Savior: A Tattered Club Story (Tattered Social Club Series Book 1)

by Allan, Pauline

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Savior

  Copyright 2016 by Pauline Allan

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  Formatted by Wizards in Publishing

  Published by Sinful Escapes Publishing

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  This book is dedicated to the couples who have shared their love against all odds. When others persecuted their choice, they endured and fought for the freedom to love.

  Also by Pauline Allan

  See Me

  Gilded Lily (Book One in the Hot Southern Nights Series)

  In His Bed (Forbidden Fantasy Series)

  Coming in April: Claiming Dane (Book Two in the Hot Southern Night Series)

  Savior

  With a violent past, Niko Malikov knows revealing any weakness could be a death sentence. Growing up on the rough city streets was a lesson steeped in violence. He has always been the go-to guy and, now, his successful career at The Tattered Social Club as one of their premier artists has proven anything is possible. Anything but revealing his secret. A secret that would destroy the man he’s become. That unshakeable strength is wounded when a young man walks into the shop wearing a pair of skinny jeans.

  Ethan Cohen sold his soul for a bed. With the scars of his past still visible, he’s ready to move on. Nervous and determined, he enters the Tattered Social Club to get a tattoo from the hottest artist in the state. All he wants is a phoenix tattoo, but the gruff bulky guy sitting in the studio has no plan of letting that happen. Ethan knows from the moment they steal that first kiss, the man with the painted skin isn’t ready. Maybe he isn’t either. Against everything his broken heart is whispering he wants. God, he wants to be wrapped in those strong arms, but he’s fighting for freedom with a man unwilling to be free.

  So different. Falling into each other’s shadows. The undeniable need. The savior.

  SAVIOR

  A Tattered Club Story

  by

  Pauline Allan

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ethan cringed at the sound of the leather seat groaning as Charles shifted to lean closer. When the man’s dry lips pressed against Ethan’s cheek, he turned, trying to avoid anything more.

  Charles sighed, the same sound he made when Ethan disappointed him, which was often these days. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’m going to stop by the development before running a few errands. I can’t trust those idiots to run a circus, let alone a project this size.”

  With nothing to say, Ethan gripped the door handle and fought back the stinging wetness brimming at the corners of his eyes. The car reminded him of his father. The shiny black exterior and the rich aroma of expensive cologne a looming presence with a statement of wealth. A false sense of superiority destined to keep the masses in their places. He hated this car.

  He hated Charles.

  The knot in his throat seemed to swell as he tried to swallow. With a trembling hand, he fumbled at first to unlatch the seat belt then stilled his fingers. Remembering why he’d contacted the tattoo shop in the first place coordinated his grip. This time when he pressed, the buckle clicked.

  Charles grabbed his biceps, not as hard as he had last night, but making Ethan flinch when his thick fingers dug into the tender bruise. “Nothing trashy. I don’t want that beautiful skin marred for Saturday night.”

  Marred? Ethan thought about his thighs, knowing Charles didn’t mind what had been left there. He never cared if the wounds were fresh or faded, whether Ethan had put them there himself or if they were Charles’s handiwork. Saturday nights were reserved for the gentlemen’s club and those assholes never cared either. All the A-listers with fat wallets and wives to escape spent hours fucking and whipping their play partners.

  Ethan hated Saturdays, too.

  “I won’t get anything offensive,” he half-heartedly promised before slipping out the door.

  “Good boy.” God Ethan hated those degrading words, even if they were what he deserved to hear. He shut the door, harder than needed, and stepped back onto the sidewalk. The gentle hum of the engine faded as the car rolled away from the curb. Maybe going back to being broke was going to be tough, but freedom always carried a price.

  He pulled the wallet from his back pocket. Standing outside the shop, he counted the twenties he’d taken from the envelope he kept hidden in his room at Charles’s place. Taking the money out of his modest savings probably wasn’t the smartest move, but putting ink on his skin felt right. Getting to this point in his life had been hell, and finding the courage to make it on his own made him want to leave a positive mark as a reminder.

  He had too many sad reminders marring several areas already.

  With two credible references, he’d made the call to the Tattered Social Club and scheduled a consultation with the hottest artist in the city. Now, standing in front of the large plate glass window his heart pounded against his sternum.

  Niko Melikov wasn’t cheap, and he never took on a client without meeting first. Ethan had to respect the man for having such passion for his work. The photos in Professional Ink proved the fact.

  Ethan looked down the sidewalk. The buildings stood side by side like a mismatched puzzle, a few in various stages of reconstruction, while several remained stuck in the era they’d been designed. A little nervous to be standing on this side of the city, he decided it was probably best to get inside. The area didn’t seem like it would welcome the techno they played downtown at the gay clubs.

