootcamp. However, he wasn’t a fresh faced eighteen year old with a chip on his shoulder anymore. After five years, he’d known the life of a soldier wasn’t his. Between the three of them, they bought the location where their shop was located, creating a business he was proud of. There was an apartment above the shop that each of them had used at different times, like tonight when he didn’t feel like riding the fifteen miles to home. Bone tired was what he felt.

  After he reassured himself the place was locked up, he shook the gate that they’d installed along the front of the room, making sure it was secure. If vandals tried to break in through the glass front, they wouldn’t be able to get through without having to go through the locked gate as well.

  He picked up his phone, raising one brow at the text. “Who do you think you are, my daddy,” he mumbled, his fingers flying over the keys while he headed toward the back. The immediate text back had him chuckling. He pressed the call button for Lincoln instead of responding via text.

  “What up?” Lincoln’s deep voice echoed down the line.

  “I don’t know, you tell me. You got cameras in the shop I don’t know about?” He entered the code into the lock at the top of the stairs, glad they’d had the foresight to install one that didn’t require a key.

  “Shit, I don’t need to watch you to know what’s going on. The motion sensors alert me when someone walks across the threshold. From there, I just pull up the app from the security company, just like you could. I didn’t know you were working late?”

  He explained about the appointment with King and how the other man had wanted the piece done yesterday, which in Tymber’s world meant right that minute.

  “You better stay on their good side,” Lincoln warned.

  “Thanks ma, I surely will do just that,” he said in a fake drawl, before locking the door behind him. A nightlight glowed from one of the outlets, but the curtains in the front were open, allowing light from the streetlights and the moon to illuminate the space.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re taking this shit seriously. I’ll be in the shop early, want me to bring you some breakfast?” Lincoln was one of his best friends, his warning coming from the heart rather than him just being a jackass.

  Like him, Link had both arms tatted up along with his back. However, Tymber’s chest now sported a huge piece over his scar, blending it in with the artwork. Some days he didn’t think about what he’d have done if he’d not found out he had the big C word so early. More than likely he’d be dead instead of standing in the middle of the apartment listening to Link mumble. “Shoot me a text when you’re on the way. If I’m still here, I’ll take you up on that,” he agreed, hanging up after a few more words.

  Tymber made his way to the bedroom he used and looked at the clock beside the bed, its bright light of the numbers swam in his vision. “Fuck, I’m whipped.” He pressed a button on top, dimming the lights. He was going to sleep for the next twelve hours. His eyes caught onto the last numbers that had called him. Link, King, and Ivy. Just saying her name had his thumb hovering over the keys to call her. Without giving himself a chance to back out, he pressed the call button, waiting for either Ivy’s voice, or the voicemail to pick up. It was after midnight, so he wouldn’t presume she’d b
e up, but he wanted to hear her voice. After doing the memorial piece for King, his mind was a jumbled mess. Hearing a sleepy Ivy answer had his dick jerking in his jeans.

  “Hey, lumberjack, what’s going on?”

  Her tone wasn’t one of anger at his call so late, which gave him hope. “I just finished doing a tattoo and thought I’d see if you were still up.”

  The sound of fabric shifting had him imagining her in bed, nekkid. If only he was there to see for himself. Instead, he stripped his shirt off while holding the phone out. Next he stripped out of his jeans, letting them lay where he dropped them. Her deep breath through the phone met his announcement.

  “I want a tattoo of a quote. Do you have any appointments open, or maybe one of your other artists could do it?”

  Tymber climbed in bed, his instant denial never spoken. If Ivy wanted a tattoo, it would be him inking her perfect skin, not anyone else. “What do you have in mind?” he asked, getting comfortable while she spoke. “Words on a body can be tough. Do you want to write it out and I use it to make a stencil, or do you trust me and my writing?”

  “I have shit for penmanship. How’s yours?”

  Again, the sound of her shifting around made all kinds of thoughts swirl in his brain, but he ruthlessly pushed them back. “How about this. Tomorrow, you come down to the shop, and we’ll figure it out?” The thought of seeing her again shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. Fuck, he’d never really wanted or needed to see a woman the next day, not even ones he’d somewhat dated. His mind ground to a halt. Had he been a dick all this time he’d considered himself one of the good guys? Mentally he shook the thought away. He was always upfront with women, never led them to believe he was the forever kind.

  “I can do that. I, uh, I have some errands to run in the morning. What time is your last appointment?”

  Ivy chewed on her thumb nail, the taste of acrylic filling her mouth when she bit too hard, breaking off a piece of her pretty nail color. Another errand she’d have to do tomorrow, or rather later today since it was almost one in the morning. Tymber gave her the time he’d be free, his tone not giving away to how he felt about seeing her again. Taking a huge leap of faith, she told him she’d see him at six the following evening. Before she could hang up, she heard him speaking.

  “What did you say? Sorry, I was distracted.” Shoot, even to her own ears that was a lame excuse.

  “No worries. I was just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner afterward?”

  Was that hope in his words or her wishful thinking? Either way, she was grabbing onto his offer with both hands. They talked for another half hour, his quick wit made her laugh more than she’d done in forever. Tomorrow, she’d get the words she’d thought of earlier inked on her ribs, then dinner with the sexy lumberjack.

  “See you later,” Tymber said.

  “Alright, sweet dreams.” Good God Almighty, what the hell made her say that? She squeezed the phone in her palm, her eyes closing while she mentally berated herself.

  “I sure hope they are,” Tymber agreed.

