Page 9 of Under Kid’s Protection

Kid

Of all the substances Kid had experimented with, he had never had a high like this. The adrenaline and exhilaration of opening his own tattoo studio, and having it go well, were beyond compare. Coming home to Oklahoma may not have been his idea, but it was the best thing for him.

Carefully, he walked his Softail into a spot at the end of the long line of motorcycles gathered outside the Knucklehead. This enormous building might not be the only biker bar in the area, but in his opinion, it was the most well run and had the best atmosphere. Jerry and Vanessa understood their business model.

Which probably had to do with its long alliance with Snoopy before his untimely death. One that Kid and Kev continued upon return. Walking into the establishment, Kid felt like a rock star.

At the bar, Torch, the ginger-haired sergeant at arms for the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club, Oklahoma City Chapter, chatted animatedly with their newest prospect, Bushie. He was a short, stout man with a massive beard and chin-length curly hair. However, when Torch noticed Kid, he stopped his conversation and approached.

Kid accepted the hug from his longtime friend and now patched brother. The two men briefly clapped each other on the back before separating.

“Congratulations,” Torch said, lifting his half-drunk pint glass.

Kid stuffed his hands in his pockets, dipping his head humbly. “Thanks.”

“When are you available?” Torch stuck out his arm, twisting it to show the inside. “I want colors right here.”

Kid examined the empty space and considered how their club logo would fit there. “Can you wait until next weekend? After hours?”

Despite being new in town, Kid had a schedule full of appointments lined up. If he stayed late, he could probably bang out a piece in a few hours.

Torch nodded. “Friday’s payday.” He winked.

Kid nodded and patted his friend’s shoulder to affirm the arrangement. He glanced toward the potential new member, whom Torch had sponsored, and jutted his chin in acknowledgement.

“Hey.” Bushie waved.

The two men returned to their conversation, and Kid went deeper into the packed bar. With his eyes on the rear corner table, the one beneath the banner with their club colors on it, he snaked his way through the people listening to early 2000s covers. The band was decent, and Kid bopped his head along to “Kryptonite” by 3 Doors Down.

“There he is.” A woman’s voice caught his attention.

As he turned toward it, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pressed her body against his.

Reflexively, he ran a hand along the small of her back and rested it on her hip. Vanessa had a complicated history. She’d been the old lady of a Roughneck Rider, the club Snoopy had run until he died—at the hands of Vanessa’s old man.

She had nothing to do with his father’s murder. Diesel was an absolute shit stain. Which was no secret to anyone—she knew better than anyone. In the old days, the way his dad ran his club, if a guy wanted a girl, he took her. She didn’t get a say in becoming his property. Kid couldn’t hold any of what happened against her. Besides, he might or might not have thought fucking her was what he’d done to get on Diesel’s nerves. Both while he was alive and since he’d been put in the ground. Their little trysts were the worst kept secret of the Roughneck Riders. Nothing was more humiliating than to have a guy’s old lady riding another brother’s cock.

As petty as that was, that minor act of defiance was his “fuck you” to the man who had ruined everything Snoopy had built. Though, to be fair, that club was a mess. Kid wasn’t so sure he’d be who he was today if he’d stayed in Oklahoma and gone along with the Roughneck Riders manner of living.

“I’ve missed you,” Vanessa said softly against his ear.

“Been busy,” he replied as he scanned the crowd for familiar faces while she kissed his jawline and rubbed her fake tits against him.

For an older woman, well, eleven years his senior, she had the libido of a high schooler who recently lost their virginity. This woman couldn’t get enough. Which had suited him just fine when he’d arrived, but ever since he’d moved in to help Carrie, he hadn’t been as available, and their fucking tended to occur either in the Knucklehead’s back room or when she popped up at his studio during the remodel.

Quickies to take the edge off and so he didn’t succumb to the temptation that was Carrie dressed in her adorable pajama shorts and crop tops. He had to be a better man for Carrie. She’d been through enough, and he didn’t want to contribute to any more of her trauma.

“You going to stop by tonight?” she practically whined. “The kids will be asleep by the time we close.”

No, they wouldn’t. They never were. Though, that never really bothered Kid. They were teenagers. He was pretty confident they were aware of their mother’s sex life. She did nothing to hide it.

“Probably not,” he answered honestly.

She huffed and pulled away from him.

Thank God. He hated when she hung on him. Sometimes, she was like a damn octopus.

“What’s the deal?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I understood when you were preparing to open Inkjection, but that’s done. What gives?”