  The lobby held the heady rustic scent of cloves mixed with the lemon oil soap Maria used to clean the woodwork back home. Framed tattoo samples hung in neatly spaced rows on the crimson colored walls. Ethan wiped the palms of his hands down the front of his jeans. Was he really going to do this?

  The leather couches were laden with worn creases as if they’d organically sprouted in the masculine space. Men and women dressed in everything from heavy combat boots to strappy high heels sat on the couches and comfy chairs as they waited for their turn in the back.

  A guy emerged from a door behind the glass counter across the room, the brim of his purple-and-gold baseball cap was drawn low, the bill squeezed, molded to the man’s liking. When he looked up at the clients, the fading sunlight from the window caught the side of his face. Ethan’s stomach flipped. The scarred flesh looked raw with pink and white threads riding close to his cobalt-blue eyes. What in the hell had happened?

  From the way he suddenly looked away, Ethan figured he’d seen the surprised stare too many times to count. Ethan shot his gaze back to the waiting clients.

  “Can I help you?” The woman standing behind the counter tilted her
bright-red lips into a warm smile. The deep curls neatly sculpted to frame her apple cheeks seemed to make the question cheerful.

  Ethan hesitated, waiting for one foot to prompt the other to make the first move. “Yeah, yes...yes. I have an appointment with Niko Melikov.” Feeling like a total pussy, he forced himself to walk to the counter. “This place is really cool. It’s not what I expected.” He scanned the decorative wood paneling rising halfway up the walls. “The pictures in the magazine didn’t do it justice.”

  “Thank you. We love the place. Been in the family for decades. My name is Scarlet.” Her pale pink nails clicked on the keyboard. “New consultation, thirty minutes. Were you interested in an original piece or would you like to pick something from our stock designs?”

  Ethan thought about the money he’d stashed in his room at Charles’s house. “I’m not sure.” Figuring there would be no way he could afford to have Mr. Melikov create an original tattoo for the limited budget his part -time paycheck allowed, he added, “Maybe one from the wall?”

  A female voice chimed in from behind Ethan. “Do you do piercings? Sorry to butt in, but I have to be back at work in twenty minutes.”

  The receptionist curled her lips into a tight grin. “As you can read from the sign on the window, this is a tattoo social club. The words ‘tattoo and piercing social club’ do not appear on the window. So…no, to answer your question.”

  The blonde huffed and spun toward the door, mumbling, her platform heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

  Ethan smiled. He liked Scarlet with her electric blue hair and feisty attitude, the mix of someone stepping out of a 1950s-inspired graphic novel. “I assume you get that request a lot?”

  “Ugh, yes. The Professor refuses to add a piercing service. We’re overbooked as it is. At least two women come strutting in here every day wanting something obscene pierced.” She shuddered and laughed. “Anyway, you’re welcome to take a look at the designs on the wall to get an idea of what you’d like. As for the prices, they range depending on the design, colors, time involved. I have to tell you, other than The Professor, Niko has the highest prices. All of our artists are phenomenal, but Niko is in a stratosphere of his own. You can discuss prices and such during your appointment. He should be ready in about ten minutes.”

  Ethan, tucked his hands in his pockets wondering what kind of guy would call himself The Professor? Figuring it’d be rude to rude to ask, he just nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Let me know if you need anything. There’s coffee in the nook over there and sodas in the glass fridge next to the table. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Ethan fought the urge to turn and run for the door. Courage was his new friend and now was the right time to embrace the feeling. In a few weeks he was going to start a new life, one of independence and no compromising his self-worth. This was going to be the perfect way to do it with a bang.

  He started searching the frames on the wall near the corner where a set of glass shelves housed a display of cigar boxes. Several looked new while others were so worn he could barely make out the names scrolled across the lids.

  The colorful samples organized on the wall varied in color, size, and character. Some looked vintage with blue sparrows clutching bright-red twisted ribbons in their beaks. Ethan almost laughed at the macho tigers ready to attack. Black panthers, scrolling thick tribal lines, and flowers galore painted the pages.

  Maybe an orange and yellow koi fish would look good? He’d read somewhere they signified a new start. The article might have been bogus, but the way the fish looked like it was weaving through water seemed really cool.

  He stepped to the side, overwhelmed with the rainbow of colorful prints. The bright yellow and orange feathers spread wide from the body of a phoenix caught his attention. He wasn’t sure if pretty was the right description, but it was the first one to spark his imagination. The phoenix was probably the better choice. Besides, choosing a design off the wall had to be much cheaper than having a custom tattoo.

  “Don’t tell me you want the Chinese symbol for strength tattooed above your ass crack, because I don’t do shit like that.”

  Ethan shrugged with a silent laugh. He had no intention of having any writing on his body he couldn’t understand. “No.” The artist standing behind him had to be Niko Malikov. Ethan turned around. “I was thinking about a phoen—” When his eyes met the exposed skin stretched over bunched shoulders and thick biceps, the knot in his throat was back.

