by Maya Hughes
Only a few days ago, it had been so easy to pretend to shut off the humanity inside me and take care of the things Sergei needed me to. I did the work, as bloody as it might be. Now it made me uneasy. I’d told Dahlia I was trying to leave this life behind. I wanted to leave this life behind, but if I didn’t do what I needed to do, we’d all be at risk. Sergei would never let me go, but I couldn’t let her go. The engine revved as I slammed my foot down on the gas. I needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Leaving behind a shaking, blubbering and bloody bookkeeper, I left his office even more disgusted with myself. Disgusted that I’d done what Sergei needed me to do, and disgusted that I wouldn’t ever be able to stop. There wasn’t a way out. There would never be a way out other than in a body bag. Dead on my feet, I finally dragged myself into my apartment, cleaned the cuts on my hands and collapsed in the bed.
I woke in the early evening as the last bits of sunlight shot over the horizon. I pushed off the bed and sucked in a sharp breath as hot pain sliced through my hand. My knuckles were still cut and bloody. Not smart. Before seeing her it would have been quick and painless for me. Not so much for the bookkeeper, but I’d decided to go old-school to teach him a lesson and hopefully satisfy Sergei. I went into the bathroom to wash and bandage them again.
My phone rang. Five missed calls from Sergei. I shot him a quick message to get him off my back. It was done. The bookkeeper wouldn’t be a problem anymore. I’d already seen Sergei twice in the past twenty-four hours. He couldn’t accuse me of hiding unless he wanted to crawl inside my ass. I was seeing Dahlia tonight. I’d already dealt with enough of his bullshit. But I did need to ensure that he didn’t start looking for me. Making trouble for me. Not only for me, but Alexei, Elena, and Dahlia.
If Sergei did find out about Dahlia or decided to go looking for her, she’d be protected. I couldn’t trust anyone in the bratva other than Alexei, and that wasn’t going to work. There was one person I could call, but I knew he was going to make me pay for any help I needed one way or another. I tapped on his name, and he picked up after the third ring.
“What do you need, Ruski?”
I gritted my teeth. I hated that nickname. “Hello to you too, Luca.”
“You’re the one calling me, Ivan.”
“I need some help.”
“What type?” he asked, then sucked in a sharp breath.
“Protection help.”
“For you?” His breath came out in shudders. What the hell was going on?
“No, not for me. For a friend.”
“A friend you don’t want your uncle to know about.” He knew that was the only reason I’d call him for this, go outside the family for this. “Watch the teeth, sweetheart,” he said with his mouth away from the phone.
“Are you getting head right now?”
“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re a friend, or I wouldn’t have even answered.”
“Fuck, man, that’s not an image I need in my head.”
“Then stop picturing it,” he said, his breathing a little heavier.
“I’ll text you the details. It needs to be as discreet as possible.”
“Got it. Are we finished? This chick’s mouth is magic, and you’re killing my buzz.”
I ended the call and sent him the text. My phone pinged a few minutes later.
Luca: Consider it done.
Every minute I spent with her, the danger grew, and I could lie to myself that it didn’t change anything. Covering my tattoos was a moronic decision. I wasn’t getting out no matter what dreams I had for us. But I’d use every minute I had with her to convince her I would love and protect her until my dying breath.
6
Dahlia
My night faded into a fitful sleep, so fitful that I had actually been awake when Rachel barreled out of the apartment in the morning. Most days there wasn’t anything that could wake me up before noon short of a raging fire. I dragged myself out of bed, not looking forward to seeing Ivan again. Not because I didn’t want to see him, but because of how much I’d wanted to run my fingers across his skin the night before. That one touch had been as intoxicating as any drink. The body of an eighteen-year-old Ivan had nothing on a twenty-nine-year-old Ivan.
Memories of our time together bombarded me in rapid fire. His lips on my neck. His teeth nipping my inner thigh as he slid his fingers into me. I’d never been with a guy like him before…or since. That was part of my Ivan problem.
I stared at the newspaper sitting on my nightstand. Rachel had bought at least twenty copies. I had no idea who she planned on giving them to. The reporter had wanted to highlight some of my most difficult work in the story, gang and mob tats as well as those of cancer patients and other people who wanted to wear their scars as badges of honor. I rolled out of bed, staring at the pictures. The scars people wanted covered weren’t always visible. Sometimes they were burned so deep inside that they looked like everyone else on the outside.
Tattooing Ivan wasn’t a good idea. I never should have agreed to do it. I grabbed my phone off the charger and sat staring at his name. My fingers hovered over the screen, ready to call it off. It was like there was a tight fist around my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands shook so much I didn’t know if I’d be able to even start the call. What if his uncle found out? What if he followed through on his threats? So many questions raced through my mind.
I needed a shower to clear my head. To figure out if the boy from my past was worth saving. Staring at myself in the fogged-up mirror with the towel wrapped around me, I shook my head at my reflection. You’re insane!
I picked at my lunch before checking the time. Shit, I’m going to be late. I opened the front door, nearly knocking Rachel over. I grabbed her by the front of the shirt and righted her.
