Under His Ink Page 2

  Dahlia

  Congratulations, sleepyhead.” Rachel’s voice came booming into my room, followed by something smacking into my chest. I cracked open one eye and silently cursed her. Actually I cursed her out loud, too. I grabbed the thing that hit me, squinting at it. The paper.

  “Couldn’t you have just looked it up on your phone like a normal person? Dimmed your screen and waved it in front of my face?” I grumbled, letting my eyes adjust to the light.

  “I ran downstairs and picked one up the first chance I got.” Her voice was so chipper that it made me want to smother her with my pillow.

  “Why are you always so excited? You’re like my own personal sunshine torture device.” I pulled the pillow over my face.

  “Come on!” She plucked the pillow off my head and shoved a mug of coffee under my nose. Bless her. “How often do you end up in the paper? Read it!” She shoved the paper in front of me again and plopped down on my bed. I skimmed the story and the couple of pictures they’d included. The graininess of newsprint didn’t do the tattoos I’d done any justice. I hoped my clients weren’t too bummed.

  “Thanks, Rachel, even if you are way too much of a morning person.”

  “It’s not that I’m a morning person; it’s just that we’re visiting a children’s hospital and a few schools today. You should see the looks on people’s faces when we show up there. It makes me so excited to get into the office. I’m working with Mr. Thayer, and we’re making a real difference.” The positive energy practically vibrated off her. She sipped from her mug, clutching her phone in her other hand. Her phone was practically glued to her hand. I gulped down my black coffee. The burn felt good. Anything for that caffeine rush.

  “Didn’t he tell you to call him Rhys?” Rachel was one of the most proper people I’d ever met. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d gone to a finishing school or something. I didn’t know why she even needed a roommate. I’m sure her mom and dad would have bankrolled anything she needed. But I was happy for the decked-out apartment with a non-insane person who actually paid their half of the rent.

  “I keep forgetting. It’s like a reflex. Are you going to send a copy of this to your parents?” she asked absently.

  I nearly choked on my coffee. Like a dagger to the heart, the sound caught in my throat. After living together for almost a year, I’d been good at dodging a lot of the questions that usually came with roommates. It wasn’t her fault I hid away such large parts of myself.

  “Nah. It’s fine.” I scanned the paper intently without ever looking at the words. She opened her mouth to say something when her boss’s special notification went off. She hopped up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading to the door.

  “Celebratory drinks later?” She glanced up from her phone and smiled at me.

  “Pick a night you aren’t working, and we can do it.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows and tapped on her phone. “I’ll have to get back to you on that one.”

  I half-expected her to give me a date a few years down the line. She was always busy with work stuff.

  Her phone pinged again. “I’ll see you tonight.” And then she was gone. I could practically see the cloud of smoke billowing behind her as she raced out of the apartment.

  I slept like a rock, but once I was up, that was it. Getting back to sleep was nearly impossible. I threw the blankets off, gathered up my stuff, and got ready to go to the one place I needed to be that morning.

  Rachel popping into my room meant I hadn’t overslept. Couldn’t use that as an excuse. It was one of those days I wished I could hide my head under the blankets and never come out, but I needed to do this.

  My copy of the paper in hand, I grabbed a couple of beers and shoved them into my bag. A train ride across the bridge and a taxi ride later, I stepped out onto the gravel driveway in front of a stone and wrought iron fence.

  The rocks crunched under my feet as a cool breeze whipped across the grass. So quiet. It was always so quiet here. I didn’t even need to check the maps anymore. Their spot was one I’d memorized even though I only visited once a year. Bright orange, yellow and red leaves littered the ground, and I tugged the collar of my coat up a little higher. It seemed appropriate that the article came out that day of all days.

  Standing out in the open reminded me how quickly the seasons were changing. In the city the streets made their own wind tunnels. Bright lights from the shops and buildings clouded out the changing sunrises and sunsets, but standing in the middle of what was essentially a field did nothing to hold in the last bits of heat that shone down under the midday sun. Before long, there would be snow on the ground.