  Holy mother the guy was covered with twists and turns of bright colors, shadows of grey, and scrolling letters. The detailed curves and stark lines bled into one another, leaving no naked skin untouched. The living landscape was painted from his fingers to the thick column of his neck.

  The silent air separating their bodies felt like it vibrated with tiny sparks zinging back and forth. The short hairs on his forearms prickled. Ethan opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then tried again. “I’m—I’m Ethan Cohen.”

  The black strands on top of the man’s head seemed confused as to where to lie. The soft, short faux hawk spiked while the silky sides lay haphazardly above his ears. Ethan wished he’d worn something nice from his closet instead of grabbing the first thing he could find in the dresser.

  “Something full of color?”

  Ethan blinked. “Huh?”

  “Seeing as your bright-blue skinny jeans go so well with that hot pink shirt, I assume you like colors...even if they have no business being matched up.”

  Ethan looked down his torso. The jeans had cost a hundred and fifty dollars. Well, cost Charles a hundred and fifty bucks. Besides, he didn’t have anyone to impress. And he liked his clothes, even if a straight asshole thought he looked ridiculous. The jerk was likely judging his pink Converses, too. See, he could match colors.

  Niko tilted his head toward the back of the lobby. “Come on, stud. Even the pretty boys need some ink.”

  Ethan didn’t flinch. He’d gotten used to being called names during the nineteen years he’d been on the planet. Insinuating he was gay was probably kinder than the faggot and dick sucker comments slung in his direction.

  They walked into a room with three colorless walls and one covered in framed, vibrant artwork. Ethan started walking along the striking wall, soaking in the strokes on one of the canvases. Whoever painted them wasn’t the only one who liked to mismatch colors.

  “Have a seat, Ethan.” Niko grabbed a notepad from the counter against the brick wall. “So”— he pulled the rolling chair up to the small round table—“I suggest you get your ass in the chair instead of gawking at the wall. You’ve got half an hour. Let’s figure this out.”

  Niko’s rude attitude made Ethan want to hightail it out the door, but someone with Niko’s talent could be an asshole to anyone. He pulled out the hard plastic chair and slid down. “Before you waste your time, I probably can’t afford one of your original designs. I was thinking that the phoen—”

  “I set the price. I’ll decide if you can afford it or not. Scarlet will handle the initial fee before you leave.”

  Before Ethan could suggest the phoenix from the wall, Niko was already sliding a drawing pencil over a piece of white paper. Ethan looked around the room. A black monster, a barber chair looking like it waited for Sweeny Todd to place a victim in its seat, stood in the middle of the room. A massage table lined one wall while a rolling short metal table was parked next to a short stool on wheels.

  “How old are you?”

  Ethan dipped his head, studying the tight fabric covering his thighs. The fresh wounds still stung when he shifted in the seat. “Nineteen.”

  “You look barely seventeen.” Niko never raised his head from the scratching pencil.

  “People always say I look young. I have my college ID and driver’s license. I can prove my age.”

  Niko tucked the white piece of paper behind the drawing pad and started to sketch on the new sheet. “Don’t panic. I believe you.” More glides and quick strokes. “Why
are you so nervous? Just like that moment before you know someone is going to crank you over the head or you’re going to knock them out. Just breathe and keep calm. The other guy’s going down first. Nothing to get worried about. I’m not going to crack your skull, so you can chill.”

  Ethan kept his hands under the table. How in the hell did someone live without anxiety—and how in the hell did someone not freak out about getting into a fight? Apparently his new tattoo artist knew the secret.

  “So, colors. What are your favorites? You obviously like blues.” Niko peeked up, steeling a moment to study the blue stone Ethan wore on the ring slipped over his left index finger. Evan glimpsed the twin emerald irises before Niko looked down, writing blue and green at the bottom of a new sheet of paper. “And... Pink? I guess pink goes with that blond hair.”

  Was that meant to be another gay insult? Ethan had been complimented more than once on the color of his hair. Usually, it was from women being jealous or men trying to flirt, neither a fag jab.

  “Yeah, blue is my favorite color and I do like pink. I like yellow and green, too.”

  Niko jotted down the colors Ethan listed. “What do you want?”

  Ethan studied the grey and white octopus design, its tentacles swaying and turning when Niko moved his forearm. Each stroke of the pencil made the creature roll into a different shape. “I’m sorry?” Ethan looked up to find Niko’s dark lashes framing those shining green orbs. They were long, almost curled at the ends, softening his expression.

  “What do you want?”

  “I like the phoenix on the wall.” Ethan felt like a specimen looking back through a microscope. Niko’s expression faded. The thin line of his lips tightened.

  “No phoenix. What do you want? Answer the question. Don’t think, just answer.”

  The cramp in Ethan’s gut tightened. “To be free.”