by Zoey Parker
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, boy,” his Uncle warned, his voice gravelly and deep as though every word was delivered from the pit of his ample stomach.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Max mumbled.
“Look here!” Alex smacked a fist against the table, causing the flimsy wood to shake fearfully.
“I took you in, Max. I put a roof over your head and food in your belly. When I found you, you were nothing but a sprat living rough on the streets. Your own Momma had abandoned you.”
“Yeah, well all she was ever good for was leaving,” Max rolled his eyes and stiffened. He was in no mood to revisit old memories, especially painful ones.
“I made you,” his Uncle continued. “I gave you a home, a purpose. And you enjoy your life don’t you? Lord knows you’re up in the clubs enough, a different girl on your arm each time you leave.”
“I’m just enjoying life,” Max grinned mischievously. “Seems a waste to live it any other way.”
“Well, between you enjoying life and not directly obeying orders, you’ve managed to ruffle a few feathers around here.”
Max glanced around at the men gathered in the bar. They seemed oblivious to the conversation he was having with his uncle, but he didn’t doubt that they’d be mad at him. Most of them had been raised by dinosaurs and continued to think like one. They thought that violence was the only solution to any problem. Max didn’t share that mentality. Growing up on the streets he’d been surrounded by death. The moment he gathered together a few dollars, someone bigger than him would beat it out of him. And all that did was make Max resolve to one day be a better man. A man who could get what he wanted without hurting others. But he was a long way from reaching that goal. Being a member of the Skeleton Kings probably wasn’t the best path to take when aiming for a non-violent life, but it wasn’t the kind of club where he could simply cancel his membership. When you joined up, it was expected to be for life.
“I’m just different, Uncle,” Max defended himself. “Different isn’t always bad you know.”
“I don’t need none of your Buddha bullshit right now,” his Uncle spat. “What I need is for you to listen and listen good. Your next job is going to be in Colridge.”
“Colridge?” a shiver shot down Max’ spine. Colridge wasn’t a place any members of the Skeleton Kings frequented, even though it was just one town over.
“I told you, you ruffled some feathers,” his Uncle explained unapologetically.
“So what? They figure sending me there will get me killed off?” His Uncle looked briefly pained by the accusation.
“Colridge is Red Riders territory!” Max continued, his blood pressure rising. “You can’t seriously expect me to go there! Not with everything that’s been going on with them lately.”
“You just need to lay low while you’re there and focus on the job.”
“Okay,” Max calmed a little but was still tense. “Now I get it. Send me to Colridge where I’ll be unable to go out and actually have any fun. What exactly am I being punished for here? Weatherly or something else entirely?”
His Uncle gave a low groan and Max realized that he was right. He hadn’t earned this punishment because of Weatherly.
“Sherri Godman.” His Uncle said the name as though it should mean something to him. Max shrugged dramatically.
“Who?”
“The little blonde you slept with last month,” Alex growled, growing agitated. Max shrugged again.
“She has the dragon tattoo up her back.”
Max thought for a moment and then recalled the night in question.
“Oh,” he drew out the word and nodded to himself. He’d met Sherri at a club in town. She’d worn a tight-fitting denim miniskirt and a low cut white tee. He’d caught her looking at him the moment he walked in. He knew her type – women who liked to be with dangerous men. And from the outside he fit the bill – he rode with the Kings and had a tattoo sleeve up his right arm. So when she drooped herself against him after he’d had several beers, he didn’t push her away. Instead he took her to the bathroom and fucked her hard against the sink, not caring who might walk in. With her little skirt pushed up around her waist she’d screamed out his name in delight until her lungs ached.
The next night he went back to the club, and she was there again. This time, he chose to be more of a gentleman and took her back to his place. When she stripped down, she revealed the dark dragon tattoo which snaked up her back and looked about to breathe fire over her shoulder. She had a tight little ass and perky tits. Max had bent her over his sofa and made her cum twice. But by then he was bored of her. Perhaps he had Mommy issues, but Max never liked to settle with a woman. He told himself it was because his lifestyle was too dangerous, but deep down he figured he’d just not met the right woman yet. And with his image and occupation he was destined to only ever attract the wrong kind of women.
“Oh indeed,” his Uncle chided. “She’s engaged to Knuckles. Bet she didn’t tell you that.”
“We didn’t do much talking,” Max said with a cheeky grin.
“Boy, you are going to learn some respect!” His Uncle pointed a podgy finger at him. “You’re going to Colridge and you’re going to do this job for me, and you’re going to do it right. No trouble. You hear?”
“And if I refuse?”
His Uncle’s expression darkened.
“Fine,” Max released an exasperated sigh. “I’ll do the damn job. But am I seriously being exiled because of some lousy lay?”
“You watch your mouth in here,” his Uncle berated him. “Knuckles is enamored with that skinny girl. He thinks the sun shines out of her ass.”
