“I want to tattoo my name somewhere,” I finally murmur, looking into Gabby’s face for some sort of a reaction, and definitely expecting a fight. There’s confusion, but for now this confusion doesn’t appear to be leading towards conflict.
“What? Why?”
“It’s a biker tradition in my club and every other. You tattooProperty of Clubnameon your old lady. That way no matter what happens to you, no matter where she is, other guys keep their hands off her. If there were ever to be a kidnapping situation or something like that… or if I were to… be indisposed. It’s a promise.”
“Then why do I have to be the one to get tattooed?”
“Because there’s nobody big enough to take me down and get my clothes off. No use pretending our world is safe for women.”
Isn’t that the very truth the one that drove Tylee to take the darker path each and every time? Maybe that was never it, but I don’t want to risk putting Gabby in danger, having her think that she has to trade on any values or dignity just to keep herself safe. If she belongs tomeand by definition the Rebel Barbarians MC, no matter what happens, she’ll always have that protection.
You can take off a wedding ring and throw it down a manhole or into a lake. A tattoo lasts forever. It’s inked into your skin and sends a message to whoever might see it. Hopefully, Gabby understands the potentially darker implications. If a man were to ever go too far and even cut away a piece of her clothes… something like that… My mark on her would be a big fucking warning.Hands off, or your cock will end up in a pickle jar.
I run my thumb slowly over her lips.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tattooGabrielleon my ribcage. Make it nice and painful for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “And I need to get your tattoo where?”
“On your hip,” I whisper. “Right here…”
I touch the soft, sexy part of her hip where I want to see my club tattoo. She might be trying to hide it or merely processing the emotions, but I sense a dark part of Gabby is excited by it.
“I’m not the first woman to have that tattoo.”
“You will be the only one,” I whisper. “Trust me…”
Tylee already got her tattoo covered up. I found out from Owen Shaw. Not exactly sexy talk.
I keep caressing the part of Gabby’s hip that I want to ink up. Her body shifts with a new desire coursing through her which I’m more than happy to be the victim to. Her legs spread as I lie between them and her hands run over the length of my back, feeling up all my muscles and arms.
It feels damned good having her touch me like this. My dick gets hard again, despite myself. I want to marry this woman. Tattoo her body. Give her a baby. Everything I want with her becomes this strong urge inside me that just feelscorrect.
I know we’re right for each other.
“I love you,” I murmur. “I’m going to marry you, Gabrielle. And give you the whole world. I hope you know that.”
I thought the path for my bloodline in this world would be simple. I met a small town girl and had three kids, settled down (I thought) and was done. I never looked past our world to see what was out there. I never thought life could be different. If shit hadn’t hit the fan and forced me to look beyond my neighbor… I wouldn’t have found Gabby.
She’s different from anybody that I would have imagined myself ending up with, not because there’s anything wrong with her or different women, but it’s just not something that you see very often on television, and you certainly don’t hear about guys like me and women like her in country songs.
My father and the men in the club before him worried an awful lot about keeping our bloodlines pure… connected to a certain group of families who experienced life a certain way. The older I get, the more I think it’s about who makes you strong. Who makes you happy. Who makes you feel like your bloodline has a home.
There’s nothing more pure than love, the way I see it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Christian Shaw
Wyatt calls a family meeting in Missouri for us all to attend. We’re here to discuss and determine the fate of our family’s most troublesome woman – Tylee. Ever since I was a kid, Tylee hated my guts. She’s way older than me so until I hit my growth spurt that redhead would kick the shit out of me or hit me any chance she got. It’s not like she could beat up the older boys…
I’m glad not to be a kid anymore. After all that I’ve done for Wyatt and the club now, he finally agreed to patch me in. At twenty-two years old, I patched into the Rebel Barbarians MC. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted this. I grew up playing with toy dirt bikes and took my first ride when I was two-years-old, sitting up on my daddy’s lap while my mother was out getting groceries.
Ever since I was thirteen, I got addicted to riding on my own and sneaking out with either Wyatt’s bike or my dad’s. There were plenty of spare parts lying around, didn’t take me long to fix up my own bike and have the shittiest dirt bike you ever saw by the time I turned sixteen and could officiallyget my license.
Uncle Harley bought me a new-to-me bike that was much nicer – ‘07 Harley Davidson he traded at some show out in San Diego. The body needed work due to salt damage from the ocean spray but I didn’t give a damn. That bike was perfect. I ended up selling it to Tylee so I could get the money to move out of Missouri when I turned eighteen.
Long story how that all turned out.