I liked it that instead, he’d inked his skin when he’d found his place, knowing it with such certainty, he vowed allegiance to it and put it in a forever way right on his body.

From a man like Carson “Joker” Steele, that said a lot about the place he found.

My eyes lifted from his chest to his eyes as he walked up behind me. I kept brushing but did it automatically when he put a hand to my hip and slid it over my nightie (another stretchy, blousy one that still fit and looked okay, this one in green) to my belly.

Then I watched as he bent his dark head and kissed my shoulder.

That was when my eyes went to my shoulder and I saw the love bite he’d given me there. It was more than a hickey. There were indistinct purple teeth marks all around it.

And that was where Joker’s lips right then touched.

My stomach dropped and I locked my legs as his hand slid up to my ribs and he moved his lips to kiss my neck.

He let me go, moved away, and reached for his own toothbrush.

But I was brushing and staring at that mark.

My physical reaction was only partially due to Joker’s touch, liking it, the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, and the beauty of watching him give it to me in the mirror.

Mostly, it was about that mark. About him kissing it. About him making it.

About me wearing it.

And having it, how I got it, what was said after, and later, the honest way Joker gave me what he had to give me early that morning, the apprehension I was feeling slid away.

Chaos were bikers. And being around them I’d learned that bikers were just like any people.

I was sure there were scarier clubs, more dangerous ones, ones that attracted that kind of guy. There were probably more casual ones, ones about riding on the weekends and having guys to hang out with, a different kind of brotherhood that wasn’t as important as family.

And then there was Chaos.

It had not been lost on me the men were tough, rough, and edgy. Even before Joker shared what he shared with me, I would not expect they sang in the choir at church on Sundays.

But Tack had picked Tyra.

And Hop had picked Lanie.

And Tabby had picked Shy.

They’d gotten married. They were making babies.

And they were devoted.

Not like Aaron was “devoted” to me.

They were devoted.

Truly.

Not to mention, Stacy was really nice and she was no one’s old lady, but the boys liked her hanging around and I knew why.

Because the guys were tough, rough, edgy, about family, and good to their souls. It might be a different definition of good that included vigilantism, which was arguably not the right thing.