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  King

  A Tattooed Alpha Romance

  Flora Madison

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Madison

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  *Edited by Geeky Girl Author Services*

  Contents

  1. King

  2. Ronnie

  3. King

  4. Ronnie

  5. King

  6. Ronnie

  7. King

  Epilogue: Ronnie

  Epilogue: King

  Also by Flora Madison

  Thanks for Reading!

  1 King

  It sure feels good to be free. My boots scuff against the concrete as I eye the bright yellow sign in the shop window. “Redemption Ink.” The name flutters across my lips as I read the words. It actually happened. When I handed over a sizable portion of my savings to the three men I met in prison to open a tattoo shop, it was a risk to say the least. But now, standing before it as a living breathing entity, I can’t deny that it may end up being the best decision of my life.

  My hand rests on the metal door handle for a brief moment. It didn’t take long for the four of us to become friends on the inside. Having all been former tattoo artists, we found common ground. When you’re locked up you need all the friends you can get. I’m sure we’ve all saved each other’s hinds more than any of us even know.

  I swing the door open, expecting all three of them to greet me. I nearly fall backwards when instead, my gaze lands on the darkest, deepest set of onyx eyes I’ve ever seen. My breath leaves my lungs as I take in the woman’s full lips, round face, and upturned nose. Her hair is dark and short, worn in natural waves that graze her collarbone. Her tank top highlights a series of dainty ink on her inner arm, but they’re not girly designs. A skull, a snake, and a martini glass scroll against her alabaster skin in traditional style.

  In a flash, I forget where I am, why I’m here. The woman’s eyes narrow in on mine, scrutinizing me. Her lips twist as she tilts her head. “You’re King.” It’s not a question.

  “Yeah.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intended. “Who are you?”

  She shimmies off of the chair behind the desk and holds out her hand. “I’m Ronnie. Titus hired me to manage the front of the shop.” Her defensive tone doesn’t put me on edge. Instead, it makes me want to scoop her up, press my lips against her baby soft skin and ask her who hurt her.

  “Welcome aboard,” I say, trying not to stare. It’s been nearly five years since I’ve even seen a woman in the flesh. For her to be my first is a blessing and a curse, she is, after all, my employee.

  Ronnie removes the rope separating the waiting area from the artists’ chairs. A hefty waft of vanilla and lavender assaults my senses. I breathe her in, wishing I could bottle her sweet scent. “The guys are out back.” She runs her tongue across her top teeth as I move past her. “They’re very excited to see you.” I try not to leer, but this woman is built like a brick house, strong yet curvy in all the right places. Her hips sway as she leads me to the backyard. When she opens the door, sunlight blocks my vision. I raise my hand to my forehead and take in the sight before me.

  Around the grill stand my three best friends and now, business partners. Phoenix is the first to clasp my hand and pull me in for a hug. When his palm slaps my back, I realize how much I’ve missed my friends. “You look great, man.” He says, and pulls back. He looks exactly the same, but bigger. A pretty boy by nature, with blonde hair and blue eyes—California good looks.

  “Thanks. Orange isn’t really my color.” The other two guys are already heading over. Bone, who is bigger than any man I’ve ever seen hulks his way over to me. He throws his arms around me, gives me one solid pat, and let’s go. Even that was a lot of force.

  “Good to have you home.” He says in a near growl. A man of few words.

  Finally, Titus pulls his sunglasses from his face, and throws his arms wide. “Get over here you jailbird.”

  “Look who’s talking.” We exchange a quick hug. The oldest of the bunch, Titus is a seasoned criminal and no one needs a new start more than him. He’s got a little silver in his beard, but it agrees with him. Starting this shop was his idea, so I guess you could say he’s the closest thing to a partner that I have. His idea, plus my down payment brought Redemption Ink to life.

  The aroma of cooked meat hangs thick in the air, causing my stomach to growl. Smoke rises from the grill and it occurs to me that it’s been ages since I’ve eaten anything other than prison grub. “Hungry?” Titus asks, turning to face the feast.

  “Starving,” I say and head to the cooler for a bottle of water. All four of us, together again. It’s still so surreal. We talked about doing this two years ago, right before Titus got released. Bone followed six months later, and then Phoenix. I, of course, was last. Considering what I did, what I was convicted of, I got off easy.

  Before I can think about food, I take another glance around the circle. These guys are my life now. Tattooing is the thing that we’ve all committed to so that we stay on the straight and narrow. I raise my water, even though they say it’s bad luck to toast with it, parole prevents me from drinking anytime soon.

  “You guys did it,” I press my lips together into a thin line, emotion suddenly overwhelming me.

  “We did it, King. All of us.” Titus raises his Coke. Bone and Phoenix follow suit.

  “And we’re already kicking ass.” Phoenix says. “We’re booked like every day.”

  “Yep.” Bone agrees.

  I couldn’t be happier, and a little afraid. I’ve never owned a business before, but I know with these guys we’ll be good to go. So long as we can all remain straight. “To Redemption Ink.”

  “Redemption Ink,” they all echo. Then, the back door cracks open. Ronnie pops her head out, squints at the sudden burst of sunlight.

