INKA
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon. Kayde was already in the kitchen, surprisingly domestic in nothing but sweatpants.
I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat the moment he had his back to me. His broad, muscled back was fully exposed, and dark tattoos covered almost every inch of his skin. A shadowed devil or demon, roaring out from beneath a torn-skin effect, dominated the center of his back, and above it, the Devil's Wraith MC logo sat in bold with “President" on the bottom. Other tattoos crawled over his shoulders and ribs, crosses, phrases, and names I couldn’t quite make out from where I stood.
Every line was bold and beautifully menacing, and the artwork moved with his muscles as he flipped the bacon in the pan, making the demon look almos
