Under His Ink

by Maya Hughes

  I set up my station and got everything ready in my studio, including getting my camera out. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe they were just two guys coming in for tattoos. All kinds of people wanted tattoos. I took a few deep breaths and got ready for my day. Maybe I’d bring this up to Ivan later. Maybe.

  Every one of my clients was ecstatic to have their pictures taken. The sun had long set as I saw my last regular client to the front door and everyone else started to clear out. The shop was busier than ever. Overflow clients who came in knowing I was booked up for the next few months made appointments with the rest of the guys in the shop.

  Almost everyone was booked for at least the next two months solid. Business had always been steady, but it had never been like this. I was glad the guys were finally getting a bit of recognition for their art.

  “Hey, Dahlia, there’s that new bar a few blocks away. The Bramble. They’ve got some pretty big musicians playing there. People like Eric Newcastle. Did you want to come for drinks?” Axel asked, holding the door open with Ty standing behind him, bouncing from foot to foot. He could never stand still. Like he sat still for so long doing tattoos that all the energy had to come out every minute of the day.

  “No, it’s fine. I still have that extended after-hours client coming.”

  “Wow, I didn’t realize it was still going on. How much longer do you have that?”

  “Not that much longer. We should only have one more session, and the cover-up will be finished.” Sadness cratered in my stomach as I thought of finally finishing Ivan’s tattoo. As much as I tried to make myself believe that this was only the cover-up, only to help him start his new life, only to help me get rid of that little voice in the back of my head that wondered about him, I knew the truth. Ivan was well under my skin.

  “Cool, we’ll see you tomorrow, and we need to go out. I’ll even spring for drinks this time,” Axel said, closing the door behind him.

  “That, I need to see,” I called out as the door swung shut.

  I went back into my studio and started throwing things into the autoclave to sterilize them. There was a pounding on the back door of the shop. No one ever came in that way. My heart thrummed as I stepped forward and put my hand on the exit handle. Should I grab a weapon or something? I glanced around, and other than an old milk crate, the shop was sorely lacking for weapons. I took a deep breath and peeked out of the crack to see who the hell was trying to get into my shop.

  13

  Ivan

  Alexei sat in the back booth, his reserved spot in the restaurant. It helped that he owned a part of it. One of his many wise investments that was paying off in spades.

  “Any news?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nothing. I don’t know what to think. And we can do nothing from here.” The waiter appeared out of nowhere and slid a tumbler in front of me as well as a plate of pasta. I stared down at the plate and then back up at Alexei.

  “I told him you were coming,” he said, digging into his own plate. “Should I go over there?”

  “I don’t know how you can eat at a time like this. No, you shouldn’t go over there. It would only raise Sergei’s suspicions. We have to keep going like everything is normal.”

  “But everything isn’t normal since her last letter saying she was coming. There hasn’t been a peep from her.”

  “I take that as good news. If something had happened, Sergei would be gloating over getting her back in her cage or worse, driving us out into the wilderness and forcing us to dig our own graves.”

  Worry had a permanent home in my chest for as long as I could remember. But when it came to Elena, no news was good news. Alexei went back to his pasta.

  “How’s Dahlia?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

  “She’s fine.”

  “No surprises from Sergei there? No issues so far?”

  “No, but we’re almost finished. I don’t know what to do about her.”

  “I know what you want to do about her.”

  “I do too, but when have I ever been able to do what I want? This life is too much for her. It’s too dangerous for her. And I will put her at risk. Am putting her at risk. So far I’ve been able to slip into the shop without anyone noticing. No movement from the guys Luca saw.”

  “Do you honestly think you can walk away from her?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “There’s always a choice, Ivan. Always.”

  “How many more of the families do you need to hear from?” Alexei had been working in the background, shoring things up for when the inevitable happened.

  “Almost there. We have more than half of all our men full on board. I’d say all but a quarter will have no issues with the transition. For the families, a lot are old school. It’s taking longer than I would have liked.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table while Alexei worked on setting a new speed-eating record. Scrolling through a message from Luca, I checked the time. After eleven already; I needed to get out of there. Dahlia would be at the shop on her own soon, and I didn’t like that idea. I didn’t like the idea of being away from her at all.

  The latest report from Luca worried me even more. For some reason my uncle had decided to put a patrol on Dahlia’s shop day and night. I didn’t know if this meant he knew I was going there, or if he was having her watched for a separate plan.

  Her spotlight in the paper came creeping back. It would be fitting if the same thing that had brought me back to her ripped her away from me. If he didn’t have the leverage of Elena anymore, perhaps he thought that getting to Dahlia would be a good way to keep me in line.

  When I stepped onto the block where the shop was, I spotted them immediately. Luca’s guys were at one corner, and Sergei’s guys were on the other end of the block. I wouldn’t have known Luca’s were there if I hadn’t already seen them. They were out of the car, blending in with the crowds, sitting at one of the late-night hipster restaurants that were still open.