  “Bone, your client’s here.” Her voice is thick and crackling. “I’ll get you set up.” Bone nods his head.

  “Wait,” I say as Ronnie turns to leave. Her hair swishes over her shoulder as she flips back around. “I should’ve asked you to stay for the toast.”

  “It’s okay.” Her lipgloss glistens like a ray of light, making me thirsty all over again. “I have work to do.” And just like that, she’s gone.

  I expected for there to be a learning curve when it came to reacclimating, but watching the sway of Ronnie’s hips as she walks away, I realize it’s going to be much steeper than I thought.

  2 Ronnie

  I didn’t think King would be so hot. When I think of convicts, former or not, I imagine older men with axes to grind. Men like my daddy. But when King walked into the shop, my heart nearly dropped into my shoes. This is not a good sign. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about bad boys, they’re called bad for a reason, in search of redemption or not.

  Working in a tattoo shop is second nature to me, being it’s the family business and all. At least, it used to be. Daddy’s gone away for life so the shop fell to my brothers, who as suspected, ran it straight into the ground. I needed a job, this place was hiring. Considering my background, I didn’t even have to interview. I told them my past and they pulled me in on the spot.

  In the last week, King’s already taken his rightful place as shop owner. Most of the time when he’s not tattooing, he’s in the back. But when he is up front, his eyes are always on me. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks I’m doing a good job or a crummy one. Every time I try and sneak a glance at him, I’m met with his intense gaze. Even though he is technically the definition of a bad boy—I read the papers—
he’s easy on the eyes. Prison must’ve given him ample time to hit the weights. His rippled muscles pop and flex beneath his dark t-shirt. His golden-green eyes melt into me like molten lava. They glow against his naturally dark skin tone. His torso tapers into a perfect inverted V-shape from his wide shoulders down to his trim waist.

  Not that I’ve been paying attention. I haven’t. I don’t date men like him.

  A solid week’s passed since he’s been back, and not one conversation’s passed between us. Not one correction. Not one ‘good job.’ The extent of our interactions have been a series of appointment announcements and quitting time goodbyes. Not that it matters, but he is my boss. Everyone likes a little positive reinforcement every now and again.

  The door chimes overhead and I raise my eyes to see a couple of guys pass through. I take my glasses off, set them next to the laptop, and stand to meet them at the counter. “Gentleman, what can I do you for?”

  “I don’t know.” The first guy’s whiny voice doesn’t match his tall stature. I would’ve expected something manlier. My eyes glance to his cohort, whose unwavering gaze stiffens my spine.

  “Do you have an appointment?” I square my shoulders, keeping my voice steady. When you grow up in a family of rabble rousers, you learn to spot them quick—trust me, I can smell my own.

  “Do we need one?” The slimy spokesman scoffs.

  “Actually, you do. The artists’ calendars are booked up months in advance.”

  The two men look over my shoulder, noting the empty shop. This close to quitting time, the only person left is King, working on the books in the back room.

  “Looks pretty dead to me,” the slimeball’s eyes narrow. Before I know what’s happening, he reaches across the counter and caresses the back of my hand. I pull it away as soon as I know what’s happening.

  “You and your buddy here need to leave.” I keep firm eye contact with them both. The big one circles around his slimeball friend and heads over to the rope. His fingers fumble with the brass clasp. “Hey, you can’t come back here.” A small sense of panic floods me. Before I can think twice, my fingers find the bat under the counter. For a guy that big, he moves surprisingly fast. Once my grip is firm I step away from the counter, bat in hand, ready to knock this guy’s lights out if he doesn’t back the hell away.

  But I don’t get the chance. His shadow appears before I hear his voice. “Back up, motherfucker.” Out of nowhere, King appears. He crosses his arms over his chest, daring this guy to cross the threshold separating us. This guy is bigger than King, fatter and sloppier.

  Fat guy lets out a little laugh. “What are you going to do to stop me?”

  He barely gets the words out when King snatches the bat from my hands. He wrestles the guy into a chokehold, standing behind him, pressing the wood hard against his windpipe. A tiny gasp escapes my mouth.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” King grunts, pulling the bat tighter against the man’s throat. “I’m going to give you five seconds to get the hell out of here, or I’m going to beat you and your dick weed friend to a bloody fucking pulp.”

  “We didn’t mean anything, man.” The slimy dude pipes up, his hands raised at his shoulders in surrender, not expecting this sudden turn of events. “We wanted to get a tattoo. Is this how you treat potential clients?”

  King gives the man’s throat a final warning squeeze. “Is this how you treat women?” Tension fills the air between us all. The slimy man’s eyes dart back and forth between myself, King’s and his friend who is slowly losing consciousness.

  “Let him go, man. You’re killing him.”

  A headline floats through my mind. The one they ran in all three papers the week that King was arrested. “Man charged with attempted murder says he lost control.” Panic rises in my throat. I want to shout to let him go, that it isn’t worth going back to prison for scum like this. Luckily, I don’t have to. King releases his grip, and the big guy erupts in a fit of coughs at the sudden burst of air.

