The next morning Maddox waited at the tattoo parlor as promised. The appointment took six hours, and he held my hand the entire time despite the disapproving looks from the bodyguards. We didn’t talk much. There were too many curious ears around, but just having him there made things so much easier for me.
Once the tattooist was done, Maddox admired my back. “Snow White, that tattoo will piss off the haters so much.”
I smiled but quickly shook my head when the tattoo artist wanted to hand me a mirror so I could check his work. “I’d rather wait until I’m home.”
Until I’m alone, was what I didn’t say.
Maddox’s lips tightened with worry, but I gave him a firm smile.
“It’s really amazing. Earl will turn in his grave, trust me,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being here.”
Maddox shook his head, lowering his voice even further. “I’m responsible for this shit. I’ll always be there for you if you need me.”
I nodded. My bodyguards motioned at the watch. We were supposed to be home by three p.m. and needed to hurry.
“I wish I could see you tonight,” Maddox murmured shortly before I slipped into the limousine that would take me home.
“I know,” I said. I longed for him too, but another visit would probably send Dad over the edge. “I’m going to Growl’s shelter in the morning to visit Santana again.”
“I’ll be there. Then I can check on the two dogs I saved from Cody’s junkyard.”
Maddox looked ready to kiss me goodbye but I gave a small shake of my head.
“Not in public, hmm?” he said. I didn’t miss the bitter note to his voice.
Maybe I was being a coward but I had enough on my plate and couldn’t deal with another public scandal right now.
I didn’t look at my tattoo until I was alone in my room that evening. After changing into my nightgown, I removed the cover and checked the tattoo in the mirror. I’d never considered getting a tattoo. I had seen the occasional piece of body art I’d admired for its artistic value, but I’d never understood the need to decorate my skin in such a permanent way. Earl White hadn’t given me a choice.
Mom always said women weren’t given many choices in our world, even today. Every choice was a duty in disguise with only one right decision, and endless options to fail.
But I had taken my choice back, had ripped it from the cold, dead hands of Earl White. The ugly words he’d forced into my skin were no longer visible. The tattoo artist Dad had paid extra had done a fabulous job. What once read “Vitiello Whore”, now simply stated Vitiello and where the whore had been below my name, I now had a gorgeous crown. It was intricate with gemstones and red satin inlays. The contrast of the red against my pale skin was gorgeous. It really was a masterpiece.
People had called me spoiled princess for so long, I might as well ink a crown into my skin. Maddox was right. Many people would be annoyed by my choice of tattoo. But I’d rather they despise me for being a spoiled princess who crowned herself than that they pitied me for words forced into my skin.
My choice.
I rode through New York until the late hours. I preferred the hum of my bike to the deafening silence in my new apartment. I’d never lived alone. Most of my life I’d lived under the same roof with loud-mouthed bikers. Silence was foreign to me.
I had on occasion felt lonely in the past, especially when I was younger and trying to find my place in Earl’s house and in the club. But afterward, I’d always had the company of my biker brothers or club girls. Now I didn’t have anyone to turn to.
The people I’d once called brothers were far away and possibly the enemy, and the people I’d called the enemy? Still wanted me dead. My list of enemies was stacking up dangerously high. And the woman who was the reason for everything? I couldn’t even see her to convince myself that it was worth it.
I was becoming a fucking pussy.
When I returned to my place shortly after midnight with a six pack of beer to keep me company, I realized that I’d missed three messages while on the road. One was from Luca, one was from Growl and the last was from Marcella.
I opened the latter first, worried she’d needed me and I hadn’t seen her message in time.
But all it said was,
You are right. They’re going to be pissed because of the crown.
P.S. I miss you.
I grinned and quickly typed a reply.
I hope I’ll get to see their stupid faces when you reveal the tattoo.
P.S. I miss you too.
I shook my head. I’d never texted with a girl like this, telling her I missed her, any kind of emotional bullshit really.
After a gulp of my beer, I opened Luca’s message.
Be at Growl’s at nine am.
No greeting, no reason why, just a simple order.
I wrote and deleted several replies that would have given me plenty of satisfaction, but probably would have made Luca less inclined to let Marcella see me.
I emptied the rest of my bottle before I finally wrote,
Yes, boss.
He’d probably realize the hidden sarcasm but it was the best I could do.
Now the message from Growl wasn’t all that surprising. I opened it.
If you want, you can have breakfast with the shelter crew at 8.
I smiled. Growl was really an okay guy.
I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?
I’d actually never been invited to breakfast. It was such an ordinary thing to do, especially considering how Growl looked.
Be hungry.
That wouldn’t be the problem. I’d spent the last few mornings eating stale gas station donuts and coffee that had a chicken-broth aftertaste.
When I pulled up in the driveway of the shelter, Growl’s car was already parked in front of the house. Another car I had never seen before was parked right beside it.
I felt strangely nervous, which was completely ridiculous. But this felt like the first test of many to become part of Marcella’s world, and while I’d never wanted to be part of it, I did now because of her. Even in my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine Marcella as an old lady who spoke only when spoken to and accepted the wild lifestyle of a motorcycle club. Either I became part of her world, or our worlds would never merge.
The door to the house opened and Growl waved me in.
I was surprised to find a beautiful woman with brown hair in her late thirties inside preparing pancakes and hash browns. Two massively muscled pitbulls sat beside her. A tattoo peeked out under her high ponytail and it was obvious that she was very fit.
“Your wife?” I asked Growl.
Pride and adoration filled his harsh face. “Yes, my wife Cara.”
Cara turned, wiped her hands on a dishtowel and came toward me, followed by her two dogs. She held out her hand with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Growl told me a lot about you.”
I grimaced. “I doubt anything good.”
She shook her head with a smile at her husband. “Actually, most of it was good.”