Niko flipped back to the drawing on the first page and added more lines and smudges to the shapes already on the paper. Ethan tried to peer over to decipher the image, but as soon as he scanned the scratches, Niko closed the notebook cover.
“I’ve got everything I need. When are you wanting to get this done?”
Ethan knew the guy was talented, but wasn’t he going to have a say in the tattoo? The damn thing was permanent. “Do I get to see the design? I like the blue and green phoenix. Maybe we should go with that one.”
Niko pushed the chair back and stood. “That one’s not right for you.”
Ethan swallowed, panicked that the design Niko envisioned would cost three weeks of paychecks from the coffee shop. The envelope in his dresser was filled with bills saved to get the hell out of Charles’s house and sparing more than he’d budgeted wasn’t an option.
“I really appreciate you taking the time to draw—”
Niko walked over to the door and ran his colorful hand over his face as he obviously waited for Ethan’s exit. “See Scarlet on your way out. I’ll give her a price. Two weeks. Work me in on that Thursday around one.”
Ethan shuffled his schedule through his head. He closed on Thursday evenings, so taking the afternoon to get the tattoo done shouldn’t be a problem. And his freshman English comp class was over by ten.
“I can do that.” Ethan stalled as Niko took two steps to slide into the doorway. Was he supposed to try to pass him? Ethan looked down at his sneakers. With a fluttering stomach, he took a step.
Niko didn’t move. Heat flushed Ethan’s face. Being pale sucked when every emotion shouted in various shades of red. Niko’s tight body wasn’t huge like so many men who spent time in the gym, but, God, the peaks and valleys of muscle were cut. Ethan, with his skinny arms and thin waist, wasn’t jealous. He was simply admiring a stunning act of nature in Niko Melikov.
The doorway wasn’t overly small, but with Ethan’s slender body sliding by, heat seeped from one chest to the other, two sets of abs with a sliver of space between them.
Ethan hid his gaze, concentrating on the pattern of tile on the floor. His body tugged on the imaginary force field drawing him toward the heat of Niko’s broad chest. One push, an invitation, and their covered cocks would rub together.
Ethan watched the relaxed expression on Niko’s face disappear as those beautiful elegant lashes flickered. The mask went up, and Ethan immediately regretted pausing in the doorway. He’d totally misread the sexual electricity lingering in the crowded space.
Niko broke his gaze, the flash of two tight fists hanging close to his side caught Ethan’s attention. “Who was the guy in the car?” Not waiting for the answer, he headed into the hall.
What? Ethan scanned the wide hallway as he followed. “Are you asking me?” “There’s no one else in the hallway, so, yeah, I’m asking you.”
This wasn’t the first time Ethan was embarrassed by how low he’d sunk to make ends meet. “He’s um...he’s a friend.” When had he saw Charles?
Niko gave a curt nod. Before Ethan could stutter through an explanation—lie—the hallway opened to the lobby.
“Scarlet will take care of you. See you in a couple of weeks. Wear a loose shirt.”
“I was thinking maybe we could put it on my—”
Niko turned to head back to his studio. “I got this, Ethan.”
Weirdest. Experience. Ever. Ethan stood speechless, watching Niko’s tight ass move beneath a pair of worn jeans before he disappeared into another room. The rumble in Ethan’s stomach echoed. Hoping no one heard the growl, he walked to the counter and unfolded two twenties.
The phone on the desk rang. Scarlet answered. “Hey...are you sure...okay...he’s right here...okay...got it.”
She hung up and clicked the computer keys. “Forty dollars.”
Ethan thought his eyes were going to have to be picked up off the hardwood floor. “Forty? Are you sure? My friend told me his consultation was a hundred.”
“I’m just the messenger. Forty it is.”
Ethan handed over two worn twenties figuring he’d get hit with the big bill after the next appointment.
“Thank you. I have you in for two weeks from Thursday on the nineteenth at one o’clock. Here’s an appointment card. Please come fifteen minutes early to fill out the paperwork and you’ll need to bring a form of valid ID. Any questions?”