  “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” I sat cross-legged in the grass in front of their headstone, picking at some of the longer grass that grew around the granite. Here lies Margaret and Charles Gregg. “I wanted to show you my spotlight in the paper.” I opened the paper and laid it on top of their headstone.

  A double stone. My mom’s engravings were a bit more worn, since she’d been there since the day I was born. My dad’s still seemed so fresh. It was as fresh as the first day I saw it. The ache sometimes seemed like it would never go away.

  I’d rested my head on it after not being there for his funeral. Shame and sadness at why I hadn’t been able to be there made tears well in my eyes. A wound I didn’t think would ever heal. Blinking back the tears, I stared down at the paper.

  “I know you had your doubts about me doing the work that I do, Dad, but I think I’ve been able to do some good. I hope I would’ve made you proud.” There wasn’t much else to tell them about my life. The shop and my apartment were almost the only places I went.

  “My new roommate—well, she’s not new, it’s been almost a year, but it’s the first time I’m talking to you about her—she’s sweet, a super-young brainiac. Finished college two years early. Filthy rich, although you’d never know by looking at her, but she’s got a great heart.”

  I felt like an idiot talking to them, but my dad had brought me here often when I was little to talk to my mom. Never really meeting her, coming to that spot made me feel a little closer to her.

  “And it’s finally official. I got the title to the shop. It’s all mine, even though my name has been on the place for years. I made my final payment a few days ago. I wish you could have seen it.” I cleared my throat as my voice cracked. I hated when that happened. It’d been ten years. I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket.

  I still remember how it felt like I’d been kicked in the chest when I got the message in juvenile detention that my dad died. A car accident. A tragedy where some junkie plowed into him on the way home one night. They delivered the news like I was being told our weekend classes had been canceled. My dad. The good cop with the delinquent daughter. I always wondered if it would have happened if I’d been out.

  While other parents would have done everything to protect their kid, shelter them, keep them out of trouble, my dad let them throw the book at me. He might have even had the judge heap on a few different charges to keep me inside longer.

  For years I thought it was out of anger or embarrassment. He wanted me put away. Shut the problem in a cage and pretend it didn’t exist. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized. He had been trying to protect me, the best way he knew how. Keep me from my own bad decisions. Even though I was eighteen, he’d gotten them to keep me out of jail. As much as I’d hated juvie, it didn’t compare to what I’d heard about a real lockup.

  At least in juvie, my dad knew where I was. Knew I wasn’t out running the streets and getting into trouble. He couldn’t have imagined the trouble of Ivan Volokov.

  That didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. I hadn’t been able to attend his funeral. Every ounce of rebelliousness that had flowed through my body died the instant they told me. All the anger I’d directed at him transformed, and the only thing I could think about was making sure I made him proud, even if he was gone. Make it up to him somehow.

  “I’m
tattooing nipples now. I figured that was something that would have made you laugh. Breast cancer patients. Photorealistic nipples. Not something I envisioned myself doing, but you should see the looks on their faces when everything is all healed up. That, and I tattoo over criminal organization tattoos.” I could imagine him giving me a hard glare at that one. For some reason the article made me want to tell him this. I hadn’t said anything on any of my visits up here before. I read the feature out loud like I was visiting the two of them at home, sitting across from them on the couch. Visiting after being badgered about not coming to see them enough. At least that’s how it went in my dreams.

  “I know. I know, but it helps. Not everyone who’s involved in those groups wants to be there. And I do what I can so they can get out. Help them start a new life of their own without as many roadblocks to keep them from leaving.” The postcards and letters I got from previous clients showed me how much my work meant to them.

  For the next hour, I talked about everything I’d needed to get out in the year since my last visit. Once a year seemed to be about all I could handle. Any more than that, and I started to think too much about what I’d missed. Once a year meant I didn’t break down at work—or worse, at home where Rachel might see.

