2. Lyla

Buzzing hums through Twisted Roses tattoo parlor. It makes my nerves prickle every time I walk in here because the sound reminds me of Sage.

Kane hates that I like hanging out at the front desk of the tattoo shop, talking to customers about tattoos, and reading their fortunes with my tarot deck. But I'm eighteen now. I don't have to listen to what he says.

And today, I'm not here to socialize. I'm here for a reason.

"Where's he at?" I ask Jude, who is leading a girl to the lobby.

The skin around her sapphire nose piercing is red, so it must be fresh.

"In the back, I think?" Jude tips his chin to the hallway, and I start in that direction. But before I get too far, he yells after me, "He's not going to go for it."

"Yes, he will," I yell back.

Jude chuckles because he has no faith in me. He's a skeptic, as evidenced by the fact that he still won't let me use my cards on him. But today he's wrong. I'm determined. And if anyone is capable of convincing Sage to make a bad decision, it's me.

While Jude thinks he knows Sage better than I do—since Sage crashes in an apartment with Jude in the city when he works late at the shop and doesn't want to drive back to the compound—I've known Sage longer.

And I know how to get through to him.

Turning the corner into Sage's tattoo room at the shop, I move too quickly and trip over a cord stretched across the ground.

"Shit." I grip the chair I fall against, trying to gather my composure as Sage looks up at me from whatever he's doing.

Those eyes of his are chaos.

Temptation.

Sage Jackson is a walking red flag. Madness that matches the wicked playfulness of his tattoos. Ridiculously good looking and he knows it. Charming and he knows it. Barely has to blink in the direction of a woman to have her falling into his bed—and he knows it.

Not that I blame them for being interested.

Ever since I met Sage, I've had a crush on him—just like every other girl who's laid eyes on him through the years. It might be pathetic, but I find it hard to be ashamed when the man in question looks like him.

"Looking for your dad?" Sage sets down his pencil and pushes aside the drawing he's working on. "Because he's not here."

There's this unspoken cold front between me and Sage that's been growing these past few months. To be fair, it exists between me and every member of the Twisted Kings. I'm the daughter of the president, so the guys at the club aren't allowed to focus too much attention on me.

But while the club members keep their distance for fear of losing their nuts, with Sage it's different. He steals glances when he thinks I don't notice, and I let him get away with it. His resistance isn't out of fear for my father. It's because he doesn't like that he can't help it.

Sage is meticulous. He's careful. He's protective and controlling.

And I enjoy shattering his rules.

"I'm not looking for Kane." I circle the chair in the center of the room, dropping down into it. "I'm looking for you. I'm eighteen now, in case you forgot."

It takes everything in me to even my tone when he won't take his dark eyes off me. I bite my lip, gnawing a little harder when his gaze drops to my mouth.

"I didn't forget."

"So…" Leaning back in the chair, I smile at him. "I want a tattoo."

"No." He turns back to his drawing and starts to scribble a little harder than he was when I first walked in.

"Come on, Sage." I grit my teeth, not backing down. "It's just a tattoo."

"On Kane's daughter."

"Since when do you listen to his rules?"

"Since I want to live and breathe another day."

I glare at him. "It's not like you're a member yet. You're a prospect. This is the time when you can still get away with things before you lose all your freedom."

"Thanks for the reminder." Bitterness stains his tone.

It's no secret around the compound that Sage didn't agree with his father's decision to make him wait until he was almost twenty-one to prospect for the club. Especially considering he was born and raised to be a Twisted King.

Most guys prospect at eighteen, but his dad wanted him to wait. Which is the whole reason Sage started tattooing. It was something to keep him busy, and he happened to be good at it.

"Sorry." I frown. "Touchy subject."

"It's fine."

Sage shakes his head, and I hate that he brushes me off like I'm still a little kid.

"Why do you still want to join the club anyway?" I ask him, looking around the shop. "Especially with all this going for you."

"What else would I do?" He shrugs. "I don't have to give up tattooing. I can patch in and help at the shop in my free time. It's not like they're making me choose. Besides, I want to. It's what I was always meant to do."