“Well, I’ve been up there, and I can assure him it doesn’t.”
Max pushed back his chair, ignoring his Uncle’s thunderous expression and headed for the door. He was beyond pissed about his new assignment. Weatherly, he could handle. It was far from home, but he could still go to clubs there and party. In Colridge, he’d need to keep a low profile if he wanted to avoid getting one hell of a beating.
Back on his bike Max turned on the engine, savoring how the power felt between his legs. He put on his aviators and maneuvered his motorcycle out of the parking lot, towards the open road. Colridge was South, away from the familiar sights and sounds of his hometown. But he wasn’t heading there just yet. He had one more stop to make, one more point to prove. He made a right and headed in the direction of Sherri Godman’s trailer, determined to have one last proper send off before he left town, just to piss people off.
Chapter Eight
It felt strange being in Colridge. Even though it was just one town over, it felt like a foreign country. Brittany couldn’t help but gawk around at the bustling streets and bright neon signs over the stores as the cab pulled up outside what would be her new home.
Everything had happened so fast over the last few weeks. She’d secured the position as the tattoo artist’s apprentice, and Zack had helped her find an apartment close by. Though he was obviously worried about her leaving, he was doing his best to be supportive. Brittany appreciated that.
But now as the cab slowed, and she looked up at the front door of the apartment building, she suddenly felt sick with nerves. She’d never before been this far away from Zack. Since their parents died it had always been the two of them against the world, and now they were separated by miles. She was starting to think that moving over to Colridge had been a mistake.
“You ready then, sweetheart?” the kind-faced driver asked as he turned in his seat to look at her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Brittany admitted, forcing herself to open the door and step outside.
It was a sunny day with warm light bathing the street and warming Brittany’s bare legs. She was wearing a simple sundress with her hair tied up in a neat bun at the nape of her neck.
“Let me help you,” the driver got out and bustled around to the trunk. He hauled out Brittany’s suitcase and the two garbage bags she’d filled with t
he rest of her belongings. And that was it. She glanced sadly down at her entire world bundled up beside her. All that was missing was Zack. But he’d promised to visit regularly. She just hoped that it was a promise he intended to keep.
“This your new place?” the driver nodded up at the door.
“Yep,” Brittany nodded. She’d only seen her new apartment online at the library back in her hometown. She had no idea what to actually expect now that she was there.
“It’s a nice part of town,” the driver smiled kindly. “You’ll do well here.”
“Thanks,” Brittany nodded gratefully at him. According to Google Maps the tattoo parlor where she’d be working was just two blocks away. She’d be able to walk to work every day.
“New starts are never easy,” the driver empathized. “But they are always worth it.”
“I hope so,” Brittany sighed. “I really hope so.”
Chapter Nine
Max woke up as the bright sunlight seared against the back of his eyelids. Groaning he sat up, his back stiff from having spent the night on a hard mattress in a cheap motel. Raking his hands through his hair he did his best to wake up. The whiskey he’d downed the night before had left his throat feeling raw. Awkwardly, he got up and stumbled towards the bathroom. He had a brief glance back at the bed and was relieved to see that it was empty, which meant no awkward removal of someone he didn’t want around now that he was sober.
Turning on the faucet, Max splashed cold water against his face. It washed away some of his fatigue, allowing him to take a good look at himself in the cloudy bathroom mirror, which hung above the sink. He looked a little tired but other than that he was okay. Things could have been far worse, he smirked at the thought. Last night he’d completed his first Colridge-based job. He’d had to walk to the outskirts of town, find a member of the rival gang, the Red Riders, and break a pool cue in half over their back. He’d been expecting trouble. When he left the motel he’d hidden three small blades in various places on himself; one in each boot and the other tucked under his belt. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use them, but sometimes, during turf wars, things went really bad, really quick.
Now that Max was in Colridge, he understood why he was actually there. His Uncle was looking for him to stir up enough trouble for the Red Riders to make a move against them. And when they did, because they inevitably would, the streets would run red with blood and only one victor would remain standing. Whoever that was would own all the nearby territories. His old Uncle was doing his best to strengthen the Skeleton Kings. He was a crotchety old man but he was ambitious. Max admired that.
“Come on, man, wake up,” Max splashed more water on his face but it didn’t give him any further release. He decided instead to take an icy shower. Despite his raging hangover, he didn’t want to spend all day cooped up in a tiny, shitty, motel room. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be seen around Colridge, but he was sure a quick look up and down the neighboring few blocks wouldn’t hurt. After all he was meant to be there for the better part of a month, if he didn’t find something to occupy himself during that time he would surely go crazy.
Chapter Ten
Brittany liked her apartment. It was modest but with shiny, modern amenities and a pleasant view over the rooftops of Colridge. With the back drop of a clear blue sky, the town had its own urban beauty which Brittany enjoyed. She pulled out the cell phone from her pocket and took a picture of the vista to send to Zack. The phone had been his final parting gift to her.
