Bad Vibes (Inkspirationz Book 1) Read online

  Nodding with acknowledgement, he says, “Oh yeah.”

  “Any idea how long they’ve been in business?” Or better yet how long Scarlett’s been around?

  “I think they’ve been open a year or coming up on a year anyway.”

  Which means Scarlett must have rolled into town around the time I was granted my leave. “Really?” I grin, smoothing out my beard.

  “Yeah, I think the place used to be an ice cream shop or something.”

  Processing the information, I nod, “Huh.”

  Abandoning the island, David crosses the kitchen to the industrial size sink as he asks, “What are you getting done?”

  Realizing for the first time that Scarlett has no clue who I am and how we’re connected, I can’t help but worry this tattoo is going to cause nothing but trouble. “I was planning on getting a back piece to honor my dad and Snake, but I’m not sure it’s going to pan out.”

  Washing the raw meat from his hands, David says, “Oh yeah, how come?” with the tip of his chin.

  “Kind of hit a snag with the artist.” I snicker on an exhale.

  Knowing how bad I fair against the opposite sex, he laughs along with me, “What kind of snag?”

  “The kind that involves Club history.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Dude, you’ve been hanging around your wife too long,” I laugh, shaking my head with amusement, “you’re starting to sound like her.”

  “What can I say,” he smiles like a fool, “She’s everything to me,” he expresses, knowing how much we all hate, yet love them.

  “The kind that involves losing a father over.” I spoke quietly.

  Knowing a little bit about my sorted history with the Club, he whistles, “Oh shit, was it the guy who tried to save Ashley?” he asks.

  “Unfortunately,” I whisper, as the weight of my sister’s death still carries a heavy burden on my shoulders.

  “Shit man, I’m sorry,” he offers, with sympathy while he dries his hands on a dish towel. “Which artist is it?” He requests, knowing the studio is run by women,

  “Scarlett,” I smirk, “she’s the redhead,” I offer, giving him more to go on.

  “Oh, the owner.”

  My smile widens, she’s the owner? “Really?” Makes sense, she did move like she owned the place.

  “You mean you didn’t know?”

  “No,” I admit, crossing the kitchen, “How’d you find out?”

  “Like you said,” he huffs on a small laugh. “I’ve clearly been spending too much time with my wife,” he mocks, “but on the plus side I know almost everything that goes on around here.”

  “Nice.” I chant, as a message from the Club comes across. “Gotta go,” I state, turning towards the door. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I suggest, clapping him on the back before heading out.

  “Sounds good,” he calls after me.

  Jogging around the block I’m intent on grabbing my bike and returning to the yard like I’ve been summoned, but once I’m standing in front of ‘her’ studio my guilt gets the best of me. I can’t leave without disclosing who I am, I worry as my eyes skim the exterior of her shop. Snake would be so proud. Fuck, I’m proud and I don’t even ‘know’ her, other than the stories I’ve heard. I realize, a small smile makes an appearance. I never expected to meet her, I whisper as the bullet wound, I was left with that night, throbs with acknowledgement.

  Peering at Inkspirationz’s exterior, I stop to fully admire its features as my eyes scan the outside of the black and gray two-tone unit. Eyeing the sleek design of the shop decal, I grin at the use of the old school heart banner tattoo with the name Inkspirationz in dark fancy lettering. Drawing my attention towards the front window, “We’re Open” blinks in red neon letters, I can’t believe she did all this, my heart soars as my free hand instinctively covers the pocket holding her picture. She’s all grown up Snake, I whisper with my face tilted toward the sky. Your emerald beauty has done good for herself regardless of the past.

  Abandoning my bike and the Club’s summon at the curb, I re-enter the shop to find Scarlett leading her client towards a privacy curtain. Guess I’ll have to wait, I mumble, as her vibrant red hair disappears behind the curtain. Eager to get everything out in the open, I decide it’s best to wait.