  “Get out of here.” King’s own ragged breath causes his massive chest to visibly rise and fall. “And if you come back. I will finish the job.”

  The two men don’t wait around to respond. They’re out the door as fast as they came in. I don’t realize my hands are shaking until King takes them in his. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Did they hurt you?” His wild eyes bore into me.

  I know he was just being protective, looking out for me, not knowing that my background requires none of it. I pull my hands away from his, and take a step back. “I’m a big girl,” I sniff. “I could’ve handled that.”

  He looks like I slapped him across the face. My entire body’s made of rocket fuel. I gather my purse and head around the rope toward the door. “I’m not the type of girl who needs saving.” I throw the words over my shoulder and walk out, and the sticky embrace of the night’s heat envelops me.

  3 King

  I can’t stand back and watch a woman be disrespected. While I’m sorry if this mere act of chivalry overstepped Ronnie’s boundaries, I’d do it again. No one should treat women with disrespect, and if they do, there’s hell to pay. My fist slams against my desk in the back office. This is exactly what got me into trouble five years ago. But I am not the kind of man that can stand around while a woman gets shit on. Nope. Not in my house.

  I arrived early today, needing some time to decompress before I see Ronnie. That woman is so headstrong, and while it should bother me how ungrateful she was when I saved her ass, it’s the exact opposite. I love how feisty and scrappy she is. Independence is one of the sexiest traits in a woman, and Ronnie possesses it in droves.

  I could barely contain myself last night. Hot and angry, I slipped into the shower and let the water run down my body. Before I knew it I was rock hard, thinking about Ronnie. Her perfect figure, her angelic face, how self-assured she was when she walked out that door. I pumped myself silly thinking of her, stroking up and down until hot beads of liquid erupted down my knuckles. I’m stiffening just thinking about it.

  Damn, that woman does something to me! I knew it the minute I saw her. Ronnie is my soulmate, and I have to convince her that she’s meant to be mine. With women like her, however, it’s easier said than done. She’s no wilting flower, she’s a strong laser beam of strength, and it’s getting harder and harder to resist her.

  Knuckles rap against my door, jolting me from my thoughts. “Come in.”

  Ronnie’s dark head peeps into the office. Her bubble gum tongue runs across her full lips. “I’m heading to the café on a coffee run. Can I get you something?” Her steady tone feels forced. If she’s still angry at me, she’s hiding it beneath a stoic exterior. I lurch against my zipper.

  “I’m coming with you.” Her eyes follow me when I rise from my chair.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to, Ronnie. There’s nothing more I want right now than to go on a coffee run with you.”

  Her eyebrows knit into a line. A tiny huff escapes her nostrils. When she opens her mouth to speak, it takes a minute for her to find the words. Her hand slaps the back of the door before she opens it wide enough for me to join her. “Knock yourself out.”

  In the front, the tattoo machines are already whirring. Bone, Phoenix and Titus all have clients in their chairs already, and it’s barely noon. That sounds late to some, but to tattoo shops, that’s the butt-crack of dawn when it comes to business hours.

  “Coffee?” I announce.

  “Americano, black.” Titus doesn’t look up from his work.

  Phoenix brushes his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Drip with a splash of milk.”

  “Triple shot latte.” Bone says, his client wincing as his machine digs into their ribs.

  “Off we go,” Ronnie says. I follow her into the summer air, a Saturday with the same coloring as one from your childhood, warm and wide open. We hit the café two doors down. It’s a New York City chain that just went national called Grind’r. Cozy enou
gh, I guess. Although the prices are steep.

  Ronnie places the order from memory, adding on an iced coffee for herself. She turns to me, her eyes so bright and sparkly it nearly makes my head spin. “Make it two,” I say, and the barista walks away.

  Ronnie leans onto the counter, causing her breasts to spill out from the top of her tank. I try and pull my eyes away, but she’s damn near perfect. I wonder if they feel as soft as they look. She catches me staring, and I clear my throat.

  “Ronnie, I wanted to say.”

  “Mmm-hmm?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t let you handle the situation last night.”

  “You should be. I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “Those assholes pissed me off the way they treated you.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “Coming in there, acting like you owe them something.”

  “Again, it’s a common occurrence.”

  Before I can stop myself, I gently grab her arm. Her breath catches in her throat. Eyes widening like a full moon lunar eclipse—a perfect combination of darkness intersecting light. “Not anymore it isn’t. No one will ever touch you as long as I’m around.”

  The tension grinds between us and I realize I’m waiting for her response. “You’re touching me right now.” Her eyes flick to my fingertips, still grazing her soft forearm. I release my grip.

  “Fine, no one but me.” I say through gritted teeth.

  “And what makes you so sure that I want you to touch me, King?” Her voice is soft, challenging.

  I take a step closer, testing her boundaries. “You don’t want me to touch you?”

  My fingertips rest against the curve of her hip. She inhales through her nose when I take one step closer. Inches apart, if I leaned down right now her lips would be pressed against mine. Her eyes dance across my face. I’m so close, even over the indie rock from the overhead speakers, I can hear her swallow.