“If you need me,” he’d said sternly, his eyes wide and intense, “any time, day or night, just call, and I’ll be there. You got it?”
“I got it.”
Standing in her apartment Brittany looked at the phone which was more than just a device, it was a life-line. With it she could be in touch with Zack every day. With her few belongings unpacked in the furnished bedroom, Brittany didn’t have much else to do. She didn’t start work until the next morning. The night stretched before her, cold and alone. Though she was used to spending every night alone at her parents’ old house, this felt different. Here, no one would be coming back in the morning. It was just her. Brittany sadly lowered herself against the apartment’s sofa in the open plan living area. A sad lump formed in her throat as she realized that independence wasn’t as liberating as she’d hoped it would be. She was so used to having someone else around. Now she would be cooking for one, coming home to an empty apartment.
On the verge of tears Brittany called the one number she had entered into her phone. Zack swiftly answered.
“You okay?” he demanded briskly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brittany did her best to sound convincing. “I was just wondering what you were doing?”
“I’m heading out to work.” In the background, she could hear the locking of the front door and Zack’s heavy footsteps approaching his motorcycle.
“Oh, okay,” Brittany said softly.
“There’s been some issue…at the factory.”
“Oh?”
“Someone else got hurt,” Zack explained gruffly. “And now I’m expected to sort it all out. As if I don’t have enough going on at the moment.”
“Maybe you could just call in sick?” Brittany suggested sweetly, thinking that if Zack did that he could drive over to Colridge, and they could order in a pizza and watch a movie together, like they used to do when they were younger. Back then they lived on take-out food and watched countless movies together. It was easier to sit side by side and watch something than to talk about losing their parents.
“Mine isn’t the kind of job you call in sick to.”
Brittany frowned. Surely every job would permit you to call in sick when you had to?
“Good luck for tomorrow,” she heard Zack climb on to his bike and start the engine. “I know you’ll do great.”
He ended the call and Brittany was once more alone in her apartment. She didn’t want to dwell on the emptiness, so she got up and headed for the bedroom, pulling her sketch pad out of a drawer. She decided she’d spend the evening drawing in readiness for her first day at her new job.
Chapter Eleven
After a brisk ten-minute walk, Brittany was standing in her new place of work. The walls of the tattoo parlor were lined floor to ceiling with intricate images, each of them beautiful and breathtaking and probably already inked onto someone’s body. The air smelled of disinfectant and nail polish. Nervously, Brittany introduced herself to the heavyset man on the desk. He had piercings in his nose and running the length of his ears, and a large stud in the center of his chin. He looked fearful, but when Brittany spoke to him, he gave her a warm smile and ushered her through to the back.
Art was everywhere. On every wall, on the arms of the artists in the back area. It was beautiful to behold. Brittany took a deep, steadying breath certain that this was where she belonged. The fear she’d felt the previous night evaporated leaving only giddy excitement in its place.
Chapter Twelve
Max shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he walked. He wished that his Uncle hadn’t sent him to Colridge alone. With someone else, it would be easier to occupy his time while he waited for more assignments to come in. As he wandered down the streets, he idly glanced at the boutique shops that sprung up around him. There was a bakery, a coffee house, which was already pretty full, and a gothic art gallery. Colridge felt like a surprisingly progressive place, and he felt strangely at home there, even though it wasn’t his gang’s territory.
He was wearing dark jeans and a loose-fitting white T-shirt. He hadn’t pulled on his leather jacket, knowing it would be foolish to do so. Even though the sun was shining and the people he passed seemed to be in good spirits, he knew that if they saw a Skeleton Kings’ logo that would all change. He’d be picking up his teeth from the curb after receiving one hell of a beating. But without the jacket, he looked like anyone else. His T-shirt exposed the sleeved tattoo he had on one arm. It was an homage to his late grandfather who had served
in the navy, full of battleships, large anchors, and stormy seas. He barely remembered his grandfather, just the stories he used to tell him on cold evenings about his life at sea. When Max listened, he imagined this vast, magical ocean on which his grandfather sailed. The stories captivated him. Had Max not been enrolled into the Kings, he would surely have gone into the service himself. Although it was doubtful that they’d have him, considering his illustrious police record.
Max had reached a small tattoo parlor. The dark interior was obscured by all the images up in the window. He stopped to look at them. There were ornate dragons, floral skulls and proud eagles with their wings spread. From what he could see there must be a very talented tattoo artist working there. Max rubbed at his naval sleeve. It had been a few years since he’d had it completed and ever since then, he’d been eager to have something new inked on himself. Getting tattooed was like an itch that constantly needed to be scratched. Deciding that a new tattoo would be a great way to kill some time, Max stepped inside the parlor as the chime above the door tinkled to announce his arrival.
