“Missus Graham?” She looked up and twisted her head around, then did a double take. Took her a couple seconds to remember she'd taken my name, plus the missus part.
A tall man covered in ink and piercings appeared from around the corner, and he did a double take when he saw us sitting together. “Oh, shit! I'm sorry for keeping you guys on hold. Didn't know another one of Blackjack's boys was getting married.”
“Whatever, man, you know the drill.” I stood, taking the opportunity to grab her hand and pull her up with me. “Just do your best work. Whatever she wants, wherever she wants it, as long as it says Property of Asphalt, Grizzlies MC. You make it damned near perfect, and we won't have a problem.”
He swallowed nervously. The ink jockey in front of me had tatted up plenty of brothers and their girls since we took over this town, and I knew he knew his shit.
For some reason, he never got over shitting his fucking pants whenever he saw any man with a bear patch walk in. Even worse when he needed his old lady inked, too.
I walked her over to him 'til she gave me a sour look and snatched her hand away.
“I can do this alone with the artist, Asphalt. I don't need you looking over my shoulder...”
“Don't bullshit me, babe. I'm coming back there with you,” I growled, ripping open the curtain around the little workstation where he had his bench and his inks. “You're mine now. I protect you day and night, make sure you always get what you deserve. This marriage thing might have gone differently than I wanted, but as long as you're wearing my brand, you'd better believe I'm treating it like a man should. Deadly fucking serious.”
She didn't say anything, just laid down and worked her small fingers down her zipper, exposing her back. When Ink Man stepped in to take it down, I beat him to the punch, giving him the dirtiest damned look in the world as my big hand peeled her dress open, exposing her tender back.
Virgin flesh for my mark. My cock jerked, enjoying the fact that I'd get to claim her one way, even if it wasn't the one I wanted most.
I'd missed my chance to take her cherry before she ran off to college, yeah, but I'd take over every single inch of her. It wasn't close to too late for that.
Fuck, what the hell's happening to me? I watched my reflection in Ink Man's big mirror, listening to the hum of his tools while he worked.
My brand slowly came into view. It had the same theme as lots of other brothers' old ladies. A halo of thorns and barbed wire around the letters, my name writ large on her flesh.
Elle Jo laid completely limp for the next hour, barely murmuring or shrugging her shoulders when the artist asked her for input. I clenched my jaw, trying to keep myself from blowing the fuck up here.
What's wrong with me? What the fuck's gotten into her? Doesn't she realize this is the most important day of her goddamned life, sham marriage or not?
“Easy, girl. Just gonna do the finishing touches.”
“Not yet.” I stepped up, putting my hand on her free shoulder, giving it a possessive squeeze. “I want something more unique with this one. Put some lightning bolts around it. The same glorious shit I've got stamped here.”
I tapped one temple with my free hand, making absolutely sure Ink Man understood. I wanted her to match what I had on my skull. He cleared his throat and looked at Elle.
“That all right with you, ma'am?”
Finally, she sat up, her face tortured. “No. I think we're done here. I've got his name on my skin, all the club legalese an old lady should wear. That's enough, right?”
“Fuck no, baby. The brand's all up to your old man, and asking you for input is just a fucking courtesy. I told you exactly what I wanted. You wanna wear my name, be my property for real? You'll sport my symbol too. Nothing says Asphalt like these lightning bolts. I want my girl wearing 'em too.”
We locked eyes, two wills warring. She pursed her lips before they parted slightly and she answered in a haughty, sharp tone.
“You know that isn't what I am. Not really. Come on, Austin, can't we just –“
I snapped. Seized both wrists and flipped her around, pinning her down on the bench, making her feel my weight on top of her. Ink Man jumped back like he'd just come face to face with a mad dog.
Obviously, he had. And now I was laying down the law, telling her exactly what was happening here, leading the way an old man should.
“No, goddamn it. We can't.” I shook her arms gently, but firmly, lowering my face 'til my hot breath caressed her throat. “I don't give a shit if your old man and my Prez put us both up to this. Don't give a microscopic fuck if you've got a boyfriend back home, holding his dick and getting the worst fucking case of blue balls in the last ten thousand years. Babe, I don't even care if you hate me now, if that sweet, lost little brat I remember in Tacoma's nothing more than ancient history.”