Perfect Collision (27 page)

And they took their time. She came twice before he let go and made her come along with him when he finished with her on all fours, and his hands grabbing her waist. She fell down on her stomach, almost with a giggle, and smiled at him when he lay down next to her.

“All good?” he asked as he pulled her closer.

“All good,” she confirmed and played with her fingertips over the fading marks on his chest.

He constantly had traces of her art on his upper body. It was her way of testing what would work or not work. She wanted him to get the perfect ink, which was kind of sweet.

To him, it wasn't so much trying out different designs as having her all over him drawing, frowning, talking, and making cute faces. It was relaxing. She'd tried to do some things on his legs, too. But having her between his legs—with her hands on the inside of his thighs, and her violet hair tickling his crotch—had meant it quickly turned into something else. Not that he complained, but she did. So now she stuck to the empty spaces he still had on his chest, arms, and back.

“Just so we're clear,” she started, and he looked at her, “I'm not gonna move in with you yet.”

“I know.” He kissed her nose. “Maybe spend a few nights a week here with me?”

“Yes. Not all nights. I need to finish my special project for school and... you know. Stuff.”

“Baby, I know.” He held on to the necklace and pulled her closer. He already loved the necklace on her. “And for the record, any discussions about you moving anywhere are between you and your dad. Not sticking my neck out on that one. He'd kill me if he thought I was pushing you to do that.”

“Does he know about the necklace?”

“Yeah.” He'd been relieved about how cool Bear was about it. Obviously he wanted Vi to have his ink, one day, but not yet. It was much too soon. “And no, it was not a compromise instead of a tattoo. I wanted you to have this first.”

“I get it, it's like an engagement ring.”

“Exactly.” He put his arm around her waist. “And this, spending the night, it's a good start.”

“A very good start. I've been looking forward to this—and morning sex!”

“Morning sex is good,” he nodded. “Very nice, and I already have plans.”

“Good!” She eyed him. “Do you snore?”

“Um, sometimes?”

“Damn!” she muttered and put an arm round him.

“What did your mom say about me?”

“I don't want to talk about it. Is that okay? Maybe some day, but not now.”

“It's okay, honey. I never meant you had to tell me everything.” He gently stroked her hair and cupped her cheek, running his thumb over her soft lips. “Your mom isn't gonna be stupid enough to try anything. She knew Debbie, she knows what happens to Old Ladies who fuck with the club.”

Debbie'd been Bull's first wife. She cheated on him, and the lesson he taught her was still, years later, a warning to Old Ladies. You did not fuck with your man or the club. Sure, Bull had been extreme, like he always was, and very few of the guys would go to those extremes. Mac sure as shit wouldn't, but as a warning it was an efficient reminder.

“Not really anything she can do, and she knows it.” She smiled at him, and he knew she kept smiling as he kissed his way down to her nipple and placed his lips around it. “Lisa did a violet daisy.”

“I know,” he said and looked at her. “I saw it.”

“She said she wanted a flower garden on her back, so I had to keep practicing.”

“What else did she say?” he mumbled as he stroked his nose between her breasts and caught her other nipple in his mouth.

“That I got the good brother,” she smiled and stroked his hair. “And the handsome one.”

“So it's you and me, Katze?”

“You and me,” she confirmed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

Thought They Played on Eleven

-o0o-

BEAR WALKED INTO THE
empty front room of Wicked Ink. He could hear them in the back, though. He assumed they were all busy and sat down to wait. Mac was in Englewood with Dawg, which meant he got the chance to pick up Vi for once. It didn't happen often anymore.

Since Ella's visit, almost four months earlier, the three of them had established something of a routine. Mac almost always picked her up, and three or four nights a week he simply dropped her off at home. The other nights she stayed at his place. It wasn't a fixed schedule, but depended on how late she was working, and how much she had at school.

The only thing he'd insisted on was that they'd keep Sunday breakfast and that it would just be just the two of them. He wanted to keep it for as long as possible, and Mac wasn't invited.

