Ink, p.1
Ink, page 1
Ink
Jade Hernández
This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, people or places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Jade Hernández
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
Softcover Cover design and typography image by: Temptation Creations
Edited by: Lisa Nieves
Contents
Content Warning
Author’s Note
About the author
Other works by Jade Hernández
Follow Jade
Dedication
Motorcycle Club lingo
Los Diablos Members and Roles
Blurb
Chapter One Xiomara
Chapter Two Ink
Chapter Three Xiomara
Chapter Four Ink
Chapter Five Xiomara
Chapter Six Ink
Chapter Seven Xiomara
Chapter Eight Xiomara
Chapter Nine Ink
Chapter Ten Xiomara
Chapter Eleven Ink
Chapter Twelve Xiomara
Chapter Thirteen Xiomara
Chapter Fourteen Ink
Chapter Fifteen Xiomara
Chapter Sixteen Xiomara
Acknowledgments
Content Warning
INK is a semi-dark Motorcycle Club romance story and contains scenes that may be triggering to some readers. This short story contains depictions of gang violence, mentions of cartels, violence, strict/abusive mother, gore, guns, drugs, alcohol consumption, slut shaming, misogyny, machismo, kidnapping, the spoken threat of sexual assault (though none occurs), the mention of sexual harrassment in the FMC’s past, tattoos, and death. If such material offends you, please do not pick up this book or approach it with caution. Also, if the word gringo offends you, maybe don’t pick this up as it is used liberally.
This book also contains consensual sexual themes and kinks, such as boss/employee relationships, sexual tension, choking, rough sex, tattoo sex play, slapping, and spanking.
Author’s Note
INK is a contemporary Motorcycle Club romance story that takes place in Mexico and features gang violence, motorcycles, and cholas & cholos. The content within this story is purely fictional and is not meant to depict any real world events, does not reflect on a singular group of people, and is not meant to stereotype. This is my fictional, loose interpretation as a Mexican author who currently lives and has lived in Mexico for a majority of my life and who has put in a lot of time of extensive research on the characters. That being said, if anything within this story offends anyone, that is not my intent and I deeply apologize. If anything inside offends you, and you wish to let me know, please do not hesitate to contact me, as I am not perfect and always aim to do better and be a better person.
About the author
Jade Hernández is a proud Mexican-American woman who strives to bring more Latinx stories to life within the contemporary romance genre. You may know her as Aleera Anaya Ceres, the USA Today Bestselling Author of diverse fantasy and paranormal works. Under this new penname, she aims to represent her culture by writing sweet, dark, gritty, and fun stories for all. As an introvert, Jade prefers to stay inside with a good book, collect tarot cards, and she's recently found a love for book boxes! She currently lives in Tlaxcala, Mexico with her husband and children.
Other works by Jade Hernández
El Rancho Los Corazones series
Learn to Love You
Los Diablos Motorcycle Club
Ink
Miguel
Follow Jade
To keep up with updates, receive freebies, and insider scoop join her Mail List.
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Feminine Rage
For the women with rage inside them.
Let it fester.
Become the villain you were meant to be.
Motorcycle Club lingo
Road name - Nicknames given to members of the club.
Cut/Cuero - Leather jacket vests with their club name, Road name, and designation.
Brothers/Hermanos - Club members.
Prospects - Trainees. They are not pledged members of the club. They do the grunt work and go through hazing to prove themselves and their loyalty to the club.
Puta/Putas - Club whores/club girls who entertain and sleep with the club members in exchange for housing, protection, or jobs.
Misa/Church - Club meetings.
Old Lady/Vieja - Equivalent to wife.
Los Diablos Members and Roles
Here is a guide to the members of Los Diablos MC, their real names, positions, and their Old Ladies (Viejas) if they have them.
Loco
Adrián Ramos, the President of Los Diablos. He is the leader, and while the MC is a brotherhood that votes on certain issues, the President is ultimately the one who makes final decisions.
Miguel
Miguel Salvador Lopez, Vice President of Los Diablos. He is the President’s right hand man. If, in the event that the President is unavailable to perform his duties for any reason, the VP takes over as leader of the club in his absence.
Mayan
Tanok Ortega Coatl, Secretary of Los Diablos. The secretary is in charge of keeping reports and paperwork for the club, whether that be for illegal activities or voting, note-taking, etc within the MC.
Cubano
Juan Diego Luna, Treasurer of Los Diablos. The treasurer is in charge of the money. He handles business expenses, payments, etc that involve any club activity.