The wooden cigar clock on the wall behind the counter read half-past six. Charles would be waiting outside. How had an hour passed so quickly? Not only had Niko given him a break on the fee, he’d taken twice as long as scheduled for the consultation.
“None right now. Thank you.” He shoved the glossy card into his wallet and stuffed it in the front pocket of, yes, his bright-blue skinny jeans. Heading toward the door, he knew the fantasy of the guy he’d seen in the magazine was no comparison to seeing the real deal sitting across that table. Niko may be straight, be he was any man’s wet dream.
He paused and smiled. The antique rectangular sign hanging on the wall advertised the Tattered Gentleman’s Club, est. 1926, members only.
As expected, Charles was waiting by the curb in the shadow grey Jag that probably cost more than three years of paychecks at the coffee shop. Ethan tried to hide his sigh and opened the car door.
“Hey, beautiful, how did it go?”
Being called beautiful sounded disgusting coming from Charles’s mouth. “Okay, I go back on the nineteenth.”
“No skull and crossbones or naked ladies I hope. Wait, you’re not into the ladies. How about no naked sailors?”
Ethan found no humor in the joke. Hell, he couldn’t find any humor in anything anymore. Well, except Niko’s comment about the Chinese tattoo. “No naked sailors.” He latched the seat belt.
“How about Christoph’s for dinner? I already made reservations.”
Then why fucking ask? He rubbed his flat stomach, trying to ease the rumble. “I have a lot of homework. I’d rather stay in.”
When Charles ran his pudgy fingers along Ethan’s thigh, he fought the urge to crawl under the seat. How had it come to this? “My beautiful Ethan wants to stay in? Ah...I think a play session might be in order.”
The tender area on his hip still sent a throb down his leg when Charles touched it. There was no way he was going to be able to get it up. Last time his cock wouldn’t perform, Charles slapped his face. The thought made him shiver.
“I have a lot of homework. Maybe tomorrow night.”
Charles pulled the car away from the curb. Pouting his fat bottom lip like a scolded child, he mumbled, “Tomorrow night it is, then.”
Two more months. He could hold on for two more months, pawn the necklaces and bracelets Charles had given him and make the deposit on an efficiency.
That was if he didn’t cut himself into a mess before then.
*****
Niko followed his last client to the front desk. Scarlet, with her swelled belly, waddled from behind the counter and chit chatted with the man until he walked out the door and she could lock it behind him.
“You’re running pretty late.”
“Yeah,” Niko turned to walk back to his studio. “You need to get home. I’ll finish up here.”
“Niko?” He heard the click of her flat shoes cross the floor. “Forty dollars. The kid held onto several twenties like his life depended on it. That was really nice of you. I know you’d prefer not to be talked up, but, in my opinion, you can’t help being a nice guy.”
Niko didn’t let her see his smirk. Hell if he was a nice guy. “Your opinion.” He didn’t wait around in case she decided to go in for a hug, instead he left to gather some supplies and turn off the lights. Scarlet had been at the shop a hell of a lot longer than he had. Being The Professor’s daughter, she’d grown up in the club.
After twenty minutes of cleaning and organizing his space, he grabbed the black bag from the table and filled it with a box of charcoal pencils and two drawing notebooks. He
had six custom tats to get started and one...well, one in particular driving him crazy to get done.
The three commissions he had been hired to do were done and ready to beautify the restoration project of South Chicago. Sure, the neighborhoods needed work, but the new buildings going up and houses being torn down didn’t set right in his gut. Still, he had to make a decent living. The cops had already run off some of the riffraff...except one. He still felt like he didn’t belong among the redesigned facades and trendy shops springing up. Flashbacks of running through the alleys with cans of spray paint in a backpack skipped through his mind.
Niko rubbed the back of his neck and popped his head from side to side. He waited for the sound of the back door closing then, starting with the lobby, shut lights off as he made his way through the shop. All six of the other artists had already cleared their studios, so he only had the cigar lounge left to check. The large humidor against the wall was closed and the lights turned off.
Time to go home.