  After about five minutes of silence I’m desperate for something to keep me busy. Moving further into the studio, I’ve realized how much more of it I’m now seeing since I learned this place belongs to Scarlett.

  Moving further into the space, I follow the fancy conduit lights strewn above the entrance leading towards the reception desk, which currently sits vacant. Moving past the desk I take survey of the customized tattoo stations, each one with a different name and theme.

  I wonder which one is hers? I ask, growing closer to the first station. Glancing inside the space, the name Scar is handwritten across the back wall in fancy script, where’d the nickname come from? I whisper, as the photo that alerted me of her identity draws me further into her station.

  Reaching for the framed photo of Scarlett and Snake, I have no restraint as I pick it up. Drawing it closer, I linger over the little girl wearing footie pajamas and a pair of cute pigtails. She’s wearing the exact same thing in the photo that rests in my pocket.

  Briefly glancing around the empty studio, I reach for the photo that’s been inhabiting my cut for the past three years, sure enough they match. It is her, I whisper, as if there was any doubt.

  Behind me someone speaks up, “Is her what?” Shit. “What’s that?” The stranger demands, entering Scarlett’s station in two long steps. “Why do you have a picture of baby Scar?” She accuses, with eyes so sharp they could be daggers. “You better not be some kind of creeper,” she snaps, her eyes surveying my cut. “Glory Bound or not. I’ll fuck your shit up real quick, if you mess with my girl,” she states, shoving me aside. “Wait a minute,” she whispers, “How do you have this picture?” She presses. “And how do you know Scar’s father?” She probs, as she does another take.

  Feeling her eyes roam over me my guard hardens as her face slowly softens with recognition. How woven into the Club is she?

  “He was my mentor,” I exhale, as her eyes move between the framed photo and the one, I kept in my pocket. The pocket of Snake’s old cut. Slowly piecing things together her eyes lower to my cut.

  “This is the jacket, isn’t it?” She blurts, reaching out to grab the sleeve.

  “The jacket?” I ask, sending up my brow, what jacket?

  Examining the sleeve, a little closer, she says, “Her dad’s missing cut?” Then sighs with disappointment when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “Then again maybe not.” She frowns, shoving me back a little with a pout. “Does she know?” the stranger asks, watching me closely. Where do I know her from?

  Slowly lifting my head, I murmur. “Not yet.”

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “It wasn’t at first,” I admit, “but now that I know who she is, I think I should tell her before it’s too late.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that Scar’s dad was your mentor and I get that,” she levels me with that stare, “but you haven’t explained how you got the photo or why you’re still carrying it?” Her brow quirks, but not in a cute way, more like an annoyed way.

  “It was left in the pocket of Snake’s cut when it was left to me.” I disclose.

  “So.” She drags out, waving the photo around in her manicured hands. “Why keep it?” She presses, as she leans back against the door frame.

  “The easy answer?”

  “Sure.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.” I lower my eyes for the next part. “Not when I’ve heard stories about ‘her’.” I whisper into myself.

  “Stories?” her eyes narrow in confusion. “What stories?”

  Returning my gaze to the photo I’ve become so fond of, I’m able to make out the outline of the little girl with sparkling em
erald eyes and that perfectly crooked smile. “When Snake and I worked together in the garage, he often passed the time by telling stories of his daughter.” I start, saving the detail about her eyes for myself. “I think it was his way of keeping her close while he was away from home,” I offer, recalling how torn up Snake became when he was away from his family for too long.

  “Ohmygod,” the familiar stranger, shrieks behind me, “You’re totally in love with her.”

  “What?” I growl, snatching the photo back. “I barely even know her,” I exclaim, repocketing the photo with care.

  Following me out of the station, she says, “You don’t see it, do you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I deflect, with her trailing behind me.

  “You may not see it now but give it time. You’ll come around.” She chuckles, “I guarantee.” she shrugs with confidence. “It’s kind of my super power.” She motions with her shoulder, clearly feeling pretty sure of herself.

