Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  I look up at him. Pull up those big girl pants, Harper.

  “It’s...over. I’m sorry, it has to be this way, Sam.”

  I pick up my heels and my bag. I shove past him and swing the toilet door open. He grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

  “Angel.”

  A stray tear slips down my cheek.

  “Sam, let go of me.”

  He lets go of my arm, as if I’ve burned him, and I run out of the toilet to the distinct sound of a mirror shattering and Sam roaring in pain.

  12

  Peyton

  Monday morning rolls around way too fast, and today is the first day of filming for the new series of Inked @ Saint Sinner. After a lengthy chat with Seb yesterday, I find out that the first person to feature in the series is, Nicholas Slade. After a couple of hours spent on Google, I find out that Nicholas Slade is a British actor, and he is one of the U.K's hottest exports in Hollywood. He started off acting in low budget Brit flicks and moved to the States, where he landed various roles in Into the Fire, Fix Me and The Photograph. At thirty-three, he is a huge star, despite his background.

  He grew up on a council estate in Camberwell and attended an acting school called ‘London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts’ on a scholarship. He earned the scholarship by taking the lead in various performances in school productions and was spotted by a talent scout. He landed a prestigious role in a play called ‘Domino’ at the Old Vic theatre, where he was discovered by Damien Valentine. Damien Valentine was dubbed the ‘British Tarantino’ and Nicholas got his big break in British gangster flick, Chelsea Smile, which was a huge success and rocketed his career into oblivion. Nicholas is also considered ‘The British George Clooney’; he is one of Hollywood's richest, most eligible bachelors, and has women queuing up and vying for his attention. Today, I’m going to be tattooing him. Shit.

  I take my time getting ready for work; taking longer than usual in the shower. I step out of the shower, brush my teeth, and head to my bedroom. I dry off quickly and get dressed. Today, I opt for a pair of black leather shorts, a black and white striped t-shirt with a black rose stitched above the left breast, black knee-high Converse, and a necklace shaped like a music note. I have styled and straightened my dark hair into a neat bob and apply my usual natural make up. I give Freddie his breakfast, kiss him goodbye, and leave him with my brother, Dexter. Dexter has taken some annual leave from the police force following his split with his fiancée, and he has decided to stay with me for a while. Kai follows me out, dressed in his usual Men in Black attire, and we make our way down to the parking garage to begin our Monday morning.

  As soon as I step into the shop, it is a hive of activity. There are camera men all over the shop floor, lighting rigs set up in each corner, and people with clipboards meandering around. I have never seen the shop so busy; it reminds me of Piccadilly Circus. I spot Seb straight away amongst the sea of people. His six-foot six frame eclipses everyone in his wake.

  “Good morning, honey bunny.”

  I smile at his familiar term of endearment, taken straight from the film Pulp Fiction.

  “Good morning, pumpkin,” I reply, and he grins.

  In the ten years I have known him, I have never seen Seb grin like that. His whole face lights up, and I swear I see a dimple in his cheek. I nod to Parker and Harley, and there is a young woman who I don’t recognise. She is medium height, around five feet five, full sleeves on both arms, tattoos up her neck and across her chest. She has violet eyes, has stars tattooed in an arc around her left eye, and she is wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. Her turquoise hair is pulled up on top of her head in a bun. She is wearing a red and white polka dot corset, black cropped skinny jeans, and New Rock boots. She regards me intently and Seb places his hand at the base of my spine in an intimate, but reassuring gesture.

  “Babe, this is Harlow Martinez, she’s our new temporary shop receptionist. Harlow, this Peyton, she’s one of my best friends and one of the best artists I’ve got.”

  She smiles, and I return the gesture as I shake her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Harlow.”

  She nods.

  “Likewise, Peyton, call me H,” she says in a Geordie accent as Seb looks between us.

  “You can gossip and all that girly shit in a bit. I need a quick chat, babe, if that’s good with you?”

  I nod, and we make our way into the back. I put the kettle on and go about making the coffees. Seb leans against the worktop with his arms folded across his broad chest.

  “Nick is on his way as we speak. The producers want to do a brief introduction with us, then with Nick. They want a bit of background on why he wants the tattoo and general bullshit. He’s specifically requested you, so just treat him as you would any other client, babe. I’ve got every faith in you.”

  I suddenly start to feel nervous.

  “Whoa! Way to throw me in at the deep end, babe!” I joke, but Seb doesn’t laugh.

  “Don’t you dare doubt yourself, babe. You’re the best fucking tattoo artist I know. I know you’re having problems with Sam, but I also know you would never let it interfere with your work.”

  He envelops me in his tattooed arms, and I cling to him tightly.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, and he kisses the top of my head.

  “What for, babe?”

  I take a breath.