They'd spent Christmas Day at Brick's place, but to his surprise, Vi followed him home after dinner. She'd bought him gore and splatter movies, and they watched a few of them while eating the Christmas candy. He hadn't commented on it, but appreciated it nonetheless. Next year, she'd be done with high school, and she already had a well paid job. It didn't seem likely she'd still live with him the coming Christmas.

Vi's gift from the guys at Wicked ink had been a tattoo design they'd all worked on. It was a tree with big roots to show she was grounded, a big crown for her big heart and smarts, and the leaves were blowing off, transforming into birds, to show she could be free while still staying rooted. She'd almost cried when she showed it to him with shaking hands. It was going on her back, but they hadn't had time to do it yet. Bear also suspected she was more worried about the pain that she admitted.

He often talked to Sami about her, how she was doing. Despite being careful with praise, he'd admitted Vi was the most talented apprentice he'd ever had. He'd been drunk as fuck when he said it, but Bear knew he meant it.

It wasn't just that she was a talent, it was easy for her because she hardly ever hesitated or second guessed herself. Even without Sami's help, she knew what she could or couldn't do. To Vi, it didn't seem to be much of a difference between inking on fake skin, a pig, or an actual human. She wasn't more nervous just because it was a person.

Bear thought part of it was because of the hyper-focus. Once she started, she just did it. She went through the usual stuff, was careful initially, and did a small line to begin with to let them feel it. She warned if it was in a sensitive spot, but her focus was always to make it look as good as possible. She didn't hesitate to do something just because it could be painful for the customer.

And just as Sami had drilled into her, she protected her rep. A few weeks earlier, Bear had overheard a discussion Vi'd had with a girl set on a tattoo idea Vi didn't think would work. She'd tried to explain, drawn up pics, suggested alterations, and finally just flat out said she wouldn't do it the way the customer wanted it. When the girl had started yelling, Vi simply said she didn't have to do a tattoo just because a customer wanted one.

Bear knew it wasn't about tattoo artists only wanting people to get the kind of ink they themselves liked. When it was things that wouldn't technically work, it was the sane thing to refuse to do it.

He looked up when Trixie came out from the back with a customer following her. He waited as she got paid and saw the customer off, then she turned around and stared at him while shaking her head.

“You are seriously not fulfilling your duties as a parent, man.”

“What?”

“Your eighteen-year-old daughter doesn't know who Ronnie James Dio was. What the
fuck
is up with that?”

“What! She doesn't?”

He'd never understood Vi's music taste, and he'd heard more weird country than he liked to admit. He'd rather pull out his own teeth than publicly admit he thought some of it was good. He had a reputation to protect, and his own daughter not knowing who Ronnie James Dio was—that was bad.

“Nope. We had a customer here today who wanted the Dio-logo tattooed on him, and she said she'd never heard about them or Ronny James Dio. The guy almost had a heart attack.” Trixie shook her head. “We had to endure the dude singing like ten songs, and that man could not sing like the Big RJ. It was bad.”

“Sami's really upset,” Vi said as she came out from the back rooms. “He said you needed to educate me in music.”

He had to agree with Sami. Knowing who Ronnie James Dio was—that was basic music knowledge. She should fucking know about it, and she should fucking know the basics of metal if she was going to work as a tattoo artist.

“We're going home, and we're gonna listen to metal, honey.”

“Dad!!!”

“They're right. You're eighteen, and I'm not gonna let you become any more grown-up not knowing the basics. It would reflect poorly on my parenting. Have to agree with that.”

“Word,” Trixie said with a serious, but very teasing nod.

“One condition,” Vi said and pointed at him. “You're gonna listen to what the doctor said.”

He'd been to the doctor for a check up, and according to the doc he needed to lose weight and cut down on his drinking and smoking. It was probably just as well he hadn't told the doc what drugs he occasionally used. He didn't give a shit either way, but Vi had been all over his ass about it since then.

“No deal. I'm not gonna turn into some guy with dreads and Birkenstocks.”

“All I said was that we could have one,
one,
vegetarian day a week.”

