Under Locke Read online

  He sucked in a sharp intake of breath and if it wouldn’t have been for the amused grin on his face, I would’ve worried he thought I sucked as a human being or something. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  Slim had shifted his hips to face me more comfortably, one leg still tossed over the other, the coy fish tattoo on his forearm right in front of my face. “No tats?”

  I shook my head, a little embarrassed.

  “Piercings?”

  My face flamed, but I shook my head anyway. “Do my earlobes and cartilage count?”

  The grin on his face spread so wide I thought it’d be painful. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.” The infectious grin contaminated me. "How many do you have?"

  "Not that many." Slim pointed at the wide gauges stretching his earlobes. "Two." He stuck his tongue out. "Three." Luckily, he just pointed at the right side of his chest. "Four."

  My eyes went wide.

  "Blake! How many piercings do you have?" he yelled, trying to get Blake's attention from the other side of the divider.

  "Seven!"

  Slim nodded. "Blue doesn't count because she has at least ten, and I think Dex only has three now." He tipped his chin up, giving me a teasing smile. "You should think about getting one." He paused. "Or three."

  I put my palms up and shrugged. "Maybe." I almost told him I had been thinking about getting something, but I kept my mouth closed.

  He slowly got to his feet, patting around his back pocket. "I'm gonna go get a sub from the deli next door. Want something?"

  "No thanks." What a nice guy.

  "Blake, you want something from Sal's?" he asked.

  "Six inches," was his initial reply before adding something like "salami" at the end of his request.

  I didn't hear that though because that was when I did it.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had the worst habit in the universe of just blurting shit out of my mouth without thinking. I liked to blame the fact that my mom, brother, and yia-yia were the same way. Hell, even Sonny said whatever came to mind and he wasn't even on the right side of the family.

  Some families passed on traits like bad eyesight, receding hair lines, stuff like that. My mom's side of the family passed on diarrhea of the mouth. Add that onto the fact that Will and I used to catch each other with the same joke every chance we had, and it was inevitable.

  So I blurted out the dumbest crap I could have said in a mix of a snicker and an amused laugh that everyone in the parlor could hear. It was instinct.

  “That's what she said.”

  Silence.

  Friggin’ silence followed.

  Three seconds of quiet time filled the shop. Even the low buzzing noise of the gun was strangely absent in my words’ wake.

  And then they all—Slim, Blake, Blue, and the customer at Blue’s station—burst out laughing and howling. Laughing and howling at the same time.

  Crap.

  Blake pressed his forehead against the divider while his shoulders shook. Meanwhile, Slim covered his face with both of his slender artist hands as his chest vibrated.

  “Did that really come out of your mouth or am I imagining it?"

  I face-planted the desk. “Oh God, I'm sorry, Blake.” I’d muttered. “It just...came out."

  “She got you good,” one of them barked out loudly before making a noise that sounded like a cry right as it dissolved into a cackle.

  “What the fuck are you guys laughin' at?” that melodic voice asked from somewhere behind me.

  I didn’t have it in me to look up because I was mortified.

  Mortified because I was A) an idiot, B) an idiot, and C) an idiot. I didn't know these guys and that was rude, wasn't it?

  Luckily Slim managed to get something out when Blake started laughing even louder. “Blake—Iris—six inches,” he gasped.

  I tilted my head over to shoot Slim the most withering look in the world. I probably looked more constipated than mad. "I said I was sorry."

  “What?” Dex asked again.

  Someone patted my head, which was still friendly with the lacquered black wood beneath me.

  “Tell him what you said,” Slim urged me. “It’s funnier if you say it.”

  I groaned.

  “One of you just tell me what's so fuckin’ funny. I don’t need to hear your life story,” The Dick groaned.

  With a long, amused sigh, Slim repeated the incident, snickering his way through the beginning of the six inch request.

  The original four started laughing really loudly again, which made me start laughing again too because what the hell was I going to do? Cry? Maybe.

  By that time, Slim and Blake were wheezing even as I heard the steady hum of the tattoo gun start up again.

  “Ritz? What’d you say?” Dex asked in an exasperated tone that sounded exactly like the one he'd used when I had asked him for help my second day.

  The reminder of his words the day before cooled me down insta-friggin’-ly. I was sober in seconds, blinking away the embarrassed tears that had come up when I started laughing at my dumbass comment.

  “It was inappropriate, I’m sorry for saying it,” I told my boss, averting my eyes to Slim’s still covered face.

  “Just tell me what you fuckin’ said. I’m dyin’ here,” he cursed, the tips of his words sounding more curious than angry.

  Well, screw it. If he was going to fire me for making a that's-what-she-said joke, then so be it. If I needed to make dumb jokes to get The Dick to cut me loose from this job, then that was a loss I’d take for Team Iris. I'd just been hoping to have another job before then.