  She liked me because I was the laid-back, cool chick. Dumping my emotional baggage on her didn’t exactly fit the bill of the person she thought I was. The sun hit me right in the eyes. Shielding them, I tugged at the rest of the weeds, and I laid down the blue peonies I’d stolen from Rachel’s sun box in front of our window before leaving. I gathered my things, pressed my lips to my two fingers and tapped them on the top of their headstone.

  “I’ll see you next year, Mom and Dad.”

  The buzz of the tattoo gun hummed in all corners of the shop as I stepped through the open front door. The smell of ink, rubbing alcohol and latex filled the air. My little slice of artistic heaven. For a place I’d started working at because it was one of the few that would have me, it held a special place in my heart like no other on Earth. The familiar sounds and smells settled me after my trip back from the graveyard. When I walked in here, it was like I could breathe again.

  “Big D, where’ve you been?” Ty shouted from the back.

  “Dude, you know what day it is,” Axel said, punching him in the shoulder. Ty’s face turned beet red, and he mumbled, “Sorry.” Axel stood and pulled me in for a hug. I briefly hugged him back before pushing him away. Didn’t want them to think I’d gotten soft.

  “It’s fine, guys. I’m fine. Who’s on my schedule for today?”

  Ty and Axel both went back to their work, and the familiar hum took over.

  “You have three clients today. One full sleeve, one rib cage and a small wrist piece. Tomorrow I’ve got your full day booked solid as well.” Maggie scrolled through the online calendar. “This is what the next two months look like.” She clicked through week after week, each one completely filled with red blocks. My eyebrows rose sky-high. It wasn’t unusual for me to be booked a month in advance, but this was insane.

  “I know, right?” She bounced in her seat like a kid on Christmas Day. “It seems that article in the paper got you just a little bit of attention.”

  “Looks like it,” I answered, scrolling through the dates, and caught the time. “And it looks like I should get started.”

  My first client rolled in for a full sleeve. It would take at least three sessions. A watercolor recreation of Starry Night. Not the first one I’d done, so my mind wandered while I worked, following along on the stenciled outline I’d laid out.

  “What does a guy have to do around here to get a date?” he asked as I covered his tattoo in gel and wrapped plastic wrap around his arm. He ducked his head to try to catch my eye.

  “I’d say ask a girl who’s going to say yes.” I tugged my gloves off and dropped them into the trash.

  “What about you?” He stood from the chair and took a step closer.

  “I don’t date clients mid-tattoo.” I gestured to the first stage of his ink.

  “Why not?” He winced as he slid his arm into his coat.

  “Because I hate other people finishing my work. And us going on a date or out to drinks or something would be one step closer to figuring out it wouldn’t work because you love The Manic Pixies, but I’m more of a Ramones girl,” I said, pointing at his shirt.

  “That’s just cold,” he said, smiling. “But I can respect it. I’ll see you in a few weeks once I’m ready for more of your torture.” He headed out to the front desk to pay.

  Clients rolled into the shop throughout the day.

  “Do you mind if I take a couple of shots of this?” I asked of the mom of two who got a bouquet of daisies tattooed across her rib cage as a tribute to her late mother. We’d worked hard on that one for nearly two months, and it was finally finished.

  “Of course, Dahlia. I can’t believe it’s finally done,” she said triumphantly. I grabbed my phone off the counter and took a few shots of it, positioning her to get the best lighting. After I finished, she flipped through the pictures I’d taken.

  “Can I come back once it’s healed? Maybe you could take some more. I think I want to hang them in my house.”

  “Really?” I glanced at the shots I’d taken. “You probably want to go to a real photographer for that.”

  “I think you deserve the honors. These shots you took already are beautiful.”

  I glanced down at my phone, flipping through the shots while she looked over my shoulder.

