Home > Ignite (Men of Inked : Heatwave #5)(8)

Ignite (Men of Inked : Heatwave #5)(8)
Author: Chelle Bliss

He’s wearing me down.

Something he likes to do when he wants things I’m not necessarily one hundred percent on board with.

“We’ll see. We have plenty of time.”

“Just think about it.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious,” he says.

“Me too. I said I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” he whispers. “Six babies.”

I chew my lips and think about everything he said. About the garage. About working together. About our babies. About Mammoth in my life forever, and everything we could build together.

And as I fall asleep, I dream of our future.









The drive to the compound is long and abnormally quiet. Tamara usually talks my ear off the entire way when she’s with me, but today, she’s silent. I’ve tried to talk to her a few times, but every response has been clipped and usually given to the window instead of turning to face me with her reply.

I understand why, but it doesn’t make the time pass any faster or keep the silence from being overwhelmingly deafening.

She is stewing over the fact that I could’ve died, even though I didn’t. The thought of losing me has been chewing at her insides for days now, planting a firm hold in her head, allowing the seeds of fear to sprout roots.

When we finally make it to the clubhouse, she marches straight to the bar and plops down on a stool, giving every person inside the stink eye.

None of the guys will say shit to her because she’s mine. I think they are afraid of her too, but they’ll never admit it. They also know the happy, playful, and troublemaking Tamara far better than the one whose anger is currently festering as she sits at the bar, tapping her fingernails against the wood.

“Keep your fine ass there,” I tell her, pointing to the spot.

I want to make sure we’re both clear on where she should be and stay. The last thing I need is her stirring up anything while I am busy with Tiny and Morris.

Every time she comes here, she starts trouble, especially with the women, and I don’t have the time or the patience to clean up her mess today.

I know the jealous bitches target her, hating that she’s with me and somehow feeling slighted. I never would’ve been with them anyway, but they never seemed to believe me when I said as much.

Tamara lifts up her hands, leaning back in the stool. “Where else would I go?” she says, giving me lip and tons of attitude.

I tilt my head, staring at her. “I’m serious.”

She smiles devilishly. “Me too.”

“I got her, brother. I’ll watch her,” Eagle says to me, resting an arm against the bar, sipping a beer. “Her ass won’t move.”

“Technically,” she says, raising a finger, “my ass will move, but not off this stool.”

I grunt and shake my head.

The woman is impossible and difficult, but goddamn, I’m nuts about her. Maybe I am the crazy one, keeping her around even when she makes my life challenging.

But in the balance of sanity and crazy, the good outweighs the bad, and she brings so much love into my life when I never thought I’d find it.

“Mammoth!” Morris’s voice booms through the room, making everyone jump except me. “Get your ass in here and stop fuckin’ around with your woman.”

“You heard the man.” Tamara shoos me away. “We’ll just be here, catching up and talking about you.”

Eagle’s eyes slide to mine, and he shrugs. “Just go,” he tells me with a chin lift. “I got this. I’ll handle her.”

Tamara raises an eyebrow, a crooked smile on her face. She loves when men try to “handle her.” She and Eagle have spent enough time together; they get each other. He’s the one guy I know, besides me, who will put up with her shit and keep on rolling.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, moving toward Morris as he stands in the doorway, arms crossed, mean mug firmly planted on his face.

I have attitude coming from all sides, and I’m the one with a hole in my body.

Morris’s gaze bounces between my face and my shoulder, taking two passes before he turns his back, walking into the room. “Close the door,” he says before my boots make it fully inside the space.

Tiny’s at the opposite end of the room, sitting at the table, flipping the lid of his Zippo lighter open and closed, over and over again. “Sit,” he tells me, eyes dipping to the open seat. “It’s time to talk.”

It’s almost like I’m the one who’s about to be grilled over something I did wrong, when I’m the one who got shot for breaking down in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I sit, staring down the long table, remaining silent until Morris takes a seat next to Tiny like he always does. “I’m ready to talk,” I say when all three of us are seated. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tiny places his lighter on top of a pack of cigarettes before leaning forward, clasping his hands. “The man who shot you is being dealt with,” Tiny announces.

“He went rogue from his club and was acting against the wishes of his Prez.” There’s a smile behind Morris’s palm as he moves his hand across his face. “The hit on you was not sanctioned, but the retaliation for his offense was, and the matter is now closed.”

Just like that…it’s done. I got no say in anything even though I’m the one who took the bullet.

My leg begins to move, up and down, up and down, underneath the table, releasing the energy and rage I feel toward Morris and Tiny for not including me in the conversation.

“But we’ll talk more about it tomorrow,” Morris adds, staring down the table at me.

“As for your time with the club,” Tiny continues, staring down the length of the table as he crosses one arm over his chest and places the opposite hand on his beard. “What did the doctors say about your shoulder?”

“They said it’ll heal, and I’ll probably need therapy for a few months to get back full use of the muscles that were damaged.”

Tiny turns to Morris, exchanging a look before he speaks. “We know you want out. We know you’ve been chomping at the bit since you fell for that woman and had a taste of her sweetness.”

“I do,” I tell them, having stated all this before. “I know there will be strings, but I want to be as close to her as possible and start whatever life I can with her at my side. You know she’s not built for this life. She wouldn’t be a good fit.”

“You can say that again,” Morris mutters. “Since you’re of no use to us here if you can’t ride, we feel it’s time for you to start opening up shop on the other coast and get yourself set up.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to keep the happiness out of my voice. I figured I still had a good eight months left before they’d give me permission to leave, but maybe the shooting was a blessing in disguise.

“You’re still a Disciple. Still a brother. We’re giving you more leeway than we’ve given others in the past,” Tiny adds.

“I know.” I nod, fully understanding the opportunity they’re giving me by allowing me to leave and keep breathing. “I’m thankful for that.”

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