Chaos series by Kristen Ashley

Two months later, Logan “High” Judd moved his girls in to what Denver had to offer as a castle a mile high in the sky.

Millie

The buzz of the needle sounding, I lay curled on the reclining seat with Logan, watching the ink penetrate his skin.

Logan and I had agreed to a different placement of the tat because Logan wasn’t big on shaving and he didn’t want my ink obscured in any way.

So it wasn’t being inked into his throat.

It was being inked curled around the base of it.

The artist wasn’t all that thrilled with me being up on the seat with Low. To be able to be close to him, I’d promised him I wouldn’t move and I wasn’t.

This was partly because I wanted the tattoo to be perfect.

It was mostly because I was too overwhelmed with the feelings I was feeling, watching me tatted back into Logan’s skin.

The… only was done when Logan muttered, “Break, bud.”

Without a word, the artist wiped him down, rolled his stool away, and took off.

I watched him do this, sliding my hand from where it was resting on Logan’s bare abs up his chest. I moved my eyes to his.

“You good?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah,” he answered.

I tipped my head to the side. “Then why do you need a break, Snooks?”

“ ’Cause it’s time to do this,” he replied, his hands moving, one circling my wrist at his chest, the other one going from around me and into his jeans pocket.

When I saw what he was doing, my breath hitched and my chest started to burn.

This continued as Logan slid a heavy ring with a large solitaire diamond encased in a solid rectangle of filigreed white gold on my finger. The sides leading up from the band expanded wide at the rectangle. One was embedded with an infinity symbol inside which was an M and an L. The other side had the stem of a rose entwined with a snake.

It was specially made.

No.

It was an engagement ring especially made for the old lady of a biker.

Primarily, me.

In other words, it was perfection.

I looked from the ring to Logan and I did it not breathing.

“Best moment of my life was lyin’ beside you, watchin’ you ink me into your skin while you did the same with me,” he stated softly.

When we’d done it together, he’d felt the same as me.

But of course he did.

My whole body bucked as my breath caught and his hand closed around mine tight, the weighty ring digging into my finger.

“I fucked that up,” he whispered.

“Low,” I whispered back, shaking my head.

“So I’m fixin’ it.” He held my gaze. “Marry me, Millie.”

I stared into his eyes until I couldn’t see him anymore because he’d washed away with the unshed tears.

Then I dropped my face and buried it in his chest.

He cupped his hand on the back of my head even as he kept hold of my other one, doing this tight to his chest.

He gave it a few moments before I heard him rumble, “That mean yes?”

Was he crazy?

My head jerked up, my fingers closed around his, and I replied, “Fuck yes, that means yes.”

His body started shaking with laughter.

Mine didn’t.

I got closer, pressed deeper, and kissed him hard.

He finally let my hand go so he could wrap both his arms around me and we could make out in a tattoo chair.

We did this until the artist called, “Dude, you go at your babe much longer, I’m gonna need a different kind of break.”

This meant we broke our kiss with both of us laughing.

Yes.

Perfection.

Logan’s laughter died first as he slid his hand to cup my cheek.

“Love you, Millie,” he whispered.

I drew in a deep breath through my nose.

I let it go, replying, “Love you, too, Snook’ums.”

He grinned.

I settled back in.

He looked to the artist and jerked up his chin.

I finished watching him get inked with me alternately staring at my kickass engagement ring.

After he was done, we celebrated that tat and our engagement in the back of his SUV in the parking lot of the tattoo parlor.

Because that was the way of a biker.

And the way of his old lady.

Tyra

“Crap, High!” Boz yelled from the pool table in the Common Room, looking disgruntled. “Now I got all your girls kickin’ my butt in pool.”

Sitting at the bar with Lanie and Elvira, I heard Zadie giggle, so I looked that way.

She had a pool cue and was leaning into Millie, who was giggling with her as Cleo lined up her shot.

Cleo let fly and pocketed the six.

“Shee-it,” Boz grumbled.

That was when I heard a rough chuckle.

I looked across the bar to my husband, who was standing at the back of it with Pete and Hop. He had eyes to Boz and a smile on his handsome face.

I liked that look, had always liked that look, but I didn’t spend time taking it in. I knew I’d get it back. Frequently.

So I looked from my man across the space to one of the couches at the back of the room.

There, I saw High sitting alone, a bottle of beer held to his thigh, his other arm spread across the back of the couch, his feet up, ankles crossed, resting on the battered coffee table in front of him.

He was watching the action at the pool table, a smile playing at his lips.

He was sitting alone but he was not doing it as a loner.

He was doing it as a man watching a live action dream play out in front of his eyes.

He was doing it carefree.

He was doing it happy.

The way I’d noted he was a lot these days.

In fact, always.