  “Really?”

  “Really. It looks so beautiful. Like I’m a living, breathing canvas.” It touched me that she loved my work so much. Even after all these years, I hated it when someone left and wasn’t completely in love with what I did.

  “Sure. Come back when you’re ready, and I’ll be happy to take some more shots.”

  “Perfect. And thank you, Dahlia. You don’t know how much this means to me. To have a reminder of my mom with me wherever I go,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  I wrapped my arms around her, tears welling in mine. I knew that feeling. The heartache from losing a parent that never really went away.

  My mom’s small tattoo with our birthdates in an infinity symbol sat just above my hip. I still hadn’t been able to get a tattoo for my dad yet. Somehow that seemed more final. More real than visiting the gravestone.

  “Come back anytime.” She squeezed me tighter before letting go.

  “Sorry, I’m a blubbering mess,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “Don’t worry. You should see the big burly guys in here crying like babies once I start one line on them. You kicked ass.” She left my studio and headed to the front desk.

  I stretched and cracked my back. I was going to need a back brace before long. A massage was in order. The exact one I kept saying I would go for and never did. Maybe tomorrow. One more client and I could finally pack it in. Maybe get to bed before one in the morning. I stared at my wall covered in the work I’d done on clients over the years.

  The cover-ups stood out to me most. Those were the ones I started doing because of a boy who broke my heart harder and faster than I’d ever thought possible. I shook my head. I was not going to let him invade my mind. But it was hard on the days I visited my parents. My memories of him and my dad were linked, especially in those final days. It was because of him that I’d ripped my life apart, thread by thread.

  Ivan the Terrible. Destroyer of my world.

  3

  Ivan

  I got into the car before Alexei and tugged the paper out of my jacket pocket. The blood smears had dried across some of it, but it was still legible. I skimmed through the article quickly. It was a fluff piece, detailing her work in the community. One of her specialties was working with people to cover their scars and criminal tattoos.

  Dahlia Hendrix, former self-described juvenile delinquent, prides herself on working to help people erase negativity from their past. Some of her best work has been
her tattoos on breast cancer patients, those with major scarring, and covering the tattoos of reformed criminals.

  There were pictures along with it, ones I’d missed before. I knew Dahlia was talented. Her sketch pad was practically welded to her hand when we had been together, but these pictures were something entirely different. Even with the grainy pictures in the paper, I could tell her work was spectacular. Alexei made a grumbling sound as he slid into his seat, and my head snapped up.

  “One of these days he’s going to get a little bit of what he’s been putting out in the universe.” Alexei slammed the door.

  “Don’t take your anger out on my car,” I said as we exited the eight-foot fence that surrounded Sergei’s mansion. Security was discreetly positioned around the house. Far enough away for his privacy, but close enough to come running at a moment’s notice. “And at this point I’m fairly convinced karma doesn’t exist. And if it does, I need to run and hide. My hands aren’t exactly clean.” My back was a testament to that. Dirty deeds etched into my skin, bold and deep.

  I could practically hear Alexei’s teeth grinding as we slipped into rush hour traffic.

  “What are you going to do about Dahlia?”

  My mind raced since we’d left Sergei’s. It had been so long since I’d seen her, even a picture. I’d forced myself to stop checking on her once she was released from juvenile detention. Guilt gnawed at me over my involvement in everything that had gone wrong in her life. Especially about her dad.

  “How the hell did you know?”

  “I have a news alert set up for her.”

  My head snapped up, meeting his gaze. He had that smug smirk of his on.

  “I don’t know.” I squeezed the back of my neck.

  “Do you think she’ll kick you in the balls like the last time she saw you?”

  “I’d hope that maybe things have changed a little since then. Maybe only a punch to the stomach.”

  “She was always a scrapper,” Alexei said wistfully. I’d have punched him in the mouth if I even suspected his thoughts about her were anything other than friendly. “If you do this, you know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.”