Chema
José Maria Iglesias, Sergeant at Arms of Los Diablos. The Sgt at Arms is in charge of security within the club. It is his job to make sure all members are safe and following the rules of the MC. He is also in charge of ensuring security within and outside of the club and is required to report any oncoming or suspected threats to the council.
Crank
Luis Carlos Gonzalez, Road Captain of Los Diablos. The Road Captain is in charge of plotting routes and runs for the club. Whenever they ride out, he will be in charge of formations and the journey as well as the vehicles they take when they go.
Ángel
Jose Ángel Paredes, Enforcer of Los Diablos. The Enforcer is similar to the Sgt at Arms. They are in charge of making sure members are following the rules and they dish out punishment within and outside of the club to those who don’t. They’re a club protector.
Ink
Benito Juárez Sánchez, member of Los Diablos, though not part of the council. Xiomara Nava is his Viejita.
Blurb
Xiomara
My whole life has been riddled with nothing but bad luck, especially when it comes to jobs.
I can never seem to hold anything down, and the truth is, nobody wants to work with someone as volatile and angry as me.
But to take care of my family, I need money, and when the opportunity arises to work the front desk at Devil’s Ink, the local Motorcycle Club’s tattoo shop, I’ll do everything I can to not mess this up. It doesn’t matter that there are rumors of darkness and blood surrounding Los Diablos MC. Or that my dangerous new boss doesn’t think I can do the job. Or that his hungry eyes follow me every step of the way, inciting a lust for someone I can never be with, someone who hates everything about me.
I guess if there’s one thing they’re about to find out, it’s that violence never scared me anyway.
Ink
Only the best work at Devil’s Ink and Xiomara is anything but. With a reputation like hers, I knew she was sure to fail within the week.
I never expected that her steely determination to prove me wrong would result in a lust I don’t need or want. I’m her boss. She’s my employee. Anything between us is bound to end in disaster.
That doesn’t stop my gaze from going over her body. Or obsessing over her laughter. Or wanting my ink tattooed on her skin.
I try to tell myself that my lifestyle is too dangerous for someone like her. And when the violence and blood of my MC touches her perfect skin, I know I’ll do anything to protect her from it.
I guess she’ll see for herself how many souls a Diablo can reap for his woman.
Chapter One
Xiomara
I curved my nails into the battered leather of my piece of shit steering wheel, sitting inside my piece of shit car, with Molotov on full blast as I tried to muster the courage to get out and go inside.
The sign outside of the building was nondescript, simple, and mocking. Devil’s Ink. Appropriately named, I supposed, with the horned skull spray painted on the outer wall by a talented hand, not to mention the fact that this tattoo parlor belonged to Los Diablos MC.
They were a local, one-percenter motorcycle club, and that’s really all I knew about them.
I probably should’ve worked harder to find out more. But crime always ran rampant in Mexico, and it was too hard to keep track of all the shady shit that went down. Prostitution, drugs, guns… It
Still, a part of me wondered if I should have been smarter about this. Some organizations were very machista in their beliefs, and women were rarely safe from the wrath of misogynistic men. If they weren’t careful, they’d find themselves turning tricks on the side of highways late into the night for cartels, only to crawl back to their jailors out of pure fear or addiction, if not both.
Los Diablos wasn’t a cartel, but I was sure they could be just as brutal.
And I had to be careful, considering I was going to be working for them starting today.
You know, if I ever found the courage to actually go in and start.
Disengaging my trembling fingers from the wheel, I yanked my headphones out, the string snagging against the length of my shiny black hair. After struggling with the wire, I tossed it onto the passenger seat and grabbed my phone. My thumbs flew across the screen as I logged into one of my favorite online communities.
I told myself I just needed a little encouragement as I typed up a message and pressed send, biting on my plump bottom lip as I waited.
An influx of responses came in almost immediately. An array of ‘Good luck!’ ‘Tú puedes!’ ‘You got this!’
Simple messages from an online support group for Latine people, but they filled me with exactly what I needed to finally pocket my phone into my belted black pants and hop out of the car.
Up close, the details of the painted diablo logo were clearer. It’d obviously been there for a while, the edges chipping, cement cracking and missing in patches.
I wanted to shudder at the thought of what the inside looked like, but I held myself back. I was in no way prissy and had dealt with my hand of shitty jobs before. This should have been no different.
Only… I was fired from my last job at the gas station when I kneed my manager in the nuts for copping a feel behind the cash register. I did more to him than just kick him in his precious balls, but I didn’t like to think about that. If I did, all I’d see was the disappointment in my mamá’s eyes as I told her I lost yet another job. The memory was a punch to the gut.