  Her death grip relaxed as a laugh tumbled from her. He hung up without another word, but her mind wouldn’t shut down quite so easily. Damn, she was so off her game it wasn’t funny, coming on to a man she barely knew like she had. “Oh well, what do all the cool people say? Yolo, motherfuckers.” Ivy’s laugh ended as she thought of Luke and his love of the YOLO way of living. He’d even had it inked on his body, only to have it covered up a few months later. “Such a silly man,” she whispered, wishing he were there to tell her what she should wear on her date with Tymber.

  *****

  The next day she got up, feeling somewhat refreshed after taking a quick shower, and assessed the apartment. Whoever the club had sent over hadn’t done any real damage, more of a message sort of thing. Why they were fucking with her, she didn’t know. Her entire life had been with the club in some form. First, as Luke’s friend, then as Luke’s girlfriend. She’d never had a cut like some of the old ladies, the women who wore the patch declaring them the property of whatever brother she was with. Luke hadn’t wanted to be like his brothers, yet he was immersed in club politics just the same. It was easy to go along with him as his girl. Nobody fucked with her when she was with Luke. Looked as though that time was over. She wondered if she should call King and find out what was what. An image of him beating the hell out of someone he’d considered a traitor to the club kept her from following through.

  Nope, she would ride this out like she did every other pothole in her life. Going from her mother’s home to Luke’s after her stepdad had tried to get into her bed, Ivy had cried to Luke about the abuse she’d already suffered at his hands. Allowing the fucker access to her bed wasn’t something she had been willing to do. Memories flooded her of how her mom had reacted to Ivy’s claims. Her hand went to her cheek, the sting from the slap she’d gotten still hurt all these years later. She didn’t know if her mother and the jackass were still together. What she did know was that King and Duke had a come to Jesus talk with them both after Luke gave her stepdad a beat down, and then they’d come back with a couple bags of her clothes, promising she’d always have a home with them. “I shouldn’t have let Luke talk me into pretending.” No use crying over spilled milk, she thought.

  After getting ready, she picked up her bag, making sure the new keys were on her keychain, then headed toward the door. A quick glance at the screen showed her the front of the building, assuring her nobody waited at the bottom for her.

  Hours later, her palms were sweating while she backed into a spot in front of Twisted Ink. Mentally she prepared herself to see Tymber, yet no amount of preparation could’ve helped her at her first sight of him, bent over a body with the tattoo gun in his hand. Metal music playing made her entrance less noticeable until the bells above the door dinged, signaling her arrival. Three men lifted their heads, each one previously intent on their tasks. Ivy waved, her eyes caught and held by Tymber’s. Damn, the man is even more gorgeous than she remembered. Today, he had on a black T-shirt without the flannel, leaving his arms bare for her perusal. Holy shit, he was mouth-wateringly sexy without even trying. She watched his hand holding the tattoo gun lift, noticing he wore a ring on his thumb and one on his pointer finger of his right hand. She wondered where he’d gotten them. “I’m a little early,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked.

  “Have a seat. I’m almost done here.” Tymber nodded toward the man on his table.

  True to his words, Tymber finished up, walking his client through the care instructions. While he cleaned up, she took in the inside of Twisted Ink. The art lining the walls were gorgeous. She got up to look at one closer.

  “Ember painted that. He’s an artist with a gun or a brush.” Tymber placed his hands on her shoulders, speaking next to her ear. “I won’t tell you what else I’ve heard he’s good with.”

  His warm breath fanning over her flesh sent a shiver of delight through her. “Hmm, well, I’m sure he’s all that and a bag of chips. How about you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  Tymber dropped a kiss on her exposed neck. “I’m pretty good.”

  A snort from behind them had her twisting around. The man who spoke had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, his bad boy grin telling her more than words. “Well, I hope you’re better than good,” she quipped.

  He took a step back, his hand trailing down her arm until he reached her hand. “Come over here and see what I’ve done.”

  She let him lead her to his work station where several pieces of paper lay, the quote she’d told him she wanted on each piece, with a slightly different handwriting. “Did you do all these?” she gestured toward the drawings.

  “I did two out of the four, Lincoln and Ember did the others. Tell me which you like the best, or if you don’t like any, we can start over.” As he spoke he tipped his head to where Link was.

  Ivy noticed him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, but she could feel tension crackli
ng in the air. God, what if she chose one he hadn’t done? She gave herself a mental shake. This was her body that was being marked forever. Taking the time to study each piece, she kept going back to one in particular. The curling of certain letters made the design seem more...feminine. “This one,” she said pointing at the design she could already see on her rib cage.

  A bright smile broke across Tymber’s face. “Perfect, that one is mine. So, where we inking you?”

  Ivy unzipped her jacket, exposing what she wore beneath. “Right here,” she indicated her ribs.

  “Damn, girl, that’s a sensitive place. You sure you want it there?”

  Her eyes jumped upward, looking for the speaker. A gorgeous woman with long black hair parted to the side, showing the shaved half of her head strolled in from the back. Her tattoos were colorful, like the woman. “Oh, I want it there alright.” Her pain threshold was high, but even so, she was prepared for the feel of the needle.

  The woman brought over some papers for her to fill out, making Tymber mutter under his breath. “I have a set here for her, Lux.” He pointed toward the papers lying on the desk.

  “Yeah, but sometimes you forget. Did you happen to get one of these signed by your customer last night?” One dark, perfectly shaped brow winged up, challenging Tymber.

  He raised his right hand, using his left he began making a rolling motion until his middle finger was extended. “Special circumstances, and for your info, he’s filled out the forms before.”

  Ivy felt like she was watching a tennis match. “Do you two need a moment?” she questioned. The last thing she planned to do was become the middle to another love story, making it a triangle. Nope, she was done with that shit.

  “Nah, Lux just thinks she’s the boss around here,” he teased, winking at Ivy. “Come on, let’s put this on you and see if you like the size and placement.”