Ink (Los Diablos Motorcycle Club #0.5)

by Jade Hernandez

For the women with rage inside them. Let it fester. Become the villain you were meant to be.

Anything between us is bound to end in disaster. That doesn’t stop my gaze from going over her body. Or obsessing over her laughter. Or wanting my ink tattooed on her skin.

Anyway, tattoos were expensive as fuck in this economy, so getting one was out of the question right now considering I was a broke bitch.

Dangerous had always been my type. Buenos para nada, my mamá called them.

And fuck, if he wasn’t just the type of bad, no-good that could make a good girl worship the horned devil that lived on the front of his leather vest.

His glare was piercing, cutting, and a total turn-on.

violence never scared me, and a part of me wondered if the darkness I fostered inside was a gift she’d passed to me when I was in the womb.

He was such a chismosa I knew he was going to take this back and the whole MC was going to know what happened today.

I love dudes who are gossips

I was surprised to see very little ink on her skin, and for a second I itched for my tattoo gun so I could put something beautiful on her thighs.

Surely she thought I was fucking him.

my mamá probably thought I was a puta.

Whos mom doesnt think this tbh

“You realize she thinks I’m blowing you in exchange for this, right?”

“You don’t fucking talk to her,” Ink threatened. “You don’t fucking touch her. Don’t even fucking look at her, pendejo. You got that?”

A tiny, miniscule, puta-ish part of me wanted to know what it felt like to be handled so roughly. To be fucked with my face against a wall just like that.

“If he touches anything or if anything turns up missing, a speck of paint gets on your belongings, I will personally shoot every fucking finger of his and make him eat the bullets afterwards.”

A better question was, why the fuck did that turn me on so much?

My body was already having a strange reaction to him. Adding the intimacy of riding a motorcycle together would make my concha cry out like la llorona wailing for children.

It seemed like my mind and vagina weren’t on the same wavelength.

“Just call your boss to the front, puta.” The accented way he butchered the insult made me want to sigh.

Those gringos hijos de puta.

Unlike the first time, I didn’t have to demand she hold me tightly. Her body molded itself onto mine like she was meant there.

I didn’t stop to think about how this was the second time Xiomara had been on the back of my bike. Just like I didn’t think about how she’d been the only woman on the back of my bike ever.

“Good girl.”

I didn’t need her flushing face making my dick hard, but it was already too fucking late.

My dick stirred ever since I hired her back. Every time she was in the room, it came alive, like she was the one I’d been waiting for.

“Baby, let go of the bat.”

Only then did Ink grip me by the elbows and turn me. The jolting action pulled me from my shock, like every other time before I felt myself grounded back to reality after the initial disorientation.

I believed he would handle the mess–and the dead bodies–I left on the floor of his shop.

I tried to see if guilt would settle, and I think that was what shamed me most of all. It didn’t exist.

“So I defended myself.” This earned me a chuckle, one I was surprised to hear come from his lips. “I can see that…”

No one will ever mark your skin again.” His hands caressed my body, electrifying every single nerve inside me. “Only I get to do that. With ink.”

He breathed deeply and I did the same. Like we were breathing one another in.

Like we could taste the salt of each other’s souls, hear the rhythm of our hearts and somehow sync them together.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

The confession felt forbidden in the space between us, and the words startled me, if only because I never imagined him saying them, but they were exactly what I wanted.

I washed the day off and let my tears mingle with the water. And let my sins roll from my back.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said a word. But she’d been so close. Drenched in blood, knuckles split, eyes burning with an anger that made my cock go hard.

Her deadly rage was a turn-on.

It was the sight of that goddess of a woman, drenched in blood, filled to the brim with feminine rage, that made me want to dro...

I’d begun to crave more. And the fraction of a touch I’d given her, my lips touching hers? It only opened the floodgates of desire and made me crave like I’d never craved anything else.

I recognized the appreciative gleam in his eyes. “So, you’re the one that beat three bitch ass gringos to death with a bat, huh?”

“That’s hot, nena.”

Loco eyed me, then her, then me again, that smirk curling into a knowing smile. “So it’s like that, huh?” “It’s exactly like that.”

After his initial flirtations at the shop, he didn’t hit on me again. It was a damn shame, too.

I relished in their attention, even if I wished it was Ink instead.

He said he didn’t want me because I was his employee, but he also wouldn’t let anyone else flirt with me? How fucked up was that? And why was I a puta for such behavior?

All that mattered was the other things. The way he’d had someone paint my ma’s house. The angry way he’d shoved a prospect’s face into a wall for disrespecting me. The tender way his smirk kicked up when he thought my ideas were good.

The way he lifted my chin and let me lose myself in his gaze.

Did I think starting something was wrong? I did. Yet my stomach twisted up into knots when he was near. I felt safe in his presence, and I wanted to know–at least once–what it felt like to be taken care of by someone else instead of the other way around.

I liked that he stared at me like I was something–someone–to be admired. Someone he couldn’t take his eyes off of.