  My eyes went up to land on the short, dark scruff on his jawline. From those two seconds I was staring at his face, I’d deduced that his facial hair was the same inky black as his head. Which was nice, until you figured out he was a huge asswad.

  “I told Blake that's what she said." He blinked. "You know, about wanting six inches." I breathed out, darting my eyes back over to my redheaded coworker for throwing me under the bus and making me talk to my arch nemesis.

  But Dex didn’t say anything in response.

  Of course he didn't have a sense of humor. I guess you couldn't have a sense of humor if you were missing a soul. The thought almost made me laugh.

  He just stared at me for the longest moment, his gaze intense and disarming. Those blue eyes lingered over my face before he told Slim to go clean up his station so we could get the hell out of there as soon as possible. The minute those words were out of his mouth, I sensed that Blake had walked away too.

  Since that little chat, he hadn’t ventured further than four words at a time with me until Friday.

  It was a little after five o’clock and the shop was dead. There weren’t any appointments scheduled until eight so I wasn’t expecting any customers to walk in until much later. I started going through the catalogues I'd found in the desk drawers, trying to get familiar with equipment. Who did show up instead, were two bikers that pulled up to the street parking like they owned the boulevard the building was on. Wearing heavily patched-up black leather vests, maybe in their mid-thirties or early forties, and each sporting some serious facial hair, they prowled in through the door looking around immediately.

  WMC members.

  “Hi,” I called out to them.

  One of them, the older looking of the two with a belly that had a monogamous relationship with six-packs of beer, tilted his chin up at me. “Dex here?”

  I nodded.

  The other biker guy, pretty attractive in his own way with his dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail, winked at me. I had a feeling he was the same guy that Dex had been arguing with at the bar my first day in town. “Get him for us, sweetie?”

  I wished that it wasn’t The Dick of all people they were asking for, but I nodded anyway and headed down the hall. When Dex was in, I stuck to the front desk so he could use the office. It was only when he wasn’t around or if he was busy with a custom
er that I slunk in to do whatever was needed that day in peace and quiet. Meaning that I had no clue what the hell I was doing and tried figuring everything out on the go.

  Luckily, Dex was stepping out of his office before I made it all the way.

  My focus zoned in on his so-black-it-almost-looked-blue hair that flopped out from beneath the rim of the Rangers cap on his head. “There are two people asking for you in the front.”

  “I saw 'em in the camera,” he informed me. I didn’t even know there was a camera out front. Dex handed me a big manila envelope he had under his arm. “Do me a favor. Walk this over to the body shop around the corner, will ya?”

  Sonny! I still hadn’t dropped by, then again, neither had he. But it didn’t matter. He still texted me at least once a day to make sure I was alive and hadn’t gotten lost or abducted in my new city.

  I must have thought too long about going over to the body shop because Dex cleared his throat, raising a heavy eyebrow. This guy really thought I was an imbecile.

  I wasn’t about to let him know I was excited to see Sonny by running the errand, so I nodded at his hair instead. “Sure.”

  "You know where it's at?" he asked me.

  Anger rose up the vertical muscles in my throat. "Yeah, I know." And then I muttered, "I'm not completely stupid."

  He didn't say anything as I took the package from his hand, keeping my eyes everywhere but on his face. Not bothering to say anything else to him, I turned around to walk down the hall.

  “Make sure Luther gets it, babe," he called out after me.

  Babe. Guh.

  It was something so far I’d only heard him call me when he wasn't referring to me as Ritz. In the last two days he’d helped other women who came in but he strictly referred to them by their first name or “sweetheart.” Under normal circumstances, I would have thought that was cute but this was Dex The Dick, so it automatically defaulted to douche-bag language.

  Either way, he could shove his pleasantry up his pie hole while I went across the street. I had no idea who the heck Luther was but Sonny would.

  Dex walked just a few feet behind me, his heavy footfalls—from the black motorcycle boots I noticed he wore daily—echoed on the tiled floor where my flat ballet shoes didn’t make a sound.

  Dirty Biker Guy winked at me as I walked passed him. I flushed just a little but winked back and was out the door, making it through before the two men began speaking with The Dick.

  It was pretty impossible not to feel relieved to see my only real friend—slash sibling—in Austin during the day. I’d been getting off work so late we only got to talk for a few minutes before he’d pass out on the couch or bid me goodnight if he didn’t stay up watching television while I ate. I had no idea what time he got up, and to be honest, I figured it was pretty early even though he went to bed a lot later than I would have if the tables were turned.

