The Irish Tattooist

CHAPTER THREE- Who

We went to bed a few minutes later despite Hugh's protests, I silenced him with a look and told him to sleep. "I can talk a lot dad, and you have a big MC to run. So you either go to bed now, or I knock you out and you can sleep that way"

He had sulked and walked to his bedroom, mumbling about 'headstrong women' and 'he'll have no balls now.'

The morning was crisp and biting, as the fire had burned out during the night. I threw some socks and my scuffs on, yawning as I went to the kitchen.

While I was making coffee I heard sounds outside, bikes pulling up and another gut wrenching familiar sound.

Metal beating against skin.

Running to the door, I whipped it open, stomach dropping when I saw what was happening. A young boy, 19 at the most, was being beaten with a metal pipe, blood on the grass around him as he refused to scream.

And Ripper was beating him, grunting with the exertion it took. His swings were harsh and unrelentless, the whistle through the air as he swung showing the force at which he hit the boy. Tears spilled out of my eyes, and I clutched at my stomach, trying to keep the vomit at bay.

And everyone just stood there. The whole club was there, large men leaning against bikes as they watched, some nodding as if the boy deserved it.

So was Hugh. But there was one man, one man with the same hair as the boy, who was being restrained by two hulking men, rage and grief plain on his face.

"STOP" I shouted, berating myself for standing there for too long. Hugh's eyes flicked up and he paled, seeing my tear-stained face. "Fuck" He cursed, quickly striding up to me. I avoided his arms, ducking out of his reach.

"Sweetheart, this needs to happen-"

I spat at his feet, ignoring the growls of angry men. Ripper hadn't even eased up, still beating the boy as he knelt on the grass, spitting blood and barely containing his groans.

"This is torture. No boy, especially at his age, deserves the feeling of a fully grown man beat him with an iron pipe" I snarled, throwing my hand out to gesture to the hardly conscious boy. Hugh frowned, noticing something else behind my words that I refused to acknowledge- and Ripper still hadn't stopped.

I tore past Hugh, standing in front of the boy as Ripper brought the pipe down. Gritting my teeth, I braced myself for the familiar pain of the metal, but it never came. Opening my eyes slowly, they met hard, unflinching honey brown eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He growled, the only emotion on his beautiful face. I turned to the boy, assessing his wounds quickly. "This boy has a broken jaw you fucking prick" I snapped, laying him down and fluttering my fingers over his blood covered shirt.

Possibly more broken ribs too.

Ripper snarled again, throwing the pipe on the ground. "Just because you're the fucking Pres' daughter-"

I whipped around, fury igniting my blood. "I don't give a fuck about my status!" I screamed, a sound of exasperation erupting from the back of my throat. "I just want to help this boy, because no one else will"

Ripper stilled, stepping back as his face hardened. "I care-"

"No you don't. None of you do. Even if you say he's a prospect or some family shit like that, you don't care. I've seen this before, and you're all exactly the same" The words came out unbidden, and I turned my attention back to the boy.

Peeling back his clothes as gently as I could, I winced at the bruises already forming. Definitely broken ribs. Especially with the power in Ripper's body, the boy was lucky he wasn't dead.