Chaos series by Kristen Ashley
“To preface this, I’ll say I like my promise ring.”
Joker shook his head but did it grinning.
He knew that. In the week since she’d got it, he’d seen her staring at it. She’d even made a habit of rubbing the diamond against her lower lip more than occasionally.
If he caught that last and was in a position to do so, he put her in a position of using that lip in a different way, among other things.
“And also,” she went on, “this is the culmination of what Elvira calls a ‘wild hair,’ something I’m told happens when cosmo two turns into cosmo three.”
“Butterfly, get on with it.”
She slid her hands down the skirt of her cute dress, her eyes on his but his eyes dropped to her hands.
“Also, it should be said that Tyra’s in the know about practically everything,” she informed him.
Joker didn’t say anything. He was watching her pull up the skirt of dress.
She shifted to the side, telling him, “Including where the brothers get their tats.”
His chest got tight because he saw panties and under them, at the top right corner of her ass, in from her hip, down from her waist, a bandage.
Carefully, she pulled her panties down over the bandage as he stood immobile and watched.
Still silent and watching him, she peeled the bandage away.
“I got a ring,” she whispered. “This is your promise.”
Without moving a muscle, Joker stood there staring at the gooed-up red flesh in which, smaller but fucking magnificent, was the card he’d designed for his tat guy to ink on his chest.
But it was on his girl’s heart-shaped ass.
“I’m not a tattoo person but I thought… Joker?”
She ended on a call to him because he’d dropped his arms and turned on his boot.
He threw open the door and yelled down the hall, “Party’s over! Get out!”
He heard a “What the fuck?” and a guffaw but that’s all he heard before he slammed the door and turned back.
“Sweetie, that was rude… oh!”
She cried out because he was stalking.
She was backing up.
She had a hand up and was looking at him closely as she moved.
“Does this mean you like it?” she asked.
He didn’t give her an answer verbally.
But a while later, when he was not doing his usual watching her pussy take his dick but instead his eyes were locked to his card on her ass as she took his fucking on her knees, her whimpers muffled by the covers where her face was pressed, he figured she got the message.
* * *
He figured she also got his message when she sat next to him, babbling about wedding plans, co-workers at LeLane’s, her and her girls’ predictions of when Malik would pop the question, as he laid back in the chair, the buzz sounding as his tat guy worked at his chest.
Like the joker card, it was his design, so he could change the deck to whatever the fuck he wanted it to be.
So the card the guy was inking slanted over his heart next to the joker was the queen of hearts.
And butterflies.
* * *
The back door flew open and Carissa flew in carrying the handles of a LeLane’s paper bag in one hand, a massive stack of magazines tucked in her other arm, her purse over her shoulder, and wearing her khaki’s and LeLane’s polo, Converse on her feet.
Joker was at the stove.
Travis was unsteady on his feet as he ran to her, shouting, “Moomah!” then he took a header, landed on his hands and knees, tipped his head back and giggled.
“Googly,” she greeted, dumping bag, magazines, and purse and cutting her eyes to Joker. “Please tell me you’re browning the ground beef.”
“Seein’ as I got a text five minutes ago tellin’ my behind to do that and I’m standin’ at a stove… yeah.”
She smiled at him, bent, scooped up her kid, gave him kisses, tickles, and snuggles, then put him down again and came right to Joker.
Her eyes were shining.
“Did you see it?” she asked.
He nodded. “Tyra bought twice as many as you got over there.” He jerked his head to the counter where she’d dumped her shit.
“Did you read it?” she pushed.
“Uh… yeah,” he answered.
“It… is… amazing!” she cried. “So amazing. So cool. So you! And the brothers. I’m framing it. Every page!” she declared.
“Figure you will, bein’ a goofball,” he muttered, fighting his smile.
“Don’t make me annoyed when I’m this happy.” She jumped suddenly and yelled, “I have to change! Be back! There’s ice cream in that bag, toss it in the freezer, sweetie, will you?”
Then she didn’t wait for him to answer. She pursed her lips and blew him a kiss, which he thought was cute, and he usually loved it when she did that, but not so much right then when she just got home and he would prefer something a fuckuva lot different.
He didn’t get it.
She raced out of the kitchen.
Joker turned down the meat, bent, nabbed Travis, and planted him on his hip.
“Joejoekah, loo lah, kah kah.”
“I hear you,” Joker muttered as he walked to the bag, took the ice cream out (three tubs), and put it in the freezer.
Then he went to the magazine, grabbed the top one off the stack, set it to the side and flipped it open.
He got to the page and whispered, “There it is, boy.”
“Dah, noo, fah, lah,” Travis replied.
“That’s what I think,” Joker said.
He stared down at the picture.
It took up both pages. One of his builds, a bike, purple, fucking brilliant pinstriping, and even he had to admit the framing was inspired.
In big writing at the top it said, Custom Cool and under that, smaller, it said, Denver’s Chaos Motorcycle Club, led by design mastermind Carson “Joker” Steele, takes custom rides to the next stratosphere.
The brothers were gathered around the bike in the garage. All of them. Joker at the front wheel, arms crossed on his chest, Tack next to him, arm slung casually over Joker’s shoulders, his boots crossed at the ankles.
The back wall was behind them, their tool chests and equipment lined up at the bottom against it, a massive Chaos flag stretched across the wall above.
Boz was smiling like a lunatic, but the rest of his brothers were staring at the camera natural, looking badass.
It was a fucking great picture.
He flipped the page to a better one.
Top right corner, a side shot of Joker in Carissa’s arms, his hands deep in her back pockets, their attention focused on nothing but each other.