The apartment he rented was within walking distance of the shop. It was past ten o’clock, but walking in the shadows between the street lamps didn’t bother him. He liked the quiet as each step cleared his head. And the riffraff? Come at him. The black letters tattooed across his fingers read FEAR NONE for a reason.
The Cinema House was part of the new restoration project. Already underway, the top two floors had been converted into studio apartments. Niko had been lucky enough to get into a loft on the third floor. The place was hella cool, and he liked the look of the old theater. At least the owners were willing to turn it back into the style of its glory days. The Professor loved telling stories about his dad and the nights when the theater had been packed and the club full of gangsters. Niko could listen over and over to the story about when Capone landed a bullet in one of the basement walls and The Professor’s grandpa tossed the thug out on his ass.
He rounded the corner of a crumbling building and watched two guys dressed in black hoodies cross the street. As they passed, one made a point to bump into Niko’s shoulder. Three years of sobriety may have brought him some clarity, but hell-no did it shrink his balls.
“Douchebag.” Niko turned. “You got a problem? I’m sure we can work it out, say, down that alley?” There was no hiding a shakedown when the target was the king of walk-by theft. Fuck, he’d been doing the shit since he was twelve.
The man, obviously taller than Niko, snarled and started to walk back. “What did you say, asshole?”
Niko dropped the bag from his shoulder and slid his right hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “I know what you were trying to do, dumbass. Been there a thousand times and you’re not slick enough. Do you seriously think I’d walk around here with a wallet on me?” Niko slid his fingers through the brass knuckles hidden in his pocket.
“All fucking right. So, you caught me. Now, how about you give me that bag, smartass.”
Niko saw the end of a blade slide out of the guy’s pocket. “Not a cop in sight, fucker,” Niko stated without hesitation. “You’re not getting the bag.”
When the tall thug lunged at Niko, he ducked to the right and popped his hand out of his pocket, making a hard impact to the partner wielding the knife. The cocky talker was on his own as the thin blond fell, thudding his skull on the sidewalk. Niko kicked the knife against the building.
“Gonna talk now?” Niko taunted. When the thug reached out to make contact with Niko’s face, instincts sped through his veins. Duck. Bob. Impact to the rib cage. “You jacked with the wrong fucker, dude.”
The guy fell beside his friend, coughing and trying to breathe.
Niko shoved the brass knuckles back into his pocket. He hunched down, bending his knees to look the man in the face. “You see, my name is Niko Melikov.” He snapped a quick slap across the man’s cheek. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. Maybe not, but I assure you that name won’t be forgotten now. Show your face around here again and you won’t be able to walk next time. Been off probation for two years. It’s free game now, guys.”
Niko left the assholes rolling on the sidewalk, holding their torsos. He slid the bag back on his shoulder and strolled the two blocks to his place. He looked up at the intricate details above the set of doors.
The ancient elevator freaked him out. The one time he’d used it, the metal door got stuck, and it took every muscle in his arms to move it. Thugs trying to knife him didn’t raise his blood pressure, but being trapped again made his pulse explode.
Turning down the hallway behind the restrooms, he took the metal steps two at a time until he hit the second floor projection room. He’d spent too many nights unable to sleep, unable to forget the sound of the shot, the smell of burnt metal. The room hadn’t been touched yet. Several dusty projectors stood like rusted statues, waiting for their moment to crank up and be important again.
A single gold-and-silver lamp sat on an olive-green metal table against the open wall where the magic flew onto the white screen. For thirty dollars at a thrift store, he’d gotten the lamp and a chair.
The musty scent of times gone by inspired his art. Hell, how many times had he sprayed walls just like these, making something amazing from something...nothing.
Niko moved on until he reached the third floor. His door was on the right. The one on the left rarely opened. He’d met the guy once as they’d unlocked their doors in what could’ve been an awkward silence if they’d stalled too long. He turned the key. The echo of the heavy metal door sliding rang out in the landing.