  “Look,” I start, stopping to level with her, “there’s somewhere I’m supposed to be right now, but I was really hoping to speak with Scarlett before things get complicated.” I trail off, not wanting to get into any details. “Is there anyway you could give her my number?”

  Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she asks, “What’s in it for me?”

  What is wrong with some of these women? “You get to help your friend find closure.” I bark, annoyed with women who flaunt themselves like they have nothing more to offer.

  “And you think you can provide that?” She accuses.

  “I can at least give her the details she’s been seeking,” I state, scribbling my number out on the back of a receipt.

  “But doesn’t that go against ‘Club’ business?” she tests, knowing full well it does.

  “In some cases,” I pause, acknowledging this might be a test. “But I think there should be some ground rules when it comes to disclosing information to family members,” I admit, extending the crumpled receipt with my number. “Especially family members he was close with.” I add, brushing past her.

  Chapter 4

  Scarlett

  Shuffling Brody out the door, I have just enough time to setup the stencil and prepare my station before my client arrives, but my thoughts keep wandering towards the photos Brody left behind. I wonder if my dads in any of the photos?

  Placing my clients design on the pinboard, my eyes glance towards my filing cabinet for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour. Just one little look. I whisper, knowing I won’t get anything done if I can’t quiet my thoughts.

  Spinning around in my chair, I point the wheels toward the filing cabinet and take off. Reaching for the bottom silver handle, I notice a slight tremor of my hand. What if I see something I don’t like? I hesitate, as a memory of the night I learned my father fathered another child. What if I see him with Kurt’s mother?

  Gripping the handle tighter, I yank it open and snatch up the envelope before I’m out of time. Unlooping the clasp at the top, I swear the motion of opening this damn thing is taking way longer than it should. Working the clasp, my eyes anxiously drift between the envelope and the clock as the time quickly ticks by.

  Finally freeing it, I flip open the top and reach inside. Slowly withdrawing the stack of old photos, I place the envelope on top of my lap with care balancing it just right, so I don’t drop any. Setting the stack of old photos down I can smell the familiar scent of the Club all over them.

  Slowly shifting through the photos, I take the time to really look at them as the Glory Bounds logo stares back at me. Swallowing my anger, I take a deep breath and shove my feelings aside as I narrow in on the bikes sleek design.

  A noise in back reminds me I’m running out of time, so I shuffle through the next couple of shots of just random members when I come across a photo of my dad. Dad, I whisper with longing as I stroke the photo for comfort. Is that Brody he has his arm around? I ask, as my eyes skim over the boy’s features. How is this even possible right now? I exhale as the bell above the door rings signaling the arrival of my client. I can’t deal with this now. I curse myself, as my trembling hands secure the photos back within the envelope. “Hello.” My client calls out as I’m safely tucking the envelope back to the bottom drawer of my cabinet.

  Throwing myself into work seemed like the best way to keep my mind off the photos and the people within them, but now that my third and final client had left for the day my mind is already racing back to them. “Penny for your thoughts?” Izzy speaks up, while we begin our nightly closing routine.

  “Just thinking.” I sigh, with a tight-lipped smile.

  “About the brooding biker?” She winks, on a chuckle.

  “What?” I shake my head. “No.” Not entirely anyway.

  Knowing me all to well, she sing-songs. “Yeah, yeah.”.

  Organizing the rest of my station for the night, I can’t control my tongue. “I think he might know my dad.” I call out into the studio.

  “The guy that was here today?”

  “Brody,” I supply, with a slight twitch of my lip.

  “Really.” Izzy beams, with a grin so wide she can only be up to something. Fixing the photo of my dad and I, Izzy speaks up from somewhere within the studio. “He came back you know?”

  “Who?”

  “Brody.” She says, this time from my doorway. “He came back while I was sketching in my station.” I thought I saw him walk back in.

  “What for?” I inquire, switching the lights out on my way through.

  “To talk to you,” she replies, offering me that same wide grin that causes my eyes to instantly roll.

  “Did he say what about?”