  I’d been parking in the lot for days now, but I hadn’t paid enough attention to see just how large the shop was. Which would’ve been my sign, as I walked up to the body shop, on how big the property was. The ratio was about five to one.

  And it was owned by a member of the MC, Sonny had explained in the past.

  The garage itself could house eight cars. There was another building adjacent to it. One that looked exactly like the main one minus the bays, probably an office and reception area.

  As soon as I stepped onto the lot, I saw Sonny standing in the third open bay from the gate. Hauling my butt over in his direction, he attention darted over to me at the same time I saw a couple of guys in the same jumper suit he had on looking over.

  I gave him the “princess wave”—a cupped hand that rotated at the wrist—before yelling, “Hey!”

  But Sonny, who had rightfully given me the impression he didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought when I saw him walk outside the house in only his boxers one morning when I got up to pee, smiled at me this quick, open grin before walking in my direction too. “Ris, what are you doing here?”

  “I have to give this to someone named Luther.” I held the envelope up to his face. “Not that it’s not nice to see you, or that I haven’t been planning on coming to visit you since we work like right next door.”

  He shot me an easy smile before gazing down at the package. “This from Dex?”

  “He asked me to drop it off,” I informed him, proud of myself for not calling Dex a dick when I had the chance.

  "Is he still giving you shit?"

  I shook my head. "He just pretends I don't exist and I mess stuff up because I don't ask."

  He snorted. "Good girl." Sonny looked over his shoulder, scanning the remaining open bays down the side of the building after he’d glared at some of the employees looking in our direction. “Look for Trip. He’s probably down at the last lift with him.”

  I thanked him before remembering what I’d been putting off for days. “I keep forgetting to ask you, do you know where I can get an oil change for pretty cheap?”

  Those light brown eyes went blank. “You’re serious?”

  “No, you know I just like cracking jokes about car repair.”

  "You're a pain in the ass, kid." He let out a deep sigh, placing a hand on top of my head and shaking it. “Ris, I’m a mechanic.” I knew this but it didn't mean I wanted to take advantage of him by asking. “We’ll come in the morning and I’ll do it for you tomorrow.”

  “Here?”

  “Here,” he confirmed. "Your tires need to be rotated while we’re at it. I can do it faster here."

  I grinned at him. “Deal. I owe you.” For a bunch of things but I didn’t have a doubt he was absolutely not keeping track of.

  With a light smack to his shoulder blade, I told Sonny I’d see him later and made my way across the forecourt to the last open bay. There were two Harleys parked inside with Trip and an older looking man with what had once been brown hair that was now streaked with gray, standing together and talking in low tones.

  Settling on being rude over being nosey, I cleared my throat and forced a grin on my face. “Sorry,” I called out over to them.

  Trip turned around, his expression smothered in frustration and what I thought could be anger at first before he spotted me. “Hey beautiful,” he murmured with a head nod as the older man turned his attention to me as well.

  The man looked to be in his late fifties, face weathered, expression telling me he wasn’t much of a grinner unlike his younger companion. He had on grease stained jeans, a t-shirt that had once been white, and a distressed leather vest with multiple patches. The Widowmakers' vest—or cut, as Sonny had corrected me back at Mayhem my first night.

  I figured I probably shouldn’t waste his time based on the fact that he didn’t look happy to see me and probably didn’t look happy to see anyone, period. Ever. Moving my focus back and forth between Trip and the man I assumed to be Luther, I raised the envelope up.

  “I’m looking for Luther.”

  The old guy took three steps toward me, reached for the envelope with a grunt of a “Thanks” and turned around to open it, shielding me from its contents.

  Trip and I both looked at each other and shrugged.

  “I’ll see you later,” I told Trip, who looked even more attractive during the day than he had when I saw him at night the week before. In the natural light, my guess was that he was probably a handful of years older than my twenty-four. He had on the same thing that Luther and the other two guys back at the parlor except his t-shirt was black and his jeans looked pretty new.

  Trip was pretty friggin’ handsome. Long legs. Nice yellow blonde goatee. Easy smile.

  So I knew right then that I really needed to get my ass back to work before I thought any longer about how nice and handsome Trip was. Because it then reminded me how hot and asshole-ish my boss was, and I knew that would only make me bitter.

  No thanks.

  “You comin’ to the party tomorrow, gorgeous?” he asked when I took a step back.

  “The
re's a party?”

  He nodded.

  "Well, this is awkward." Both of my eyebrows shot up. I whispered, "I wasn't invited."

  Trip laughed. “You're invited. Sonny only parties in one place, and that's with the Club." He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. "You hafta come. You got it in your blood."

  Sonny had used those same exact words to con me into going to Mayhem with him last week. You got it in your blood. Then why the heck had my parents taken me to Florida?