"Since when do you believe in destiny?" I challenge him.

"The Twisted Kings are family, Lyla." He avoids my question. "This was always the plan. I'm not turning my back on them."

"Some family," I grumble.

His gaze cuts in my direction, and it hits me so hard in the heart I wonder if he feels it too. The fact that he and I are meant to be something more. That whatever brought us together was the universe trying to tell us something.

Not that either of us can actually act on it.

Even my crush on Sage has its limits. I refuse to let some biker turn me into my mother. To believe a Twisted King could treat a woman right. Sage might be caring now, but that's only because he's not fully brainwashed yet.

Besides, if biker behavior wasn't bad enough, there's also the risk that comes with being involved with them. I learned that lesson the hard way when someone tried to kidnap me and Ellie after school when we were ten. I've been at the other end of death threats. I've had a man come up to me and tell me he'll rape me if my father betrays him again.

I understand exactly what it means to be tied to the Twisted Kings, and I refuse to choose this life voluntarily.

"About the tattoo—" I change the subject when my stomach wells with unease.

"I already said no."

Sage tips his head back and rakes his hands through his dark hair. His tight black T-shirt rides up just enough to show off the cut of muscles on his lean stomach. I spot fresh ink, and I wonder how far it all goes.

"Oh, come on." I pull a picture out of my purse and toss it onto the table in front of him. "This will be quick."

"A butterfly?" Sage laughs, and it's beautiful even if he's mocking me. "Is this a joke or an insult?"

"Neither." I hold my ground. "It's personal. So just do your thing with it. Add your flare or whatever it is you tattoo guys do to make it special."

"Us tattoo guys?"

I shrug.

Sage looks at the butterfly again, shaking his head. But even if he's resistant, I know him well enough to know he's considering it.

"It's small, so it'll barely take any time. And it's good practice." I run through my list of prepared responses to his arguments, hoping one sticks. "I heard Blaze talking to Kane. He said you're getting good."

"If Kane finds out I did this, he'll fucking kill me."

I smirk, knowing he's breaking and loving every second of it. He always did have a soft spot for me, and I can't resist using it against him.

"Don't let him find out then. You're not scared, are you, Sage?"

His dark eyes meet mine, and he leans back to look me over. He's shaking his head at me and fighting a grin.

"Fuck, fine. But on one condition…"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Fair enough."

Sage tips his chin down and the shaggy hair on the top of his head falls over his forehead, skating the ridge of his eyebrows. This close, I"m flooded with the scent of spearmint and gasoline. Of the earth right before it rains. Of a storm on the horizon.

"Tell me why you really want this."

"Why does it matter?"

"Didn't say it did. Just curious."

He plants his elbows on his knees and crosses his hands over his forearms in front of him; his dark eyes fix on me.

I pick at my fishnets and swallow hard. "You ever feel like you need to forget?"

Sage nods. "Yeah."

"Well—" I shrug. "Maybe some things are worth remembering."

"Like a purple butterfly?"

"Like a purple butterfly."

He holds my stare so intently his eyes grow arms that wrap around my body. They hold me tight, and I wish they'd never let me go. But we grow and change. And every year I know him less and more.

"Where do you want it?" Sage asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Kicking my leg over the arm of the tattoo chair, I lean back, spreading my thighs and hiking my skirt upward. I rip a hole in my fishnets at my inner thigh, well aware that in this position, he's got a clear view of the scrap of underwear I'm wearing. But this is his job, he's probably seen it all. And he's made it clear that anything I offer, he won't take me up on.

"Here." I point to a spot on my inner thigh.

Sage smirks, sitting back and looking at me, amused for the first time since I walked in. "That's gonna hurt."

His words don't match his posture because he seems intrigued by the idea of causing me pain. And I wonder if it's because the thought of it is as strangely satisfying for him as it is for me. After all, he's the one who enjoys digging needles into people for a living.

Leaning back in the chair, I open my legs further and look him straight in the eyes. "Counting on it."