  “No,” she says, but her tone gives me that bad vibe.

  “What aren’t you telling me Iz?” I stress, as the tension of a secret hangs between us.

  “It’s not my place,” she starts, as her eyes turn down. “However, he did leave me his number to pass along. I really think you should reach out to him,” she urges, extending me a crumpled receipt from her pocket.

  Staring down at the crumpled mess that is Brody’s number, I realize by taking it I’m getting pulled back into the Club I promised myself I’d never been involved with. “Are you going to call him?” She asks, looping her arm through mine, probably so I can’t use it to beat her with.

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “Guess not,” she huffs. “But I really think you should reach out,” she encourages. “He really seemed like whatever he had to talk to you about was really important.” Her eyes lower again. “Whatever he had to tell you clearly carries a lot weight on his shoulders because he seemed pained to leave without seeing you.”

  Raising my brow with curiosity, I exhale a, “Really?” As I stare down with indecision at his number. If I’ve learned anything from my past relationship with Jason, it’s that I can’t trust a man. More than ninety percent of the time he was lying to me and when he wasn’t, he’d butter me up just long enough to get what he wanted. How do you trust people like that?

  “Mmmhmm,” she nods.

  “I don’t know Iz,” I huff, shoving the crumpled piece of paper into my pocket. “This seems like too much right now.” I confess, resting my head on her tall shoulder. “I feel like I’m finally starting to get my life back after the shit Jason put me through.” I sniffle, as I’m thrown into the memory of the first time, he hit me. “I don’t know if I’m ready to add more stress to my life right now.”

  “I know it’s hard Hun,” she comforts, petting my hair. “But wouldn’t it help to have some closure?”

  “I suppose.” I relent, popping off her shoulder. “I’m just afraid I might not like what he has to say.” I admit, knowing my dad wasn’t all that innocent. “I’ve always seen him as this hero type, you know?”

  Playfully bumping me with her hip she sings, “Scar’s a bit of a Daddy’s girl huh?”

  “Something like that.” I
smirk, as the memory of my dad and I fixing up the GTO steals my focus.

  “Hand me the flashlight baby girl,” daddy’s voice booms from under the hood.

  “Here.” I beam, climbing the fender. “Let me get in there with you,” I suggest leaning in. “How’s that?”

  “That’s my girl,” he chuckles with pride. “Never afraid of getting her hands dirty,” he says, drawing a grease streak under my eyes like the football players. “You’re going to do big things baby girl, remember that,” he smiles, with a hint of sadness.

  “Damn right.” I chime, reveling in his words, as our song comes over the car stereo. “I’ve got to turn it up,” I blurt, as my feet hit the garage floor, carrying me to the driver’s side. Leaning in through the open window on the driver’s side, I stretch as far as my short legs will go, which is just enough for my arms to reach the volume dial. Cranking our favourite ZZ-Top song someone whistles, and howlers “Great ass baby, I wouldn’t mind seeing it bounce off my dick sometime,” he chuckles, to the guys around him.

  “Excuse me?” I ask with confusion.

  “Mother fucker,” my dad’s voice booms from under the hood. “Get in the house, Scar,” daddy’s voice orders, as he flies out from under the car.

  Upset with my father’s tone, I cry, “What did I do?”

  “Just go,” he roars, which wasn’t like daddy at all.

  Pulling me back to the present, Izzy asks, “You okay? You kind of disappeared there.”

  “Just thinking about my dad.” I reply on an exhale. “I’ll think about calling him, okay?”

  “It’s a start Scare Bear.”

  “Scare Bear?” I huff. “Where’d that come from?”

  “You can be pretty scary when you’re pissed,” she chuckles, “but you still look like this cute little cuddly bear to me,” she adds, pinching my cheeks like a grandma.

  “That’s because you’re a freakin’ giant in those heels.” I tease, shoving her off balance a little. “How do you walk in those all day?” I ask, quirking my brow. “I’d take my kicks or shitkickers over heels any day.”