Casper, a white pit bull pup—well, white except for the jet-black fur covering his left ear—came barreling toward Niko with fat paws pounding the hardwood floor. “Hey, big guy, miss me?” Niko knelt down, letting the dog lap at his cheek. Before walking into the spacious room, he slid the door closed and clicked the lock into place.
For the first time in his life, he was able to open the fridge and find the shelves full of eggs, butter, milk, cheese...everything he once had to scrape money together to afford. Omelets were a staple when cooking for one, easy and damn near one of the few things he knew how to make well.
“Sorry I was late, little man. I see you’re getting used to the puppy pads.” He knelt down and scratched the dog behind one floppy ear. “Good boy. Tomorrow we’ll hit the park.” One positive thing about the restoration was the new dog park on Washington. The grass and water fountain took the place of the dilapidated park. The old slides and equipment had been painted and modified for the dogs. Pretty cool.
He cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked. As he poured the mixture into the hot pan, a vibration hummed against his thigh. Silencing his phone during a tat was one way he concentrated on the client. Hell, the only people who meant anything to him were already in the shop whenever he was working.
After dropping some chopped green onions into the simmering eggs, he fished the phone out of his pocket. Damn. He slipped the pad of his finger over the call strip. “Hey,” he said, remembering he’d made plans.
“Hey my ass,” Samantha, the woman he occasionally fucked. One of the two women he used to forget the fantasies running through his screwed up head. “You ditched me Saturday and now you won’t answer my calls? This is it, Niko. I don’t have to be treated like this. You want me around to fuck then treat me like shit?”
She was right, but that was the way he worked. She was one of many on a list of hellos and good-byes. “Sorry. Had a client.”
He slid the omelet onto a plate as she continued the tirade. “Listen, I know I’m not your...preference, but the least you could do is not lead me on. If you want to stop seeing me, then have the balls to say so. Do you think I don’t notice your eyes roaming? The shit part is we’re checking out the same guys.”
Niko slammed his fist on the counter, instantly regretting it when Casper flinched and ran behind the butcher block counter. “Shut your fucking mouth. I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but you’re right about one thing. I have a big set of balls, so me and my balls
are telling you to get the hell lost.”
Before she could say anything else, he tapped the red icon and tossed the phone behind him on the bag. Casper crept from behind the tall chair pushed against the counter. “Sorry, boy. Women come and go, little man. You’ll learn.”
Grabbing a bag of barbeque chips and the plate, he walked to the couch and picked up the remote. As soon as he plopped down, Casper jumped beside him and got comfortable. Unfolding the bag of chips, Niko held one out for the pup to chomp.
“That’s it. You’ve got food in your bowl.” Niko flipped through the channels until he found an episode of CSI: New Orleans.
The light from the TV tossed shadows in the far corners of the room until it bounced off the wall of windows behind the metal staircase leading to the loft. For a moment he was confused until he felt the soft up and down of Casper’s chest next to his thigh. They’d fallen asleep. After putting the empty plate in the sink, he stepped into the bathroom.
Damn, once again he woke up in the middle of the night. It didn’t matter if he was in bed or on the couch, all he wanted was one night of good sleep.
Walking back into the kitchen, he opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. Casper slept on the couch. He slipped the drawing notebook from the black bag and stuffed the keys into his pocket.
The projection room’s musty smell lit his senses as he turned the knob on the lamp. The screech of the chair brought him closer to the metal table. First, he tried curves and lines, perfecting the dragon one client requested. Erase. Scales lapped over scales. Erase.
Damn.
Finally giving in, he flipped forward to the soft lines of the anchor he’d started in the studio. The one he’d envisioned on Ethan’s slender torso, running along his side, the tip barely touching the ribs hidden under his arm to the U shape resting at the crest of his hip.
The soft corners of Ethan’s pink lips had moved as Niko listed his favorite colors, but Niko had barely heard the voice that was much too mature for the innocent face sitting across the table. Looking away had been the only way Niko could stomach the thoughts running through his mind. Niko wasn’t gay. He wasn’t gay. Damn it to hell, he wasn’t gay.
Savior: A Tattered Club Story (Tattered Social Club Series Book 1) Page 2