“Hey, Rach. Sorry about that.” I glanced down and saw the box. Not just any box. The box. “Do you want some help?” I grabbed it up off the floor before she could even respond. The stars had aligned, and I was here when she showed up with one of the amazing care packages her mom always sent. These boxes were the closest thing to Christmas. Hell, they were Christmas times ten.
Rachel flopped onto the couch, and I got to work opening the package. The small pleasures in life always put a smile on my face.
“What did they send this time?”
Rachel did a vague wave thing, trying to catch her breath. All her stuff fell out of her arms, splayed all over the floor.
I rubbed my hands together. What would we have today? Perhaps a seven-hundred-dollar supply of specialty toilet paper. Or maybe it would be a pair of headphones that cost as much as our combined rent. Or another set of concrete candles that could pay for a month’s worth of ink at my shop. I’d looked up some of the items on my phone, and this box probably had something worth a year’s rent inside like all the others. I still had no idea why Rachel was living here with me.
And then I came to the Holy Grail. The shoebox was upside down, but I would know these babies anywhere. The ones I was wearing had come out of a box from a few months ago. I almost never took them off. Maybe I could sneak them to my room without Rachel seeing. She’d called dibs on the next pair, but they were so pretty and it wasn’t like I’d ever be able to afford something like these on my own.
My hands were barely out of the box when Rachel came out of her stupor and bolted from the couch. Using strength I didn’t know she had, she practically knocked me into next week snatching the box out of my hands. Damn.
“Mine,” she said, clutching them to her chest. “I told you the next pair was mine,” she said, running her hands over the box lid.
I got my stuff together while Rachel opened the box and swooned over her shoes, sliding them on. They looked amazing on her. The light caught the crystal-encrusted sides, and the tall heels made her legs look like they went on forever. I laughed. Part of the reason I always tried to snag them was total reverse psychology. I hoped she’d maybe actually try to wear them. If I went for them
, she was less likely to leave them rotting at the bottom of her closet. We had a deal though. If she didn’t wear them out, they became mine. I nearly rubbed my hands together with glee over getting those coveted beauties, but I’d much prefer she wear them out. Live a little.
“I’ll be late; my last client doesn’t come in until midnight,” I called out from the door.
“I thought your last client was always at eleven,” she said, not even glancing up from her feet. She was in love.
“Money talks,” I said, rubbing my fingers together. “He offered triple my rate to stay later and have a completely empty shop. I was more than happy to help him out. Plus, it’s not like I’m not up anyway. Instead of coming home to tuck you in”—I stuck my tongue out at her—“I’ll be making some extra cash. Don’t wait up, and maybe, just maybe, do something I would do tonight.” I didn’t need her involved in my mess.
Rachel was my bestie, but she needed a social life. Not being able to legally drink wasn’t an excuse for how she lived. I’m sure philanthropic billionaires were demanding, but she still needed to have a little fun once in a while.
I had a long day ahead of me, more clients than I should have taken, and my back was already aching thinking about being hunched over the chair. At least I had my shoes. People thought I was insane for wearing these red-soled puppies for work, but the height of the heel actually worked wonders when I was sitting hunched over for hours on end. And I tried not to think of my last client of the day.
Everyone glanced up when I walked into the shop. Apparently the click of my heels was super distinctive.
“You’re slammed today,” Maggie said the minute I stepped across the threshold.
“I know. Don’t remind me.” I ran my hands over my face.
“Better get some stretching in,” she said, swiveling around on her stool.
“I’m ready.” I stepped into my studio and cracked my back.
Today was going to suck. Let the games begin.
I took a deep breath and turned to face him, soap solution and a razor in hand. Ivan had shown up at midnight on the dot. His thump at the front door had me racing from my studio. His back immediately straightened when he saw what I had in my hands, and I couldn’t hold back my laugh.
“What?” I stepped closer to him. Everything was laid out and ready for our session.
“What the hell is that for?” He pointed at the razor and shaving cream.
“I have to clean the area to make sure the stencil sits properly and to start on your tattoo. You’ve gotten tattoos before.”
“Never needed to be shaved before.”
“This is how professionals work. Sit back and stop being a big baby. I promise not to nick you.” I slid my chair in behind him. I snapped on my black latex gloves, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. I pushed his head forward. “Stop; you’ll be fine.”
His thick muscles were bunched so tightly I rolled my eyes. I sprayed a little of the liquid soap on my hands and slid it across his skin. He jumped and sucked in a sharp breath. His hands were fisted on his lap.
“Are you seriously this nervous about me tattooing you?”
“No, I’m not nervous.”
“Then why are you coiled so tight that it seems like you might jump out of your skin at any moment?” I pressed the razor on his shoulder and worked it across his body.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to you, Dahl.” He rolled his head to the side and caught my eye. Being in the same room with him was so much easier when he wasn’t so close. When his lips weren’t inches from mine. When I couldn’t smell him. He smelled like cedar and lavender. He hadn’t changed his cologne in all these years. Guys back then always wore that choking body spray, but not him. He made me want to curl up beside him and breathe him in all day. “Didn’t think I’d get another chance. I thought you’d cancel.”
