1
Ipseity.
Selfhood; individual identity, individuality.
That one word meant all of that, but it was also the name of the tattoo shop owned by Cadeon Morris in the small town of Reckless, Colorado. He might have just moved here three years ago, but he already had a reputation, especially for being the artist the local biker gang went to for any and all ink.
And because he catered to the Vicious Bastards MC, and answered to the president of the biker gang, Mickey “Scars” Lore, Stella saw Cadeon quite a bit. Being the daughter of an MC president meant Stella saw a lot of shit, but she was also watched and guarded by the biggest and meanest biker bastards around. And she loved those leather-wearing, joint-smoking, and grease-smelling men who were just as much her family as her father was.
The buzzing sound the tattoo gun made as it pressed into skin filled the air. Stella sat in the leather couch that was butter-soft due to it being old and worn, and she watched as Cadeon added some ink to one of the members named Little.
The other members were over by the bar, their voices loud and boisterous, but all Stella could hear was Cadeon working that needle over Little’s thickly muscled chest. She turned her attention from the fully nude pinup girl that was being inked on the biker and stared at Cadeon’s profile. At forty, he was nearly as old as her father, but he didn’t look his age. With muscles clearly defined under his dark T-shirt, and his thighs as hard and big as tree trunks, Cadeon was a six-foot-five beast built like a tank.
He looked good in the Vicious Bastards’ clubhouse, and although his black hair was cut short, he had that hard edge to him, and that day-old stubble that covered his cheeks showed he fit right in.
“Girl, you either lookin’ at Little pretty fucking hard, or you want the tattoo boy.”
Stella glanced over at Ranger, one of the original Vicious Bastards, and older than her grandpa. To him, everyone was a “boy.” “I’m not looking at anyone. I’m not watching Cadeon work.” She rubbed her suddenly damp hands on her jeans and averted her eyes. Ranger sometimes acted senile, but she knew he was sharper than the majority of the guys in the club.
He sat down beside her, and the scent of old cigar smoke and the aged leather of his cut filtered up her nose. “I was thinking of having the kid give me a new tat.”
Stella leaned back on the couch and pulled her legs up and under her butt. Ranger already had both arms covered in ink, as did the majority of the club, but she didn’t think he had gotten any new ones in quite a while. “Yeah, I was thinking of getting one too.”
Ranger looked over at her and lifted one bushy white eyebrow. His white beard was slightly yellow and touched his chest, but under all the wrinkles and ink, she saw a man who was still filled with so much life. She looked at him much like she did her own father, for guidance and affection.
This club was her family, and these men were the guys she loved more than anything else. Of course, she could do without some of the things that went along with being associated with a biker’s life. Stella looked over Ranger’s shoulder and stared at the club whores rubbing themselves all over the members. That was one of the disadvantages of hanging at the club: all the willing women who threw themselves at the guys in hopes of becoming their old lady.
They tried too hard to be noticed, to be loved by men who didn’t want anything more than an hour or two of their time. But then again, they had chosen the life of a pussy that got passed around. Just thinking about all of that had a sour feeling settling in Stella’s stomach. She didn’t want to put any more thought on what any of them did together.
“So, you actually thinking about getting some ink?” Ranger asked and leaned in to nudge her shoulder with his own.
Stella looked over at Cadeon and Little again and saw they were finishing up. “I was thinking about it, have been for a while now.”
“Your dad know about this?”
She shook her head and then knitted her brows and glanced sideways at him. “What difference does it make if he knows about it or not? It’s not like I need his permission. I’m twenty-three years old for God’s sake.”
Ranger held his hands up and started chuckling. “Calm down, girl. I’m just saying your dad likes to know what’s going on with the club, and you’re part of that.” Ranger still wore a grin, and his teeth, yellow from years of smoking, flashed through his thick beard. “Besides, this is your first, right?”