009 Tattoo Connection

The ride back into town was quiet, at least on the surface. Engines sounded low, headlights shone through the dark, and the desert stretched wide and endless around them. Ashley leaned into Nolan’s back, her arms locked around her duffel. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cole’s words, or the heat in his touch, or the look Nolan had given her when she glanced his way earlier.

She kept replaying the night in fragments… flashes of steel, the pop of gunfire, the weight of death hanging in the air. The more she tried to shove it down, the more her body betrayed her, heart pounding harder each time the image of Jax’s knife cutting through a throat surfaced. Nolan’s solid frame beneath her arms was the only thing holding her in place. She pressed her forehead briefly to his back, breathing in leather and sweat and smoke, trying to ground herself. If he noticed, he didn’t comment—just kept the throttle steady, like nothing could shake him.

The convoy finally rolled into the lot behind the Steel Vipers clubhouse. The neon sign hummed over the door, laughter drifted from inside. But out by the bikes, the night refused to fade.

The clubhouse itself looked like it had been standing for a hundred years. Brick scarred from bullet holes, faded paint on the doors, broken neon beer signs in the windows. The kind of place that warned strangers to keep moving—but promised family to those who belonged. Ashley had never felt so far from belonging, yet strangely tied to it already.

Nolan swung off his bike and barked orders. “Unload. Clean up. Nobody talks about what happened tonight outside these walls.”

The others moved fast—Jax disappearing into the shadows with weapons, Cole hauling gear, Ace lit another cigarette, like nothing had just gone wrong out there in the desert.

Ashley lingered near the back, duffel in hand. She felt raw, jumpy, and out of place in a way she hadn’t felt even on the highway. Inside the clubhouse, voices rose and fell, glasses clinked, a jukebox hummed. Life went on, loud and messy.

She thought about walking in, blending into the chaos, maybe finding a corner to disappear into. But her body wouldn’t move. Her boots felt glued to the dirt. She had survived the night, but here in the aftermath, she wasn’t sure what survival meant anymore. She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t safe. She wasn’t even sure who she was right now.

She almost turned to slip inside when Ace’s voice cut through the noise.

“Well, look who is still standing.”

She turned. He was leaning against a pillar, smoke curling from his lips, grin lazy and sharp all at once. His leather cut hung open, tattoos glinting in the dim light. His eyes flicked over her slowly.

“You did alright out there, princess,” Ace said. “Didn’t even puke. Color me impressed.”

Ashley rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Ace’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m not. I pegged you for tougher the second you mouthed off at Nolan.”

Her cheeks heated. “I didn’t mouth off—”

“You did,” Ace said smoothly, cutting her off. “And I liked it.”

Before she could fire back, Nolan’s voice echoed across the lot. “Ace.”

Ace didn’t move, but his grin sharpened as Nolan stepped closer, wiping his hands with a rag. The President’s gaze lingered on Ashley, unreadable, before settling on Ace.

“Don’t start,” Nolan said flatly.

Ace blew out smoke and raised his brows. “Relax, boss. I’m just talking.”

Ashley shifted uncomfortably, but before either man could push it further, her eyes caught on a patch of bare skin along Ace’s ribs where his shirt gaped. A jagged scar carved through one of his tattoos, splitting black ink into broken lines.

She swallowed. “That’s…a memorial patch, isn’t it?”

Ace glanced down, then back up, his smirk faltering for just a second. “Yeah. For a brother we lost.”

Ashley hesitated, then stepped closer. “It’s ruined. I could fix it.”

Both men stared at her. Nolan’s brows drew together. “Fix it?”

She gripped her duffel strap tighter, nerves sparking. “I used to work in a tattoo shop. Apprentice, mostly. I know how to lay ink. I could…touch it up. Redraw it, maybe even add to it.”

Nolan’s stare sharpened. Ace’s grin slipped into something else. Even Cole, hauling a box past them, slowed to glance over his shoulder, brows raised like she’d just stepped into dangerous ground.

Ace tilted his head, smoke curling from his lips as he studied her. “You? Ink me?” His grin returned, wicked now. “Damn, princess. Didn’t think you had that kind of bite.”

Ashley shot back. “It’s not a bite. It’s respect. I know what memorial ink means.”

He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Nolan stepped forward. “Ace—”

But Ace was already guiding Ashley toward the clubhouse. “C’mon, sweetheart. You and I are gonna get real close.”

Ashley’s pulse jumped as she followed, Nolan’s stare burning into her back.

Her skin prickled. She knew Nolan’s silence was heavier than words. He didn’t like this. He didn’t trust her with Ace. Maybe he didn’t trust Ace with her. But Nolan didn’t stop them either, and that unsettled her more than if he had.

The makeshift tattoo setup was in a side room off the bar, half storage, half workbench. Bottles of ink lined the shelf, a gun sat coiled with wires, and the smell of rubbing alcohol clung to the air. Clearly, the Vipers had used it before.

Ashley pulled on gloves from the kit, her hands trembling only a little. Ace shrugged off his shirt and sprawled in the chair, all muscle and ink and lazy arrogance.

“Try not to get distracted,” he drawled, winking.

She set her jaw, focusing on the machine in her hands. “Hold still. Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Ace chuckled low in his throat. “Oh, I like you more every minute.”

The buzz of the machine filled the room, a sound both terrifying and familiar. Her chest tightened with memory… long nights bent over a practice skin at the shop, her mentor barking critiques, the quiet pride of watching clean lines bloom under her needle. She hadn’t thought she’d ever touch one of these machines again. And now here she was, in a biker’s den, about to lay ink into a man who killed without blinking. The absurdity made her want to laugh and cry all at once.

Her needle buzzed to life. She traced over the broken lines, her concentration ending the noise in her head. Ace kept talking, teasing, trying to throw her off, but she didn’t rise to it. She worked.

Every so often, her glove brushed his skin, hot under her fingers. Ace flexed once, deliberately, just to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t. He grinned wider, but there was a softness buried in his gaze now.

Halfway through, she felt a shadow fall over her. She glanced up—Nolan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.

His gaze was unreadable. Was he protective? Maybe even conflicted.

Ashley’s throat tightened, but she didn’t stop. She wasn’t just fixing ink. She was proving something—to Ace, to Nolan, maybe to herself.

When she finally pulled back, wiping the fresh lines, Ace sat up and twisted to look.

“Well, damn.” His grin was wide and real this time. “You’ve got hands, princess.”

Ashley exhaled, shoulders loosening. “Told you.”

Ace leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Careful. Keep showing off like this, and I might have to claim you.”

Her cheeks burned. She glanced toward the doorway, where Nolan still stood. His eyes caught hers for a brief, charged moment—then he turned and walked away.

Ashley’s chest tightened. She didn’t know what unsettled her more—Ace’s shameless flirting, or Nolan’s silent retreat.

For the first time since meeting them, she wondered if being with these men wasn’t keeping her safe at all—

but the start of her downfall.