I ducked my head. It’s not like that thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I couldn’t blame him for everything. I’d realized that over the years, and reminded myself in the shower this morning. As much as I’d raged against him and his uncle, I didn’t have to take the leap. I should have listened to my dad’s warnings. I shouldn’t have been the rebellious teenager who got herself locked up. No, it wasn’t his fault my dad had died.
“I was pretty angry.”
“I think that was an understatement. I’m sorry about your dad. I never got to say that.” Sincerity shone in his eyes, and I closed my own against the onslaught of emotion. A lump rose in my throat. I’d only visited my parents yesterday, but for some reason his apology made me want to go back there. To sit and pick the grass and soak up what was left of the sun.
“It was a long time ago.” I cleared my throat.
“I know, but it still hurts.” He covered my hand resting on his shoulder with his own. Even through the glove, the energy was there. The energy from the past that made me forget myself, and made me want to follow him to the ends of the earth. “I still miss my parents.” He turned, facing forward.
“I forgot about your parents. I’m sorry about them too. How old were you again?” My blade slid across his skin.
“I was ten. Alexei was nine.” He opened his mouth and snapped it shut like he was going to say more.
“And then you two came here to live with your uncle.” Bringing his uncle up turned my stomach. I patted his skin dry with a towel, and his shoulders hitched higher and he nodded.
“Yes, we were born here while our parents were graduate students. We left when I was one and Alexei just born. So we came back to live with him.”
“At least you had family to go to, and you weren’t on your own.”
That statement hung in the air between us. Awkwardness crept into the silence. He’d never been one to open up. Our time together had been hot and wild. It didn’t leave time for long talks about our past. For me there wasn’t much to tell, daughter of a cop. Mom died when I was born. His secrets always seemed to run much deeper.
I traced the outline of the stencil for the transfer onto his skin. Triple-checking to make sure I got it right, I pressed it into his skin and lifted it. The basic outline was where I’d work bringing my design to life, breathing air into the design with blood and ink.
“What do you think?” I asked, wheeling out of the way so he could look into the full-length mirror hanging on the wall. He kept his eyes on mine in the reflection.
“Beautiful,” he said, his gaze unwavering. The head of the phoenix would begin its evolution from there with one wing wrapping around his opposite shoulder. It extended farther than it needed to. The fiery wing would extend out and over his heart, protecting him from what was to come from his rebirth. Working in enough black and dark colors to cover the old tattoos would be a challenge, but that’s what I did. Rising from the charred remains of his past. I could make it work.
I swallowed and broke the connection, wheeling my chair in closer to him. My hands were going a bit numb from the nerves. I licked my dry lips, and he made a small noise.
“Are you absolutely sure about this, Ivan?” My hand was poised on top of his shoulder.
“Da. I’m sure. Let’s go.”
The buzz of the tattoo gun calmed my nerves as I touched it to his skin for the first of many lines. Passed over his skin with line after line as the colors changed. Yellows, oranges and reds breathed life into the darkness currently there. Layering the colors on his flesh. Making my mark with every minute, erasing more of his past.
“How’s Alexei?”
My question seemed to startle him. “He’s good. He is running a few businesses now.” He turned his head and I raised my eyebrow. A deep chuckle broke free even as he tried to keep his shoulder steady. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Legitimate businesses. He’s doing well for himself.”
“I’m glad. He never seemed to be one for the family…business.” I got into my groove, finding the rhythm of the artistic and the technical, making sure every line was precise b
ut improvising in certain areas when a change in his skin or the cover-up made it necessary.
“What about you? Who do you have now?”
Who did I have? His question made me sadder than I could have imagined.
“I have the shop. The guys who work here. My roommate is cool.”
“Anyone else?” His fishing expedition was not subtle nor wanted. It was on the tip of my tongue to say I was dating someone. That I was off the market and completely happy living with this guy who ticked all my boxes. Sadly that wasn’t the case. I’d pretty much shut down for a long time.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking if I’m seeing someone?”
“Yes. Are you seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business.” I went back to work. The tightness in his back grew with each passing second. I shook my head. It was too easy to get under his skin. But I didn’t want to play games. Nothing good came from that. The tenser he got, the muscles would toughen and reject the ink. If I didn’t want this to turn into a horrible mess, I’d have to put him out of his misery.
“No, I’m not seeing anyone. I’m not looking for anything like that. What about you? I remember you being quite popular with the ladies.”
He scoffed. The women at the diner had always taken notice of a certain tall Russian whenever he sat in my section in the back. And the one time he ever took me out dancing, the club hadn’t been one I’d have been able to get into on my own. Ivan had walked right up to the bouncer and spoke into his ear over the velvet rope.
The bouncer had glanced over his shoulder at me and I swore we were busted, but he just lifted the rope and Ivan escorted me inside. The thumping music was so loud I could barely hear him over it. Not that we did much talking. He got me a drink, and we spent almost the entire night on the dance floor.
Every touch against my skin, whisper in my ear and gentle bite on my neck had my eyes fluttering and my panties soaked. But there had been more than one woman glaring at me the entire time. I’d tried not to pay attention, but they weren’t exactly subtle.