Mated To The Cold Hearted Alpha
Chapter 7

Careful attention was required today. Both tattoos we were working on today were complex with a lot of intricate shading. Complete focus was required for the quality of work we’d become known for.

It was the reason we were able to afford our tattoo shop and the loft we lived in above it. After doing a sleeve and chest work for the President of the Grimm Motorcycle Club a year ago, word had spread quickly, and bikers from several states made appointments for custom artwork.

I’d always loved to draw. My first job after we’d fled was with a local tattoo parlor. With an ID in hand that said I was eighteen, I certainly hadn’t looked it, not with the fresh face and innocence of my true fifteen-year-old self at the time. The owner had been suspicious, but after some trial sketches, he liked my work enough to hire me anyway. I smiled at the irony-I wasn’t legally old enough to get a tattoo, but there I was, madly writing in permanent ink on the flesh of every type of client under the sun.

Of course, it hadn’t been long before I wanted beautiful artwork on my body. Wherever I could reach, I did the work myself, but for those places, I couldn’t access, I didn’t trust anyone other than Lucky. During those early years, Lucky’s work preference was mechanical and motorcycle body shop, but he was a damn good artist as well, and frequently filled in whenever another staff member called out or didn’t show.

We hadn’t stayed in that location very long. Actually, for the first two years, we moved every two to four months, never putting down roots, never establishing a pattern of behavior. We’d simply throw a dart at a map and evaluate the location, making sure we were never close to any pack. It was grueling. Just when we’d gotten settled, the time would fly by, and we’d have to pack up and start all over again. Until a year ago. The dart landed on the quaint small-town of Juniper, Nevada, about an hour north of Las Vegas near the mountains. We fell in love with everything the little town had to offer, and for the first time, we both felt we could stay in one place a little longer.

“Fine,” I relented, staring at Lucky’s puppy dog pleading expression, and went back to my room to change my top. I stripped off the singlet and found a crimson T-shirt. It was almost the exact same shade as my red hair. I’d been coloring my naturally strawberry-blonde hair, various shades of dark red, for the last three years. Not only did it help with disguising my identity, but with heavier kohl makeup, the combination helped me look older at least old enough for my job. I examined my reflection in the mirror. The T-shirt was still tight, hugging my figure, but didn’t show as much cleavage. And it looked good with the black cargo pants that hung low on my h**s.

I left my bedroom and found Lucky waiting for me in the living room. He held a bottle of beer in his hand and stood, staring at a painting of a chocolate brown wolf with tawny highlights, on the brick wall. The Wolf had a beautiful blue leafy swirl from the top of its eye curled around its ear to the base of its snout-the same cerulean blue, so much like another Wolf’s eyes that I couldn’t seem to get out of my head.

“This one’s new,” he murmured, taking a sip of his drink, still admiring the painting. There was appreciation in his eyes, but I saw a familiar sadness that mirrored my own-a longing to be a part of a Pack. Wolves were social creatures, and we’d been on our own for too long. Just our little family of two. It was shocking to think I hadn’t seen another Wolf in over three years.

“Yes, I just finished it last night. “I stepped to his side. I loved to paint and create mixed-media artwork. In addition to other subjects, I kept several pieces of wolf art on the walls. I suspected it was my way of subconsciously trying to surround Lucky and myself with a Pack-even if they were just in paint.

“Are you going to take it to the gallery?” he asked, glancing in my direction.

I chewed my bottom l*p. Six months ago, we’d had a client come in for a tattoo. She owned an art gallery in Las Vegas. She’d taken one look at the art on the walls and immediately wanted several of the pieces for her gallery. I’d agreed, not really expecting much, however shockingly they’d sold very quickly, and she’d come back for more. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to give up this piece and murmured, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Where are your initials?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, refocusing on the painting.

I signed my paintings with my alias, Abigale Rourke, however, hidden somewhere in all of my artwork where my real initials, HD for Hycinth Diamonte. I pointed to two swirls by the wolf’s ear. Luca nodded.

My glance drifted away from the painting and landed on another piece of artwork. I hadn’t created this one. Instead, we’d found it at a local flea market, and it was one of my favorite pieces in the loft. A massive, metal steampunk-looking clock with interlocking gears. The time on the clock face jolted me out of our softly-spoken moment.

“Oh crap, we’ve got to go! They’ll be here in less than ten minutes.” I pulled on Lucky’s arm.

He followed me toward the front door, not bothering to leave his beer. He just carried it with him as we headed down two flights of metal stairs and out onto the street below. Even though our loft was located right above the tattoo parlor, there was no adjoining door. After locking the door to our home, we unlocked the shop. The familiar smell of antiseptic and bleach wafted into my nostrils. I wrinkled my sensitive nose. The scents were quite strong but necessary to keep the work area and instruments sterile.

After a flurry of activity, our workstations were ready.

Right on time.

The front door opened and two loud and boisterous bikers from the Grimm MC walked inside. Leroy immediately walked to Luca and clasped his hand, greeting him heartily, “Whiskey.”

Leroy’s glance fell on the nearby beer. His eyebrow went up with a smirk. “You do know it’s only nine in the morning.”

Lucky grinned, “I need to be liquored up before I can even think about touching your foul skin.”

The biker shook his head as he settled into the chair and grunted, “Least you could do is share.”

“Yeah. All right.” Luca walked over to a small refrigerator we kept in the corner. He opened the door and pulled out a bottle. Looking over his shoulder at Tommy, he asked, “Tommy?”

“Nah, man, I’m good,” Tommy answered, not bothering to take his eyes off of me. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

“Dude, that’s my sister,” Lucky shut the refrigerator door a smidgen harder than necessary, already getting riled up as he returned to his station and handed the bottle to Leroy.

Tommy’s eyes danced as he removed off his cut and pulled his T-shirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. He took a Glock handgun from the back of his pants and set it on the side table with his discarded clothes, before settling into the chair and lying back. I chastised him, “Tommy, stop provoking him.”

“I can’t help it, baby girl. You’re just too delicious to be ignored.”

Lucky let out a sound of irritation. He was getting pissed off.