  Sergei’s guy sat in his car playing on his phone. Thank God for the incompetence Sergei seemed to reward in his guys. Once I took over, this sort of thing would end. Hopefully once that happened, there wouldn’t be any more need for scouts, lookouts and enforcers. Doing things on the up-and-up had its advantages. Not needing to watch your back constantly for fear of bodily harm was one of them.

  I went to the alley behind the shop and banged on the back door. Dahlia cautiously opened it, her eyebrows furrowed as she peered out to see who was there. Her face relaxed, and she smiled when she spotted me. It made me happier than I’d thought possible to see the look of relief and happiness wash over her face and the way her eyes twinkled as she stood with her body wedged between the door and the frame.

  “What are you doing coming back here?” She opened the door fully to let me in. I slid past her and closed the door behind me.

  “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t followed. I wanted to make sure no one saw me coming inside.”

  Her eyes got wide, and she bit her bottom lip.

  “But you’ve been coming in the front door since our first session. You didn’t think about that before? Did you see someone out there?” Her voice ratcheted up a few octaves. She walked toward the front door, but I grabbed her elbow to keep her back here with me.

  “No, but sometimes you just get a feeling. No one has been following me. I’ve been sure of that. I would never put you in jeopardy like that.” I was putting her in jeopardy every single minute I was in the shop, but what could I say? Dahlia, I’m a selfish asshole who couldn’t stay away from you for another day, so I decided to come to your shop, knowing that I was putting you in danger by breathing in your vicinity. No, I just had to stick with making sure no one knew I was here and have Luca step up his help.

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she walked over to her station, picking her camera up off the counter.

  “I thought about what you said about my pictures,” she said, gesturing to the wall covered with photos behind her. “And I decided to start
taking portraits again. I took some of my clients today. Do you want to see them?”

  “Of course. Show me.”

  She walked over to me with cautious steps and her camera out in front of her. She flicked it on, and the screen lit up, just like her eyes did as she made it to the first picture. It was a watercolor, which seemed to be one of her most requested styles. Every single one of them was beautiful, even more beautiful with her photography. Any doubts I had about the letter burning a hole in my pocket were washed away as I saw how her face lit up. She scrolled through all the pictures she’d taken over the past few hours.

  “The lighting in here isn’t the best, but I think they turned out okay.” She turned the camera off and set it down.

  “I think they turned out more than okay. Did you think about what I said about showing other people your photography?”

  She shook her head, and the dark wisps of hair that hadn’t been tucked into her bun danced around her face as she did it. I was mesmerized by her. Something as simple as shaking her head made me want to knock everything off the counter behind her and drum it into her how good we’d been together. No woman held a candle to her.

  “Why would I show it to anyone other than my clients? I just put them up here in the shop, and I give them to whoever I tattoo. That’s good enough for me.” She stepped over to her station and started getting herself ready, snapping on her black latex gloves and mixing the colors she would be using tonight.

  “I think you might be surprised by just how well received your pictures are.”

  She raised her eyebrow and kept doing what she was doing, pretending I hadn’t said anything.

  “You ready?”

  I tugged my shirt up and over my head and took my position in her chair. The one place where pain melded with pleasure in a way I’d never experienced before.

  I’d gotten used to the needle jabs and the hum of the tattoo gun. It was almost comforting at this point. Maybe it was because I associated it with Dahlia. With spending time with her and getting to know her again. She was a lot different from the wild eighteen-year-old I’d met ten years ago. But I liked this Dahlia even better.

  She was a woman, and she knew what she wanted. Under all her hesitancy, all her pushing back, there was a hint of another emotion. One I was almost afraid to believe still existed. I hoped it wasn’t me painting a picture of something that wasn’t really there. Maybe she didn’t really want me? How could I ever give up on trying to win her love?

  I took out the envelope that had been burning a hole in my pocket since Luca handed it over. I held it out to her, waiting for her to look up.

  “What’s this?”

  14

  Dahlia

  What’s this?” I stared down at the envelope Ivan slid onto my lap and peered up at him.

  “Open it.” His expression was as close to nervous as I’d ever seen it, and that made me nervous. I hesitated, peeking up at him one more time before gingerly opening the envelope. It wasn’t like a snake was in there or anything. As I slid the letter out, I had to read it at least three times for it to sink in. And even then, I wasn’t sure I was reading it right. A gallery opening.

  “What is this?” I held out the paper to Ivan.

  “For your pictures.” He pointed to the shots of clients that covered the wall. The words on the page finally started making sense.

  Your unique work and ability…welcome you to present your art…gallery opening in a new exhibition space. I glanced up at Ivan, trying to figure out what he had done. He crouched in front of me and put his hands on top of mine. The heat and energy from his body made goose bumps prickle on my arms.

  “When I saw these, I knew other people needed to see them too. So I snagged a couple pictures, and I showed them to a friend. He had a friend who’s opening this new gallery and, well, you have the letter,” he said, tapping it with his finger.

