Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) (13 page)

I was walking back into the main room when I heard it, and I couldn’t believe my ears. My feet moved forward even as my brain stuttered. I was sure I was losing it. But no, it was definitely what I thought it was.

In the middle of the room, between two of the couches, my little fairy princess was dancing around with Daz. Through the speakers—which I was surprised weren’t bursting into flames seeing as they belonged to a bunch of bikers—was
Live While We’re Young
by One Direction.

I cleared my throat. Daz froze and his head flew my way.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“I had no idea you were a directioner, Dazzle,” I teased. “You’ve definitely got the boy band moves down, though.”

“Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,” he warned. He looked at a giggling Emmy and told her, “That goes for you, too.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I heard and turned to see Ham on the other side of the room, his cell phone raised in front of him. “I got the whole thing on camera.”

I burst out laughing as Daz muttered, “Fuck my life.”

“Boy, I thought you were gettin’ gone over an hour ago?”

I looked up from the sketchpad at my station to Carson, who was standing over me with his pipe in his mouth. Carson was the owner of Sailor’s Grave Tattoo Parlor. He was also a fucking brilliant artist, and my mentor. At sixty-two, he was still a badass motherfucker. Built like a brick shithouse and hairy as a fuckin’ animal, he looked like the type of guy you didn’t fuck with. Most would never guess he was an artistic genius by looking at him, but that was their loss.

He had his panama hat on—the thing had to be nearly as old as he was and just as weathered—and his hair tied back, as usual. The pipe was also par for the course, though it was always empty nowadays. He used to smoke from it. The thing would stay on him all day and he’d dip out every so often to have a toke. He never smoked it inside, but that didn’t hinder him much. Emphysema did, though. He still kept the pipe around even though the tobacco had to go. Claimed not having the pipe made the craving stronger.

“Just drawing something out,” I told him. He was right. I meant to leave an hour ago. My appointments were done and we didn’t do walk-ins. Carson said walk-ins just led to idiots putting shit on their skin they weren’t prepared to live with and doing that was a disservice to the art as a whole. I couldn’t argue that logic, but I’d still inked my fair share of shit I figured didn’t mean that much to people.

“This for a client?” he asked, pulling up a chair.

Carson was hands on. I hadn’t been his apprentice in years, but he still offered his guidance from time to time. Some might find it annoying, but I was glad to take any advice he offered. I was good, I knew it and Carson knew it—he wouldn’t have trained me if I weren’t. Still, he had a lifetime of experience on me and I’d be an idiot to ignore it.

“For me,” I answered.

“You ain’t got a lot of real estate left.”

“Nope.”

“You finally addin’ to the left side of your chest?”

I looked down at the design. It wasn’t right yet. It had to be perfect before I’d ink it in permanently.

“Soon, if you’ll do the honors once I get the drawing finalized.”

“Glad to, kid,” Carson answered. His eyes were still on the pad. “Wouldn’t let you take it to someone else.”

Carson knew me. He knew the whole long story. He’d been like a father to me since I lost Gunner. He knew, though I’d never said it, why my left pec was still mostly blank. And he knew, looking at the rough draft of what I’d put in that space, what that tattoo meant to me.

“Thanks, man.”

“Might make it my last before retirement.”

“What?”

Carson had dialed back his work a while ago. He was only taking appointments with people he’d done work on before. Mostly, he just hung around the shop and saw to the work the rest of us were putting out. He could easily transition into full retirement at any time; it was just surprising that he would.

“Been thinkin’ on it a while,” he explained. “The missus has been talkin’ about it, too. Got a lot we want to see and we ain’t gettin’ any younger. You all’ve got the skill now. Don’t need me to teach you what the fuck you’re doin’. Thinkin’ it might be the time.”

I couldn’t argue that. “It’ll be different, not having your cranky ass around.”

He pointed the stem end of his pipe my way. “Shut your mouth, boy. I’m tryin’ to tell you I’m passin’ Sailor’s Grave over to you.”

Fucking hell.

I dropped the pencil in my hand and straightened in my seat. “Are you serious, Carson?”

“I mean it. I got what I need out of it. Jean and I are set up for whatever life we’ve got left in us. Now, I just wanna make sure it moves into hands I trust. Trained my share of artists and I got a great staff workin’ here, but no one I’ve worked with has got the talent and passion you’ve got. That’s what I want carryin’ on the legacy of this place.”

“Shit. I’d love to take over for you.”

“Know that.” Carson clapped a hand on my shoulder, then stood. “Gotta get all the legal shit squared away, then she’ll be yours. Come in early tomorrow, we’ll start going over shit.” Then, he just left. He walked on out like he hadn’t just dropped a huge fucking bomb on me.

I looked around the shop. Jess was behind the desk and Danny was leaning against it, probably trying to get her to stop rejecting him. Clara and John had clients at their stations. Nate, the other artist on staff, was off for the day. I couldn’t believe I was going to own the place.

Fuck.

Hours later, after a meeting with Stone about guarding Ash—which I gladly took responsibility for—I finally rolled up to the farmhouse. Ace was in the living room, kicked back on the couch and watching TV. He was on Ash duty for the day, so she had to be around.

“Where are the girls?”

“Backyard.”

The sun was mostly set and the lights out back nearly didn’t reach where Ash was standing. It was late for Emmy to be out running around. I walked their way, not hesitating to wrap my arms around Ash when I got to her. Fuck, she felt right there.

