Comp’s Chance (Reckless Omens MC)

Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

COMP

“ A lright, sit down in the chair, and let's get this shit going,” Cutter says, pulling latex gloves over his hands while I remove my shirt.

“You think you can do it right? Even over the scarred words? I don’t want Sunny to see those fucking words ever again,” I tell him, wanting to double check. Cutter lifts a brow at me.

“Are you fucking serious? You know whose fucking chair you’re sitting in, right?” he asks, huffing. I laugh but finish taking off my shirt and sit in his chair.

“Alright, you only wanted the two changes, correct? The rest is just like the picture,” he asks before placing the needle to my chest, right above my heart.

“Just the two additions. Everything else I want kept the same,” I say, leaning back in the chair and waiting.

One of my favorite things in the world is getting tattoos. Yes, that may make me fucking insane, but that’s the facts. It’s therapy for me. When life is too fucked up, when things don’t go the way I want, I come and get some ink. Yes, tattoos are painful, and for those that say they aren’t well, they’re fucking liars… but it's also therapeutic and all about how you take and manage the pain.

The pain for me is grounding. I crave that pain because it's something I’m controlling. I crave it because it makes me focus on this, the here and now, and not on all the fucked-up things in my head. So, while yes, it can be painful, it's also necessary and relaxing. I get to turn my brain off and focus solely on the needle dragging through my skin.

“So, when am I coming to put ink on your woman? You gonna make it official soon?” Cutter asks, and I sigh heavily.

“I wish it were that simple. Sunny and I both agreed on waiting until we get the shit with her ex cleared up. I’m about ready to say fuck it and just do it already. I’m tired of waiting for this piece of shit to slip up or for Swift's contacts to get back to us,” I sigh. I know we’re all working as hard as we can.

It's not the clubs or whoever Swift’s working withs fault we can't do shit. We have plenty of fucking evidence, but until we find that thread that pulls the whole fucking organization down, there is nothing we can do. I’ve barely been sleeping because I want to get this over with. I'm tired of seeing the fear and anger in my woman's eyes. I’m tired of Paisley asking to do dance or softball and us having to say no because we can't put her on his radar. I’m just fucking tired.

“It won't be much longer, man. I know Swift. He won't sleep well until he gets this taken care of for the both of you,” Cutter tells me, wiping excess ink. He gets in a flow, and it doesn’t take long before he pats my chest.

“Alright, man, you’re done,” he says before setting his shit down, taking off the gloves, and pointing me toward the mirror.

I look at the artwork that now covers one less nightmare Sunny has to carry. You can't even see the message the fuckface carved there any longer.

“Fuck man, I know I tell you this shit every damn time, but you’ve got a God-given talent,” I say, turning and looking at the tattoo again.

I seriously don’t know how he does what he does. Artwork just seems like such a mild term for what he creates. No wonder he is booked months in advance. He has people from all over the world wanting his ink, but he’s picky about who he tattoos. Usually, he leaves a lot of those clients to the two guys in the shop. He does all the work for the club, no questions asked. He also won't let us fucking pay for that shit, so we just leave him an even bigger tip.

“That’s what they tell me. It’s just second nature to me. I get lost in the art, and it flows,” Cutter says, shrugging off the praise like he always does.

“Well, I think I’ll head out of here, man. Go see my woman and baby girl,” I say, smiling, thinking about Sunny and Paisley.

“Alright, brother. I’ll catch you at the next club party. I got to head out of town for a couple of weeks,” he tells me, turning to his station and cleaning his mess.

“Everything good?” I ask, pulling my shirt on after the inks wrapped.

“Yeah, just got some shit to take care of. Nothing too much,” he says, but he ain't meeting my eye. I look at him for another minute before shrugging. Cutter has always been very reserved, but I also know if he needs help, he’ll ask for it.

“Alright, brother, take it easy,” I tell him, turning and leaving his shop. I get outside and breathe in deep.

For the first time in my life, I feel content. Yes, we still have some bullshit going on with Sunny’s ex, but I have a beautiful woman who will soon be my Ol' Lady and my wife. I have a beautiful baby girl that I want to adopt more than anything. I have a club full of brothers who would wage war for me and my girls. I am living a dream I never thought could come true. I’m living.

That’s a new feeling for me, and as I throw my leg over my bike, kick up the kickstand, and start up the engine, I thank God for not taking me too soon. Back when the incident happened in high school, the pain had me praying to God to end it all. It was too much for one person to deal with. Then, when I finally got out of the hospital, over the pain, I got a good look at my face in the mirror. Again, I begged for him to end it. I wasn’t strong enough to go through life like that, or so I thought.

Now, I look up at the blue sky before smiling. Thank you, God, for ignoring the pity and enhancing the strength in me.

I back out of the Ink shop and speed off downtown, heading back toward the clubhouse. I need to hold my woman and my baby girl. I need them to know they both saved me. It doesn’t take too long before I get to the compound. I smile down at the new paint my bike recently got. We both got an upgrade of ink with the women in our lives.

On my bike now, on the opposite side of the skull, is a rose surrounded by glittering light. A few petals have fallen, but they represent Sunny and her struggles. Yes, she may have lost some of herself in the past, but she’s still beautiful and full of life.

I hop off the bike before heading to the clubhouse door. I don’t make it ten feet in the door before the smile drops from my face.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Paisley screams, running to me with tears leaking down her face. I want to take this moment and bottle it forever. I want to smile, laugh and maybe even fucking cry at the moment she called me daddy, but the tears streaming down her face have me dropping to my knees. She runs into my arms and buries her head in my neck, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened?” I ask, trying to sound calm, but know she can hear the panic in my voice.

“Mommy’s gone. She left,” Paisley cries, and that’s the moment I feel my heart break.