  “For giving me my job back; you didn’t have to. And for believing in me…for having my back and always being in my corner.”

  He pulls away from our embrace and pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Listen to me, babe, and you listen fucking good, you’ve got absolutely nothing to thank me for. I gave you your job back because you’re the fucking best in the business. I took a chance, and it paid off because I saw you had potential. I’ve always believed in you; you’ve got skill. It killed me listening to you say you served coffee for a living while you were gone, you were born to tattoo. I’m fairly sure you were born with a tattoo machine in your hand!”

  I smile softly, and he moves his hand from my face.

  “What I’m saying is, everyone deserves a second chance, babe. And yeah, I was mad as hell when Willow told me you were alive, but she explained what happened and even though I was pissed, I understood. I care about you, Peyton, you’re like my little sister. We’re family, and I’m here for you, even if it is just to stroke your ego!”

  We both laugh. I hear the shop bell ring and a commotion coming from the shop.

  I think our star guest, Nick, has arrived.

  I recognise him as soon as he walks confidently into the shop. He holds himself in a casual manner as he walks with an air of regality and elegance. Nicholas Slade. His entourage consisting of a woman with chocolate coloured skin. She is curvy, tall, and looks as if she is around Sam’s height. She has long straight black hair with blue streaks all over and unusual green cat-like eyes. She is wearing a white trouser suit, with a green top underneath, which make her green eyes pop, and classic black Louboutin heels. From the way she carries herself, I am assuming she is his agent.

  The other person with Nicholas is a burly looking man of Oriental descent, with ice-blue eyes, and blonde hair in a crew cut. I assume he is Nick’s bodyguard. Seb turns to greet our star guest, and as Nicholas smiles brightly, I take in every inch of him. He is around six-foot-tall, extremely muscular, has lean, narrow hips and his dark brown almost black eyes remind me of Minstrels; his dark brown hair is neatly styled into a soft quiff. A tattoo of a set of dice, playing cards, a lucky ‘8’ ball and the words ‘You make your own luck’, peeks out of the open neck of his shirt and extends up his throat and neck.

  He is wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans, which seem to mould to his pert arse and lean muscular legs, a black Henley shirt with lime green piping, which stretches across his shoulders, and he wears a pair of bright white Adidas shell toe trainers. The camera crew from the TV company flock around him as the door closes behind him.

&nbs
p; “Cheers for the welcome guys, but it really isn’t necessary,” he says light heartedly, in his soft South East London accent.

  The camera crew disperse, leaving Nicholas standing with his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He is as charming as I have seen him in interviews. His smile is infectious, and his personality is magnetic. He crosses the room and stops in front of me. His deep brown eyes roam the length of my body, and I suddenly feel exposed in front of this gorgeous, virile man.

  “Breathe, love.”

  He leans in to whisper in my ear, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding as he offers me his hand. I take it and he kisses the back of my hand softly.

  “Nicholas Slade, but I’d prefer it if you called me Nick.”

  I clear my throat and manage to find my voice.

  “Peyton Harper.”

  He smiles a bright white megawatt Hollywood smile.

  “Ah yes, the beautiful creature that snared and tamed our very own Mr. Newbolt.”

  I blush at his words, and I feel my face grow flushed as he chuckles softly.

  “No need to be embarrassed, love.”

  I bite my lip, and I can see why millions of women fall for his old English charm.

  “I can see I'm going to have to keep an eye on you, Nicholas,” I say as he cocks his dark eyebrow and smirks.

  “I was counting on it, and please, call me Nick.”

  He winks, and I smile, suddenly feeling extremely nervous and awkward around this huge Hollywood super star.

  “Relax, love, you look tense.”

  I subconsciously wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, and he regards me intently with his inquisitive brown eyes.

  “They say an orgasm can relieve some tension, you look like you could use several,” he purrs seductively.

  Cocky bastard.

  The old me would have shot back a sharp, witty one liner, like on the day I first met Sam. But the new me has absolutely nothing to say, no flirty banter, no cheeky one liner, nothing.

  He brushes my arm gently, and I flinch violently as his hand makes contact with me. He immediately pulls his hand back and holds both of his hands up defensively. A look of genuine concern crosses his chiselled and handsome face.

  I need to stop reacting that way. Maybe Remy did too good of a job teaching me self-defence.

  ***

  A Year Ago

  Freddie is a few weeks old and I’m itching to get my figure back to the way it was before I got pregnant. Remy is a part-time self-defence trainer and uses his military training to teach basic defence. I refuse to be the victim that J.D almost destroyed. Remy has a home gym in the basement of his house and it is kitted out with a punching bag, bench press, treadmill, and a cross trainer. I am ready for my first defence lesson, and I’m raring to go. I am dressed in black yoga pants, a hot pink vest, and trainers. My hair is pulled up into a short ponytail. Remy is wearing white Adidas jogging bottoms, a grey vest, and trainers. His hair is tied back into a loose ponytail. Freddie is asleep upstairs, and we have bought the baby monitor down with us.

