Page 40 of Then and Now (The Edge of Retaliation 3)
“So you took it upon yourself to leave, and didn’t at least give me the respect to say goodbye?”
“You would have tried to stop me, probably convinced me to stay, and we would have ended up hating each other.”
“You mean like we do now?”
I make a wheezing sound, because it feels like he’s punched me in the belly. My eyes burn and I nod, because it’s all I can do. He’s right, the hatred we feel right now is equal to what we would have possibly felt then, only then, it wasn’t certain. Now, it is. I know I made a mistake not telling him, but I made a choice and I had to stick to it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice tight. “I honestly am.”
He shrugs, and walks down the hall saying, “I’m not. Thanks to you, I found a fuckin’ better woman.”
Those words ring over and over again in my ears and my heart feels like it splits in two. A small sob rips out of my throat and I turn, walking off to my room and closing the door, before pressing my back to it and sliding down, dropping my head in my hands and crying.
What have I done?
Oh, what have I done?
15
JOANNE
I keep my head held high as I walk around the apartment, picking things up and making more room for the two men who are sitting back on my sofa, watching fucking baseball. I could go over there and knock that remote out of their hands, and knock the attitude right out of them, but I’m not going to do that.
Instead, I go about my business, trying to act like I can’t feel Tatum’s eyes on me as I move.
My phone rings from the kitchen counter, distracting me, and I walk over, right past the television, and pick it up. I see Alarick’s name flashing across the screen, and, being the pathetic female I feel like right now, I put it on speaker and answer it with a, “Hey boss.”
Tatum’s eyes flick my way, but I pretend like I don’t notice. Petty? Of course. Do I care? Nope.
“Got a client for you,” Alarick’s rumbly, very sexy, very masculine voice says, filling the room.
Anyone listening to it can tell just by hearing that voice that he’s a god damned warrior or a man.
I melt hearing it, and I’m not into Alarick like that.
“You do?” I ask, shocked, considering Callie was my first client and he didn’t say a great deal about the work I did, so I wasn’t sure if I did good or if I royally fucked it up.
“Yeah, one of the club members needs some new ink. He’s keen to let you give it a try. You good to come in now?”
“A club member?” I squeak.
“Yeah, problem?”
“Nope. No. Of course not. I’ll come in now.”
He hangs up without a goodbye, typical Alarick. I glance over at Tatum, who is watching me, his eyes narrowed.
“I have to go into work.”
“You tattoo people?” he asks, genuinely shocked.
“Yeah, I do. I just got a chair. I work for … ah … a biker club.”
Tatum’s eyes flash with something, and then he says, “No shit.”
“Anyway, I have to go.”
Tatum stands, grabbing his phone and keys and saying, “I’m coming with you.”
My eyes get big. “I’m going to work, Tatum, I’m not bringing you.”
“Sure your boss won’t mind me sittin’ and waiting. You’re in danger, after all, that’s what we’re here for.”
I clench my jaw. “If I say no, you’re not going to have it, are you?”
“Nope. Let’s go.”
I exhale and he follows me out, telling Ethan to let Tanner know where we are. I tell him I’m not riding with him, that he can follow me in his truck, and he agrees. I get into my own damn car and start driving to work, praying maybe I’ll lose him in the traffic somewhere.
A girl can only dream.
WE ARRIVE AT THE SHOP at the same time, and I exhale loudly, frustrated that I didn’t, in fact, lose him in the damned traffic. I get out of my car and walk toward the front door of King’s Ink run by the very well known, very dangerous Kings Descendants MC. Still, I like working here, in fact, I enjoy it more than I let on.
Even if sometimes those bikers scare me.
It’s totally worth it.
“You work here?” Tatum mutters behind me as I walk in the front door, ignoring him.
Alarick is at his chair, leaning over a woman’s lower back, gun in hand, busy concentrating. As far as I’ve been able to figure out, his grandfather was King, the man who created the club, and it has kind of been passed down, so to speak, and now Alarick, or Flick as he’s better known, is the President.
“Cohen will be here in five, get your stuff ready, I’ve left the design on your chair,” Alarick says, not looking up from his work.
