Kingdom's Reign

Chapter 1

1

Six Months Later

Kingdom sauntered through the door of Angel’s Tattoos on the north side of Poughkeepsie with his brothers, Cutter and Tank, following behind him. Angel was the best tat man this side of New York State. Kingdom ambled over to the counter as his brothers took their seats along the line of chairs backed against the far wall. A wall was coated with layers of photos and designs of Angel’s artistry. Dark demons took residence beside brilliant angels while butterflies lived side by side with serpents. He liked the place. Whatever he wanted done, Angel did it, and he did it right. No mess-ups. No repeats. The man had mad skills.

Approaching the new woman behind the counter, Kingdom stared at a bent head. Waves of mahogany hair cascaded down and hid her face. A white tank top stretched over full tits and slanted down to a slim waist. Leaning over slightly, he caught a hint of nice wide hips. So far, so good. In his past life, he would’ve definitely kicked it to her.

“Hey,” his voice came out to alert her to his presence. He cleared his throat, suddenly full of grit.

Emerging from layers of velvety hair were cobalt eyes. Those stunning baby blues were set against fair skin and partnered with generous lips naturally shaped in a slight pout.

Kingdom’s breath stalled. Fuck. Damn.

Her lips parted a bit, and she stared at him intently.

He rasped out, “When’s Angel free?”

A moment of silence hovered between them. She broke it with a brief shake of her head. After flicking through the appointment book, she looked up, her lips curved upward into a perfect bow.

He sucked in a breath. Fuck, he’d thought she had a tight, hot little body, but damn—her smile. Coming straight from Chop’s gravesite, where he’d lobbed a volley of curses at the gravestone as he did most days, he was caught off guard by the gorgeous creature in front of him.

“You’re lucky,” a voice broke through his thoughts. “Angel usually has a full day, but there’s an opening in approximately half an hour. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” he responded gruffly.

“What are you looking to ink?”

“What does it matter?” he shot back. The woman flinched. A twinge of guilt pricked him, but he shrugged it off. Hell, he couldn’t bother to add more to his already heavy-as-fuck load.

“I’m simply asking to get an idea of how long it will take him,” she replied. “I give prospective customers an estimate of how much it will cost and how many sessions Angel will need.”

She bounced back fast; he’d give her that. And she was talking all classy. Prim and proper. He didn’t have many opportunities to be around prim and proper. The easy sensuality of her tone eased the tautness in his neck and shoulders. Even his cock twitched for the first time since his brothers had scraped him off the floor after he had found Chop. He had hoped his crippled libido was a permanent condition. A righteous punishment handed down by a vengeful god.

Her bright cerulean eyes framed by dark lashes scrutinized the tattoo sleeves on his arms. His biceps instinctually flexed under her inspection. Consciously, he released the tension in his muscles, but it was too late—lust had surged into his bloodstream like he’d been hooked up to an IV of Spanish fly.

“You seem to have enough experience with tattoos, but I do usually confer with Angel about what a customer would like done before he meets with them. Would you mind giving me an idea of what you’re looking for?”

“The tat is for my brother. Name was Chopper.” He coughed into his fist. “It’s the anniversary of his death.” Where the fuck did that come from? Since when did he share his private business with perfect strangers? Never, that’s when. Must be her unusual eyes bewitching him. Ignoring the unease pinging in his chest, Kingdom pulled up a photo of a Harley Chopper on his phone. He held it up for the woman to see. “I want Angel to ink a Chopper for my brother.”

As she studied the photos, her forehead furrowed. “Oh...I see. His nickname was Chopper because he rode one.”

“No, Chop got his name when he was a Night Stalker. It’s old school, but Chop liked to keep it real.”

“When he was a what?”

Christ. Kingdom reached deep inside for patience. “Chop was in the 160th Special Ops Aviation Regiment.” A tic flickered on his jawline. He didn’t like outing himself to a civilian. He sighed at her blank look and, speaking slowly as if to a child, he clarified, “In the U.S. Army, Night Stalkers fly helicopters. Helos.” He elaborated further, “Choppers.”

Her eyes lit up with curiosity. Finally, she understood. “What kind of helicopter did he drive?”

“Fly,” he corrected her. “You don’t drive birds. He flew everything, but his favorites were Blackhawks.”

A phone was thrust in his face.

“What about a tat specifically of a Blackhawk?” she asked.

Huh. For the first time since Chop’s death, Kingdom drew in a complete breath, a near miracle considering his chest was always tightly cinched by an iron band of shame. But the instant Miss Sex and Class showed him a photograph of Chop’s beloved Blackhawk, Kingdom’s lungs expanded fully with air, along with something more. More of what, he couldn’t begin to imagine, but it loosened the noose around his neck by a notch, like the buckle of a belt.

“You can have his name tatted on one blade,” she went on, “his birth date on another, a RIP date on the third one, and...” Her forehead creased as she concentrated. “The date he became a member of your biker gang on the fourth blade.”

His lips quirked to one side. “You mean patched.”

Sex and Class peeked up from her phone with her cute frown. “Patched?”

“Yeah, patched. Bikers start out as trainees. We call them prospects, and after they prove themselves, they graduate to become full members of the club, also known as brothers. Becoming a member of our MC is called getting patched in. The brother gets a patch on their cut.” He pointed to his own patch. “The Demon Squad MC.” He explained the acronym, “MC means Motorcycle Club. For the record, we’re not a gang.”

