I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar (Persian: ??????, “king”) married a new virgin, and then sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had never occurred before and that still to this day, I cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before you now.
Dedication
To the readers, for wanting more Hard Ink! You guys rock hard. So hard.
Chapter 1
Jessica Jakes had been lusting after Ike Young from almost the day she met him, back when she was a newbie piercer at Hard Ink Tattoo and Ike first came looking for a job as an artist. Which meant she should’ve been thrilled that her thighs had been wrapped around his hips for nearly an hour. Except she wasn’t in his bed. She was on the back of his bike. And she was running for her life.
The Harley’s roar ripped through the warm May afternoon as they drove country roads, piercing through farmlands and forests. But Jess couldn’t begin to appreciate the scenery. Not when her whole world was falling apart. She hugged her arms tighter around Ike’s broad chest, and he gave her hand a squeeze like he knew she needed it.
She did.
Ike banked the motorcycle to the right, pulling into a narrow gravel drive sheltered by trees. Jess wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. All she knew was that they’d ridden about forty-five minutes west of Baltimore into the rural rolling mountains near where Ike’s motorcycle club, the Raven Riders, had their compound. Around a sharp bend, the sparkling green-blue water of a lake further down the mountain came into view. The water quickly disappeared behind another copse of trees before they reached their destination, a tiny white house with a detached garage behind it.
With a columned front porch, dark-red front door, and brown stone chimney and walkway, the place sat sheltered in the shade of several tall, old trees, and had a quaint charm about it. For the first time since she’d learned that she was in danger, Jess smiled. Because hard-ass, no-nonsense biker man Ike Young had a cute little cottage. Who would’ve thought?
Ike parked, killed the engine, and gave Jess a hand off the bike. She was still wearing a grin when she lifted the helmet from her head and shook out her black hair.
“What’s funny?” Ike asked, eyeballing her as he scrubbed his hand over his bald head.
Jess gave Ike a long, appreciative glance—and there was so damn much to see. Besides being way over six-feet tall, Ike had a black abstract tribal inked onto the left side of his head, the sharp blades of another abstract tribal reaching out of the collar of his black T-shirt, and tattooed sleeves running down both muscled arms. He was a feast for her eyes. One that her hands and mouth had always longed to join.
“Nothing’s funny. Your house is just so…cute.” She released her helmet into Ike’s big hand.
He frowned as he looked at the house, like he was trying to see it through her eyes. “It’s not cute. It’s a damn cabin.”
Jess smirked. “Okay, well, it’s a cute cabin then. Do you even fit inside this place? Because standing next to it, you look even freakishly bigger than usual.”
Of course, most everyone looked big compared to Jess. At five foot one inch tall, she made up for in snark what she lacked in height. But that was okay, because she liked big. Ike’s kinda big.
Ike shook his head and gave her a droll stare, then turned to pull her duffle from a leather saddlebag on the back of the bike. He hiked her bag over his shoulder. “House rules for as long as we’re here,” he said, staring down at her with those piercing, dark eyes. “One. No leaving without my permission—”
“Where would I even—”