She'd made something called quorn the week before. He'd refused to eat it and had ordered a pizza before she'd even finished the speech about how he needed to eat healthier and why. He'd also muttered about it possibly not being all around bad if she moved out. Something they both knew was a flat-out lie.

“Veggie Wednesday isn't going to happen, Katze.” He caught her in a hug. “I'm too old to change, you know that.”

“Fine,” she muttered.

When they came home, she made some food, not vegetarian, and afterwards he took her into his room where he had his albums and the turntable.

“Let's start, Katze.”

“You were serious?”

“Honey, people do band tattoos. You'll look like an idiot if you don't know who Ronnie James Dio was. That's even worse than not knowing who James Hetfield is.” She looked confused. “Jesus! You don't know who James Hetfield is? For fuck's sake, tell me you know Metallica!”

“Of course I do!” She picked up an album in his vinyl collection. “What the fuck! What is this?”

“Manowar.” She was holding 'Anthology'; she stared at it and then started laughing. He couldn't blame her; It was four oiled up guys wearing fur loincloths. They looked ridiculous. 

“Is this a joke?”

“No!” He took the album from her and decided to start with it. “Okay, first song is 'All Men Play on Ten.'”

“Thought they played on eleven,” she giggled.

“Glad you at least paid attention during 'Spinal Tap.'”

He watched her go through the albums while they were listening. She shook her head at some of the covers. She stopped at a Darkthrone album and held it up to him.

“I can't even see what the name of the band is.”

“Darkthrone,” he said and took it from her and put it on.

Vi stared at the turntable when the song started. “You used to listen to this?”

“Yup. Still do,” he answered. He could've added he listened to a lot of it when he was stoned, drunk, and nostalgic—but he skipped that part. “I'll see if I can find something you actually like.”

“I know Motörhead and Guns N' Roses.”

“I know you do, Katze. I spent quite a lot of time trying to get you hooked on them when you bought your first Ray Wylie Hubbard album.” He picked up King Diamond. He'd seen her look at it.

She listened for a few minutes. “Is it actually a dude singing?”

“Yes,” Bear sighed. “Let's try progressive metal.”

He decided Rush could work and put on 'A passage to Bangkok,' then he studied her. She didn't seem to be listening at all. Instead, she held up a Celtic Frost album.

“This is a Doré painting.”

“Yeah,” he laughed.

He knew she liked Doré's art. He'd bought her a copy of 'The Divine Comedy' with his artwork for Christmas a few years ago, and she'd studied every picture in detail. Maybe he should've focused on the cover art.

“Some of these are quite nice and others are,” she held up 'Thor'—another man with baby oil on his chest and fur covering his crotch, “just horrible.”

“Hey! The guy used to bend steel on stage.”

“Why?” She looked honestly confused.

“He's a real man.”

“Yeah, sure he is.”

“You're a very levelheaded young girl.” He took a King Crimson album instead. “I think you'll like this.”

She put the albums aside and moved over to sit next to him.

“You're right,” she said a while later and leaned her head against his upper arm. “I like this.”

They sat there until late at night, talking while listening to music, and he managed to find quite a few things she liked, but most of it made her laugh or shake her head. He was mostly surprised she liked Sepultura's 'Roots Bloody Roots.' Apparently the drums were awesome. She listened to it twice, and while listening they kept talking.

It was the most proper talk they'd had in months, and they covered pretty much everything. Even his love life, and she was a bit upset when he said it didn't exist. He explained there wasn't any need for her to be upset. He was happy with what he had at the moment.

He looked at his eighteen-year-old daughter and couldn't get over the fact the she really was a grownup. At least legally. No matter what she herself thought, she still had some childish streaks.

She started to yawn while they were listening to Danzig. She'd picked it since the cover art was by H.R. Giger. It might not be metal per definition, but Danzig was something she should know about.

“Dad.”

“Yes, love?”

“Could you please try to, you know, do some of what the doctor said?”

He turned and looked at her, about to tell her to stop nagging, and realized she really was worried.