  “But I don’t know anything about showing in a gallery. No one outside of the shop has even seen my pictures.”

  “That’s not true. They were in the paper. Look at how many people called to book you after they saw that. Not only because of your work but because of who you are. More people need to see that.”

  “It’s in a week. I don’t even know what the hell I need to do to get ready.”

  “I’ll help you. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.” He squeezed my hands, and I stared down at him, knowing every promise I had made to myself about him had been broken. The minute he’d stepped into my shop, I knew it would happen. I knew deep down that everything I felt for him had never gone away. And then he went and did something like this. He did something for me that I couldn’t even do for myself. Saw something and ran with it.

  “Okay, let’s get ready. It’s your last day. Finally finished. I won’t be able to torture you anymore.”

  “You’ll be able to torture me for as long as you’d like, Dahlia.” He raised his hand and ran the back of it along the side of my face. I leaned into him as my heart raced. His other hand slid along my thigh, and my stomach fluttered.

  “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me so easily. I’ll have you tattoo every square inch of my body if you think things between us are going to end tonight. They’re just getting started, Dahl.”

  Like so many times before, I slid next to him to begin. The final spot was the wing reaching down and covering his heart. The intricate pattern of the phoenix’s feathers took shape as I shaded the fire and licking flames over its body. The reds, oranges, yellows, blues and blacks melded together into one of my most challenging pieces.

  I worked painstakingly after laying down the stencil, and filling in the last of the color. He sat still as he always did, but the energy was different. Or maybe it was me. It was more charged than it had been before. He kept finding ways to touch me, resting his hands on my thighs as I worked, his hands massaging them, squeezing them as I tried to keep my breath steady and concentrate on my work. I had him lean back in the chair for the final touches on the tips of the wing. Protection for him. For whatever might happen.

  “Last line and then your torture will finally be over,” I said with a sad smile. Even with him saying this wasn’t over, and how I felt about him, I knew this couldn’t keep going. It wasn’t good for either of us.

  I’d have a target on my back being with him, even if he was leaving, and I saw how that could poison the people around me. It was a risk that I didn’t think I could take. My heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. It was a pain I hadn’t experienced before. The sharp slice of it almost took my breath away. I knew I’d never see him again once I sent him away. I’d come to terms with it.

  When he showed up at my door, it was like he’d risen from the dead, and the thought of losing him again— I’d already lost so much. I’d lost so many people.

  He grabbed his phone and seemed completely engrossed in it. That hadn’t happened before in our other sessions. I think he was probably the only client I’d had in a long time who didn’t look at their phone once, especially not during our marathon sessions.

  I couldn’t breathe as I ran my gun across his skin one more time and wiped off the excess ink. I took a step back and looked at it all.

  “Can I finally see it?”

  “You haven’t seen it?”

  “I’ve seen the bits on my shoulders, but I didn’t want to look until you were finished. No. Take a picture of it. I want a place up on your wall.” And in your heart and life. That was the unspoken bit, but we both knew what he was saying. I grabbed my camera from the counter and adjusted the lights. I changed the settings and stared at him through the viewfinder.

  “Can you put your hands on your hips?”

  He put his fists on his hips, spreading out his back so I could see all of it. My breath hitched as I looked at it as one piece. I’d been working on it for so long that seeing the whole completed picture was something I hadn’t done since my first sketch.

  When I came around the front, his eye
s found mine through the viewfinder. It was like nothing stood between us. Not the camera, not the distance, nothing but him and me. My breathing sped up as his molten-hot gaze threatened to melt me.

  I got closer to pick up the details and snap partial shots like I’d done for the other huge pieces. The minute I stepped into his reach, his hands were on me. I jumped and went back to my camera, my heart thrumming in my chest. His hands slid into the gap between my shredded sweatshirt and my jeans. His thumb dipped below the top of my jeans. The clicking of my camera and my harsh breath were the only sounds in the studio.

  “Ivan,” I said, dropping my camera. He reached out with his other hand and put it behind my neck, dragging me to him. Then his lips were on mine and lit me aflame. The wings of the phoenix weren’t just on his chest. The beat of those wings invaded my mind and threatened to completely overwhelm me.

  “Don’t say stop,” he growled against my lips.

  I hadn’t even entertained the idea. It hadn’t crossed my mind until he said the words. But the throbbing in my core and the way my hands itched to finally touch him, explore him like he was intent on doing to me, meant that idea was thrown out just as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

  “I won’t,” I said, breaking the kiss long enough for a breath.

  Without any warning he swiped my shirt up and over my head, my hair falling out of the messy bun piled up high on my head.

  “Beautiful,” he said, running his hands through my hair. He popped the buttons of my jeans open and ran his hand over my ass, squeezing it and crushing me to him. I moaned but pushed back when I felt the plastic I’d just stuck on him sticking to my chest.

  “Your tattoo,” I said, pressing against his chest, but he wouldn’t let me go.

  “I don’t care. I happen to know a very good tattoo artist who is excellent at fixing what others have screwed up.”