Daddies Underground MC Club
King calls from the corner booth, and I spin to see the Cursed Kings still camped out like they own the lease.
Ink steps forward, grinning like a hyena. “Wait, you want me to tattoo his ass? Guess I’ve tattooed worse places. And better.” He winks at Queenie.
Next second, he’s flat on the floor with King on top of him, fist cocked.
“Go on, King!” I roar, pumping a fist.
“I’m King, you fucking dipshit,” King drawls from the booth, sipping his beer like he’s watching a nature documentary. I swear I need to tattoo dick one and dick two on their heads just to keep track.
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