  “Right, first lesson in self-defence: what are you going to do if someone grabs you from behind?”

  I am suddenly assaulted with memories of J.D grabbing me from behind, drugging me, and dragging me off helplessly. I shake away the thoughts and look at Remy.

  “I know it’s difficult for you, beaut, but to prevent this from happening again, you need to do this. Not for just you, but for that little boy upstairs.”

  I nod and smile.

  “So, first lesson in self-defence: if someone grabs you from behind, you drop all your weight to the floor. The point of it is to drop your weight below your attackers’ centre of gravity. This gives them less chance of succeeding.”

  He moves behind me and the anticipation of him grabbing me from behind sets my nerves on edge and my whole body on full alert. He grabs me from behind and I struggle at first. Once I’m over the initial shock of being grabbed, he whispers in my ear, “Relax, beaut, it’s just me. Drop your weight.”

  He tightens his hold, and I try to drop my weight to the floor, failing miserably as I fall in a heap on the floor. Remy offers me his hand and helps me up. I get to my feet and dust myself off.

  “Again!” Remy barks.

  He moves behind me again, and I take a few calming breaths before he grabs me. I drop my weight, but my arms are restrained.

  “Good girl. Now, attack me. Step on my foot, or hit me in the groin, whichever you feel comfortable with.”

  I reluctantly stomp on his foot, repeatedly, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

  “Beaut, that’s my prosthetic, I can’t feel anything!” he says in an amused voice and I bite my lip to hide my smirk.

  I’m such a fucking idiot! I stomp on his other foot and his grip loosens until my arms are slightly free.

  “Good, now, rear your elbow back into my stomach, but make sure it’s repetitive, jab, jab, jab.”

  I rear my elbow back into his hard stomach, and he lets go of me.

  “Now what? Use that beautiful head of yours. Am I just going to give up and go home? Or am I going to try to attack you again?”

  He lunges forward, and I remember my training from my boxing class. I put both hands up in front of my face and stand with my feet shoulder width apart. He smiles and nods.

  “Well done! Now assess me. Have I got a weapon? Is it concealed? Have I got my hands out ready to attack you?”

  I assess him, and his hands are out in front of him.

  “Your hands are in front of you.”

  He nods.

  “Well spotted.”

  He rushes forward, and before I know it, he has tackled me to the floor. He rolls us both, and he gets to his feet, offering me his hand to help me up.

  “Too slow. Never drop your guard, never turn your back, and never let yourself get distracted, not even for a second.”

  I nod and get to my feet.

  “Thanks for agreeing to teach me, Rem. I really am grateful.”

  I smile, and he smiles back.

  “Don’t thank me yet, beaut. We’ve got a long fucking way to go.”

  ***

  I am jolted back to the present by the concerned voice of Nick Slade.

  “I apologise, love. I meant no harm, and it was never my intention to frighten you.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, burning with pure embarrassment at my reaction to such an innocent touch.

  Fucking J.D.

  “I abhor men who put their hands on women purely with the intent to harm them; how one could hurt a creature as beautiful as you is beyond me.”

  I smile shyly at his compliment, and he returns the gesture.

  “Such a pretty smile, love.”

  I slowly begin to relax, but the slight tremor to my hands is still visible, even to the less observant of people. I swallow hard to clear the lump in my throat.

  “If you would like to follow me to my station, Nick.”

  He nods and follows me back to my workstation. He hops up onto the chair in one fluid movement, and I drop down into my leather chair, sinking down onto it as it hugs me like a pair of strong arms.

  “Subtly changing the subject is certainly a clever way of deflecting your problems, Miss Harper, but I'm a very observant man. I can see the slight shake of your hands. I scared you, and for that, I am eternally sorry. I don't know what happened to you, because I tend to stay away from those bloody awful rag mags. I know we've just met, but sometimes talking to someone who is considerably impartial can be a great help to lift that crushing burden,” he says softly in his crisp accent, and I feel instantly soothed by his words. “Underneath this somewhat handsome facade, I'm just a normal, ordinary fella from a dodgy council estate who got lucky. If Hollywood has taught me one thing, it's never judge a book by its cover.”

  He lifts his leg and crosses it to rest casually on his knee. He leans back, making himself comfortable. His presence is overwhelming and everything about him commands yo
u to look up and take notice of him. He really is the whole package: stunning good looks, charming personality, and he is a natural flirt. Although, something about him doesn't scream your typical Hollywood star. He seems to just see people for who they really are, which is an extremely rare quality.

  “You have the most stunning blue eyes I've ever seen.”

  I smile.