Free Ink (The Haven Series) by Torrie McLean Page B

into.
    ***
    His leather cut on his back, patches proudly on display and surrounded by his brothers, Paulie felt ten feet tall. Ten feet tall and torn between making the most of the clubhouse celebrations or grabbing his girl – no, his old lady – to steal her away for a celebration of a very different kind.
    Finally he could show her what it meant to be with a true Fallen Brother, no longer resigned to being the butt of the jokes. To serving his brothers beer and making do with their leftovers on runs. He was fully patched and already loving every second of it, a swagger in his step and new-found confidence in the little jerk of his head as he greeted well-wishers from all over. He didn’t care that most of them were just there for the party, rather than him specifically.
    “Ayyyyyy, Paulie!” Sam hollered from the bar, raising his beer bottle in salute to his former prospect. “Get your ass over here, man. You ready to get that little lady inked? Before she comes to her senses ...”
    Quickly realising he was still pretty far down the pecking order, Paulie shrugged off the teasing even as Sam grabbed him in a good-natured headlock and ruffled his short dark curls with his knuckles. He was still flying too high for anything to bring him down right now though. “Where d’ya need us?”
    “Unless she’s looking to get her tatt on her ass or something, what’s wrong with right here?” Sam shrugged. “We’re just waiting on Colt’s tattooist to show. Hey, Colt – any word?” But taking the black look he got in response as a no, he shoved Paulie off with the instruction to go get his girl and ambled over to his friend. “Chicks, huh? And they’re meant to be the dependable ones. She say she was gonna be late?”
    “Ain’t heard from her,” Colton said, taking a long swig of his beer. His closed-off attitude made even Sam think twice about further comment.
    “Hey, Colton,” a sultry voice interrupted their non-conversation, hot pink nails trailing up his arm to get his attention. “Can I ... getcha anything?”
    “Sure,” he smiled, half turning towards the over-eager, under-dressed woman. “You can get me another beer and then ... you can get gone.”
    Smirking at her crestfallen face, Sam shook his head. Colton was living proof if ever he saw it that treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen was a valid life choice when it came to getting tail. Worked every time. Even when what you were really aiming for was treat ‘em mean, make ‘em piss the hell off . “So, Sketch is here – he don’t know where she is?”
    “Nope,” Colton confirmed bluntly, shooting a look to where the studio owner was kicking back on one of the clubhouse’s many seen-better-days couches - currently enjoying the view of the leggy brunette draped over him. “And he’s too wasted to take over so, if she don’t show, I guess I’m popping that girl of Paulie’s ink cherry. Damn, man, if she’s a crier ...”
    But Sam was no longer listening, his sharp blue eyes trained on a figure across the clubhouse until he was sure he was right and he let out a long low whistle. “Hold the phone, buddy-boy – you got company. Boy, do you got company ...”
    ***
    From the minute she’d pulled her car into the yard, taking in the sight of bikers and scantily clad women spilled out of the brightly lit clubhouse, Callie had started both questioning what she was doing and inwardly calling herself crazy for over-thinking this. She’d been here before, she’d inked club members before, she’d even tagged along with Sketch to hang out with the guys before – although admittedly not often.
    This ... This was no big deal. And there was definitely nothing to be read into the fact it had taken her a good couple of hours to get ready. So what if she was normally a lot lower maintenance? It was a big night for the club – she could hardly rock up in her sweats.
    The ass-hugging denim cut-offs and clingy gray silk vest top were hardly making a huge