“What’re you doing out here?”

I didn’t have to wait for her answer. The jar in Emmy’s hands was answer enough.

Emmy jumped up and down, the costume wings she was wearing flapping with the movement, and I stifled a laugh. “We’re catching fieflies.”

“Fireflies,” Ash corrected. She did that a lot and always seamlessly. She didn’t harp on Emmy for the way she said things, just gave her the proper way and let the issue correct itself.

“Fi-re-flies,” Emmy broke it down. After a nod from her mom, she went back to stalking the little flashing bugs.

I hunched over, resting my chin on Ash’s shoulder. She was stiff, and it made me grin. She was trying to hold herself away from me, but she didn’t want to. If she wanted the space, she would have moved away when I first touched her. Ash was a pro at avoiding contact with people. She wanted me close; she just didn’t want me to know it.

“It’s like looking back through time,” I said as I watched Emmy. “She looks just like you when we were little and came out here, Firefly.”

“I never dressed as a fairy princess,” Ash returned in a removed voice.

Oh, this was going to be fun. She really was struggling.

“That must’ve been my remembering of it.”

“Don’t use your stupid lines on me.”

“I don’t have lines. Just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Whatever.”

I grinned. Score one for me.

“I’m serious though, Ash. She’s the fucking spitting image of you.”

“You think?”

There went the armor already. She could try, but she wasn’t hard. I’d break through whatever she threw up.

“Exactly, Ash. She’s adorable, just like you were, and she’s going to grow up and be just as fucking gorgeous.”

She ignored the inherent compliment, but I knew she would. “I just want her to grow up happy.”

“She will. We’ll make sure of it.”

That made her try to pull away. I’d been wrapped around her for five minutes and that was the first move she made to get out of my hold. She didn’t succeed. I tensed my arms, keeping her still.

“It’s not your job,” she bit out in a hush, keeping Emmy unaware of our tiff.

“I beg to differ.”

“Seriously, Sketch. It’s none of your business. She’s not yours.”

I tightened my arms even more in warning. “Ash, you can throw attitude all you want. You can fight me off and I know you’re going to. But do not tell me that little girl is none of my business. Maybe she isn’t mine by blood, maybe she is. Either way, she’s going to be mine. She’s going to call me daddy and any other kids we have are going to be her siblings.”

I felt her struggle at the word “daddy”, but I didn’t let up.

“We talked about having three, remember? You still want two more? I like three or four. Emmy should have a big family. She shouldn’t be alone like we were. We shouldn’t wait too much longer. We don’t want there to be a big age gap between them.”

Ash turned on me, and I let her. Her hands came up to my chest and pushed me back. It was a decent push, but I didn’t budge.

“Stop it,” she snapped. “I’m not having any more kids. Not with you, not with anyone. Once this crap with Barton is over, she and I are out of here. She is none of your business and we aren’t going to be some happy little family. Just stop it!”

I held her to me and laid it out for her. “You aren’t going anywhere. Not now, not after we eliminate that fucker Barton, not ever.”

“You don’t own me.”

“Maybe not, but I own your heart. I know, because I gave you mine when I took it. You took off with it once and it hurt like hell, there’s no fucking way I’ll go through that again.”

Her lips hung open, and fuck if the need to kiss her didn’t take the edge off the frustration garnering within me.

“Lookie!” Emmy squealed. We both turned to watch her run our way. Her little arms extended the jar up toward us, showing the single firefly inside. “I got one!”

My heart nearly burst open when she came right to me, handing me the jar. She was so fuckin’ proud of herself. I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her you usually caught more than one at a time.

“Good work, princess. How about I help you find him a friend or two? You don’t want him to be all alone, do you?”

“No. That’s sad. He needs a friend.”

“Come on, let’s find some,” I said.

It was another half hour before we had Emmy back inside and in bed, a jar of fireflies on her dresser. I hung out while Ash read her a story, wishing I hadn’t missed all the times it had happened before. I didn’t want to miss it again.

When Emmy was asleep, Ash lingered. She didn’t want to leave the room with me because she knew what was coming. Well, she thought she did anyway.

“Come on, Firefly,” I whispered. “Let her rest.”

With a heavy sigh, she passed me and went out the door. I followed, pulling the door closed without a sound. Ash was nearly through her door already, trying to escape without me getting a chance to talk to her. I jogged her way and tagged her arm. Pressing her into the doorjamb, I ran a hand along the curve of her side.

“You’re a good mom, baby. It makes you even more fucking beautiful.”

Her breath caught.

“I know you used to worry about how you would be a good mom when neither of us had examples, but you’re doing an amazing job.” I leaned into her frozen body, right into her neck. “Fucking magnificent,” I told her there, then nipped at her earlobe. She jumped.

I straightened and took a second to look at her beautiful and overwhelmed face. She didn’t know what to do with what I’d said, but I knew what it meant to her. Mission accomplished.

Cupping her face, I tilted her head back to kiss her. She let me in. I wanted to take everything she offered with that move. I wanted to devour her mouth, take her into her room, and devour everything else. Instead, I stepped back.

“Sweet dreams, Firefly,” I said.

Then, I did the damn near impossible. Despite the protests of my rock hard dick, I walked away and left her to sleep on what I’d said. I had a cold shower and a long night ahead of me.