Rule (Marked Men #1)(12)

Chapter 3

Rule

It was a crazy busy week at the shop. I think mostly because we were right in the thick of tax refund time and people that had extra money to spend often wanted to spend it on ink. I was booked with back to back appointments all the way through Saturday and even went in on Monday night to work on a guy’s sleeve I had started a few months ago because I just didn’t have any room in my schedule to fit him in. Nash was just as booked as I was, so when Saturday night rolled around we were both ready to let loose and tie one on. Sunday afternoon went about the same as last week only this time I walked the girl to her car and didn’t have to worry about Shaw bursting in on a scene I didn’t want her to see. I called Rome to see when he was going to come to town, but apparently things at home weren’t any better after last week so he wasn’t ready to leave mom on her own yet. I wanted to care, wanted to feel bad for her but I just couldn’t muster it up.

I was getting ready to crack open a beer and plop in front of the flat screen to relax and watch the game when Nash came out of his room pulling on a hoodie and a black ball cap over his shaved head. He was a few inches shorter than me, built a lot stocker but in all actuality was a hell of a lot better looking. He kept his black hair shaved close to the scalp because he had twin tattoos on the side of his head and bright, bright eyes that looked more purple than blue and stood out starkly against his much darker complexion. He didn’t have as much metal in his face as I did, just a hoop through the center of his nose and both ears sporting obsidian gauges, and for whatever reason he kept his hands and neck free of ink, which always made me laugh because of the stuff permanently marked on his head. We were a matched set so when we went out together it was usually a given we wouldn’t have to come home alone. Nash was a much nicer guy than I was, he just looked several degrees more badass.

“Jet and Rowdy are at The Goal Line watching the game. They wanna hangout if you’re game.”

Rowdy worked at the shop with us and Jet was the lead singer of a local metal band we liked to go see play. They often rounded out the group that Nash and I traveled in and going to the bar to watch the game sounded a lot more fun than brooding on the couch by myself. So I put my beer back in the fridge and shoved my feet into my black boots.

Nash drove a fully restored 73’ Dodge Charger. It was a monster of black, chrome and motor. I was pretty sure everyone in the apartment complex knew whenever we were coming or going because it was just that loud and rumbly but it was a cool ride and I knew it meant a lot to him because he had done the rebuild mostly by himself. Nash’s background was a little sketchy, but since my own was less than stellar I never really pushed him to talk about it. I knew his dad had died when he was really young and that his mom had remarried some rich ass**le that to this day Nash refused to have anything to do with. Phil, the same Phil that let us make his shop our own, had been integral in getting Nash to adulthood without a criminal record and a whole pack of illegitimate kids.

The bar was in lower downtown or LoDo as the locals called it. It was a popular hangout for mostly locals and industry people and since I hadn’t been around on a Sunday in years I forgot how packed it could be when the Broncos played. The guys had a table in the back right under a massive flat screen and already had glasses and a pitcher of beer waiting. Fist bumps and head nods for greeting went around the table as a raucous cheer went up in the packed bar as the Broncos scored.

“What up fellas?” Nash poured us a round as we settled in. Rowdy wiggled his eyebrows up and down and motioned to a spot over his shoulder towards the bar.

“Isn’t this better than family time? Nobody wants to see mom dressed like that.”

The girls that worked in the bar were all dressed in sexy sports themed uniforms, some were super sexy cheerleaders, some were in really small jerseys and hot pants that laced up like football pants and my favorites were dressed in little tiny referee outfits that barley covered their bottoms. It was hot and way better than getting torn to pieces by my parents just for breathing.

“No they sure don’t.” It was nice to just chill and spend time with the guys when normally Sunday’s were the worst part of the week but today was awesome and even if I felt a twinge at my selfishness I knew enough beer would squash it.

Jet looked up from the plate of nachos he was steadily demolishing and pointed a finger over his shoulder towards the bar. “Wait until you see the chick waiting on us. Dude, just dude there aren’t even words.”

Jet’s band Enmity was pretty big in the local scene and I knew from firsthand experience he had his pick of groupies and rock chicks so if he was impressed than the girl was probably a dead 10 and I couldn’t wait to check her out. We chatted and pounded the pitcher away in under a half hour and the guys were getting louder and rowdier but it was a good time and we needed another round sooner than later. I had yet to see the elusive waitress of hotness when the hair on the back of my neck went up and I suddenly snapped to attention. There was a blond making her way towards the table. She had on the requisite referee outfit complete with ruffly little black shorts and fishnet stockings. She also was wearing a pair of black boots that looked a hell of a lot like my own, only girly and they went up seriously awesome legs to rest below her knees. The hair was so blond it was almost white and instead of being in a sleek, low ponytail like I was used to it was in twin pigtails on either side of her head and startled green eyes were looking at me from under razor straight bangs. Her mouth was a bright slash of red against a pale face I was as familiar with as my own and while I struggled with recognition my idiot friends were leering at her while Nash was climbing to his feet to enfold her in a bear hug.