I was lucky enough a distant cousin hooked me up at this place. Said she knew the owners or some shit.
I couldn’t afford to fuck up this time. My family was counting on me to bring money in for gas and food.
That meant I couldn’t be fucking late.
Taking a breath, I steeled my spine and pushed through the front doors of Devil’s Ink. Immediately, I was hit with the scent of tinta. It perfumed through the air; cloying, heady, familiar. Buzzing echoed across the art-clad walls, the vibration pressing down to my bones, comforting and soothing.
If the outside looked shabby, the inside was a work of art. A collage of tattoos on bodies, of instruments and leather. Done up in dark tones of black, burgundy, and warm gray, the waiting area gave off a chill vibe, which was great for anyone nervous about coming in to get tatted up.
I did a slow twirl, taking in the space. So far, I liked what I saw. In the front, there was a long desk with a computer and several stacks of papers. Behind the desk there was a woman with long, dyed purple hair, gauges, and several facial piercings. Behind her, there was the wall that separated the inking area, lit beyond by bright lights and echoing with the steady sound of a tattoo gun.
“Can I help you?” the chick asked, taking me in.
I tensed, knowing what she’d see and wondering if she’d judge me for it the way so many others did. For the pants and baggy clothes. For the silver hoops that snagged against curly hair, the penciled in lips, dark brows, and painted mouth.
I knew I looked good, but having her stare at me made me want to fidget where I stood.
I hated being stared at. It made me uncomfortable before it pissed me off, and when my rage-o-meter flew past the limit, I became a different person.
One I wanted to forget.
One that had caused me to lose too many jobs already.
I walked over to the desk, squaring my shoulders. I refused to cow down to her judgmental bullshit, so I met her glare for glare, raising a dark, penciled brow.
“I’m Xiomara. I start work here today.”
“Ah. The new secretary.” She gave a firm nod and a small hint of a smile broke out on her lips. It changed her fearsome, pierced expression and almost made her pretty. “Good thing you’re here. I’m tired of doing this bullshit. It’s below my pay grade.”
“You tattoo?”
“I do.” She beamed with pride then lifted her arms onto the surface of the desk, showing off the array of tattoos that decorated her skin. Everything from roses, to skulls, to naked women.
“Nice,” I complimented.
She nodded at the tattoo visible on my arm. Nowhere near as extensive as hers, but the Virgen De Guadalupe on my skin was the only one I allowed myself because of my mamá and her aversion.
When I’d gone home with this one, all brave and bold against my body, she’d slapped the freshly painted art in anger and had gone to pray over my soul.
The experience had left me scared to get a new one. That had been a few years ago, and if I was honest, the urge had never really diminished. Maybe she’d feel differently now than she had then.
Or maybe she’d take a belt to me this time.
Anyway, tattoos were expensive as fuck in this economy, so getting one was out of the question right now considering I was a broke bitch.
“That all you got?”
“For now.”
Her hands slapped on the desk. “Stick around; we’ll get you filled up in no time.”
I could only hope.
“Fer, stop being chismosa with the clients and get your ass to work!” a voice called out from the back area. The deep, husky sound curled through my stomach and dragged my attention up.
A man appeared then, a glare on his face aimed in the woman’s–Fer’s–direction, right before he snapped it my way.
My breath caught at the piercing, gray gaze that held me captive. A strong, angry expression settled over startling features. The man wasn’t attractive. Not really. Not by societal standards, anyway. His nose was just a bit too big and crooked, his stubbled jaw just a bit too squared, lips too full. If the angry, stern face didn’t make him attractive in the eyes of society, then the tattoos certainly didn’t either.
They covered him up to his neck, sliding and twining over every inch of visible skin. On his arms, his collarbone, disappearing into the material of his tight t-shirt and leather cut.
There was something about his overall vibe, though, that did it for me.
Dangerous had always been my type.
Buenos para nada, my mamá called them.
And fuck, if he wasn’t just the type of bad, no-good that could make a good girl worship the horned devil that lived on the front of his leather vest.
Los Diablos MC.
Ink.
“I don’t take walk-ins,” he said, snapping me out of my stupor. His glare was piercing, cutting, and a total turn-on.
“Not a walk-in, Ink,” Fer said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “This is our new secretary.”
He assessed me all over again, the slow perusal of his gaze over my body nearly making me shiver. When his rare, gray eyes finally flicked back up to me, he wore an expression of disinterest.
“Hm,” he grunted. “Beatriz’s cousin?”
