We can, mind you buy this place, supply gas station service, and have the recovery business attached. Saving us a lot of cash by not paying anymore rent to anyone,” Tracker is rubbing his chin, right before nodding to show he’s decided on the direction we need to go.
“Who is going to run the gas portion? The shop? Run the office for it?” I ask, thinking shit, Pres is going off on one of his gut feelings, and they don’t always work out, mostly…but not always.
“Don’t know yet, but we’ll work it out,” Tracker replies. “Lock this shit up, and Bull get it purchased for as little as possible. If you need help, ask Coin and Keys.”
“Will do, Pres,” Bull answers as he locks the building. We wait for him while he speaks to the realtor, and hands back the key. Saying something that I’m thinking isn’t what the realtor wanted to hear because his face looks like he’s witnessing something abhorrent.
Bull, however, swaggered over to his hog, straddled it, and all the while giving the realtor a cocky look. “Don’t ask,” Bull comments as he fires up his girl.
Tracker gives him the look that says he wants to know, and he will know as soon as we get back to the clubhouse. Bullchuckles at the look he received from Tracker, and we can all see he’ll spill the story.
“Follow me, we have another place I want to visit,” Tracker says right before he takes off, and we all follow behind.
Parking our hogs outside what is now Demon’s Ink with the newly painted sign. Which I admit isn’t a sign as such–it’s a border above the vast window and the door–encompassing a hand-painted Demon’s Ink name. It’s very easy to see why Jordan is called Scribe, because the filigree text is superb. Maybe he can place Cilla’s name on my pec for me? It’s worth asking at least.
Stepping inside, there is a seating area, a desk the length of nearly an entire wall. I thought we’d see areas where the artists would work, but there are coffee tables with albums neatly sitting on top.
Scribe steps out of the back room and seeing us, looks from one of us to another. Spotting Tracker, Scribe steps forward and holds his hand out. “Pres. Welcome to Demon’s Ink.”
After only a slight pause, and taking Scribe in from head-to-toe and back again, Pres shakes the hand in return. “Show me everything,” Tracker says and follows Scribe as he steps back into the room he came out of.
I take a seat and wait, as do Rides and Hot Rod. Cap, of course, follows behind Pres, taking in everything Scribe is saying.
By the time we leave the studio Pres has seen every room in the building, and that includes the small apartment upstairs where Scribe is going to live.
I reckon this place is going to be very successful, especially when you see the list of clients waiting to have Scribe work ontheir piece. Anything from a single name to an elaborate wolf in a forest scene. Yeah, I’m more determined to have Cilla on my pec because it’ll look awesome. I wonder if I can get Cilla to have a tat?
Chapter 34
CILLA
“Jet, this shop looks nicer than the last one don’t you think?”
Jet has become my faithful companion since being given the job of my protection. He is far more than a bodyguard; he is like a younger brother who has a tendency to open his mouth and anything he’s thinking at the time spills out. He doesn’t seem to have a filter, but I’ve been working on it, although I find his honesty hilarious at times.
“The outside looks well kept, it’s not shabby at all. But we’ll see if we have bitches inside the same as the other place. I’m notputting up with that shit in here, Cilla,” Jet has the look on his face that tells me he is ready to brew up a storm if necessary.
Patting his arm as he holds open the door, I give him a small smile. “Now, now, let’s be nice,” I murmur.
“Only until I don’t have to be…” Jet snarls quietly.
“What’s that, Jet?”
“Nothing, Cilla.”
Walking inside, I have to admit the shop has a welcoming feel. There are a lot of wedding dresses hanging on rails. If they are for sale, I don’t know, but I’m not looking for a normal wedding dress. I want to wear something easy, and that I might wear again.
“Hello, my name is Paris. Can I help you at all?” A young woman walks towards us with a beautiful smile on her face. She is stunning, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and an aura that radiates warmth.
“Hello, Paris. My name is Cilla, and this is Jet. I’m here to find something to wear for my wedding, which is approaching faster than I thought it would.”
A sweet laugh flows over me, and again the beautiful aura flows from Paris. I’ve not met anyone with her aura for a long time, and it’s refreshing. I hope life doesn’t give her too many knocks to dim her glow.
“We have wedding dresses like these,” Paris points to a rack of ball gown-type dresses. “Or these, and these,” again pointing to different racks in the shop. “But if you are looking for something less flowing and would rather have a suit or a simpler dress, we can accommodate that too.”
“I’d like something smart, with a touch of class, but not frilly, or looking like the mother of the bride,” which I say, I admit, with a touch of amusement.
Paris gives me a huge smile while responding, “Oh, I understand, truly I do. Follow me.”