She gave him a slightly embarrassed one-shoulder shrug. “Oh. Thanks for the explanation.”

Pleased with her suggestion, he nodded his approval and indulged himself with a thorough perusal. She was worth looking at, for sure. Some men liked skinny bitches; some men liked thick bitches. Him, he didn’t discriminate, but he was willing to admit that she carried the perfect balance. Turns out he had a preference after all. Her. On top of her appearance, she was smart too.

Worst yet, he sensed that he hadn’t scratched the surface. He’d wager his bike that a woman like her was more dangerous than the sum of her parts. Damn it all to hell, he was hard now. Apparently the extra oxygen he had breathed in had shot straight to his cock.

To distract himself, he resumed their conversation. “I see why you’re up front. You have a knack for tats.” He shouldn’t have, but he asked anyway, “What’s your name, girl?”

“My name is Sage,” she huffed. “But FYI, I haven’t been a girl for quite some time.”

Kingdom grinned. Her gaze jumped to the dimple at the side of his lips. He’d never liked it, but he had to admit it was useful with the women.

“I stand corrected.” He let his eyes wander all over her in an unhurried fashion. “You’re all woman.”

Heat tinged her cheekbones, but she gave him a noncommittal shrug. He spotted the flare of interest in her eyes. It caught fire and smoldered in his belly. Kingdom braced the counter with one hand and leaned toward her ever so slightly. He was pleased when her body gravitated toward him like an animal seeking refuge with one of its own kind.

Evading his blatant come-on, Sage said conversationally, “Most people don’t ask for advice. It’s a shame to waste Angel’s talent with boring tattoos like butterflies or the Grim Reaper.”

He pulled away and countered in mock offense, “GR is not boring.”

Again, he noticed that when he moved away from her, she instinctively inclined toward him before she briskly hauled herself upright.

“You may have a point,” she concurred. “A woman came in the other day with a drawing she made for a tattoo of butterflies in flight. The butterfly at the base of her spine was in a pencil outline. Each subsequent butterfly circling up her spine became more detailed and colored. The last one, just below her neck, burst out in Technicolor. I thought it was a beautiful representation her personal journey of transformation. Her manner of interpreting the idea was touching.” Sage scrunched her nose. “I doubt the average woman wants a caterpillar and chrysalis on her back for her entire life.”

Kingdom chased her expressions and gestures as she relayed her story. He had stopped listening to specific words, instead tuning into the vibrant thrumming energy between them. A fierce, unexplainable sensation lashed against the sides of his ribs. His fingers snagged the edges of his leather vest and gripped them hard.

There was an affinity between them, no doubt, but he had no template for instant connections. Fascination lured him in, not with cut-offs revealing butt cheeks like the club women, but with her odd mix of softness and intensity. She had an air of innocence mixed with a passion he’d forgotten existed. In his world, innocence died a swift death.

“What about skulls?” he suggested just to keep her luscious lips moving and the smart words flying from her mouth.

Sage’s pursed her lips in distaste. “Not a big fan. I tend to like pretty things.”

“You don’t say. That’s ’cause you’re a pretty thing.” He angled his head, his gaze lingering on her.

She fidgeted under the weight of his perusal. Quickly, her head dipped down at his compliment, embarrassment splashing pink across her cheeks. Other than her blush, she refused to acknowledge his flirtation. Twice now.

Bitches always, and he meant always, responded to him. Hell, he didn’t put effort into baggin’ women, especially civilians. Most times, hangers-on were the worst. They didn’t know how to play the game. Got clingy.

He couldn’t put words to why this woman affected him. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind so much, but it was beneath the Vice President of the Demon Squad to show undue interest in any female, much less one separate from his world.

Brusquely, Kingdom shoved off the counter as Angel turned the corner of the hallway and entered the front of the store. By the look on his face, he was none too pleased to hear Kingdom’s last words or see Sage’s blush. Kingdom repressed a laugh.

Angel bristled, a growl emanating from the back of his throat. “Kingdom,” he called out curtly.

Kingdom turned fully at Angel’s tone, and they locked eyes. Few men dared hold his stare for long. He and Angel were on friendly terms, so the woman must have meant something to him. His heart rate picked up as it occurred to him that she might belong to Angel. He didn’t like that thought. Not one bit. And worst, he chafed against the idea that he cared either way.

Kingdom queried in a casual tone, “Got a problem?”

Angel’s face revealed nothing, but he stood down. Nothing good came out of antagonizing a member of the Demon Squad. “Nope,” Angel replied. He gave Sage a hard look, then held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “What can I do for you, Kingdom?”

Kingdom stared into Angel’s eyes for a half minute more to solidify his dominance. He inclined his head toward Sage and clarified, “I’m talking to your girl here.”

Sage interrupted gingerly, “Angel, I can run through with you what he’d like done.”

Kingdom cast her quelling look over his shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”

Angel stiffened at Kingdom’s command. Reclining against the counter, Kingdom used his large frame to block Angel’s view of Sage. If she is Angel’s woman, he’ll barrel into me anytime now. Angel was a genius with a needle, but the bastard had little self-control.

Angel stood still.

Kingdom clapped him on the shoulder. “Relax. I came in for a tat.”

Angel hesitated for a moment before taking Kingdom’s lead. Shooting Sage a concerned look, he motioned for Kingdom to walk down the hall to his workroom. “Come on back, hombre, you can tell me what you want in the chair.”