Protecting His Home

by Ember Davis

  PROTECTING HIS HOME

  * * *

  EMBER DAVIS

  Copyright © 2020 by Ember Davis

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to action persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental. Contains explicit love scenes and adult language. 18+

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For permission requests, email Ember.A.Davis@gmail.com

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  EPILOGUE

  EPILOGE 2

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For all of us who have found the loves of our lives and for those of us who still search.

  CHAPTER 1

  BECKETT

  I’m just coming in to open my shop and it’s already been a long day. Nothing has even happened yet, but it’s still been a long day. Maybe I’m just bored and need a vacation. That won’t be happening any time soon, that’s for damn sure. I’ve been working nonstop to get my tattoo shop, Banks Ink., off the ground for the last five years and I’m finally getting to where I want to be.

  The artists in my shop are all talented and they’re starting to get a lot of recognition for their work and that’s fucking awesome. I took the notoriety and the little bit of fame I was gaining at the old shop I worked at with me when I opened my own spot five years ago. Back then I had a 2-month waiting list and that’s steadily grown. Now I have closer to a year waiting list.

  I’ve handpicked the artists that work in my shop because I want to have different styles represented and everyone can use their strengths to the advantage of the shop. Still, I make sure that everyone pushes their boundaries and works outside their style for at least one tattoo a month. In the last five years we’ve become more of a family; most of my crew has been with me since the start. There’s six of us total: myself (Beckett), Walsh, Dex, Troy, Zeke and Olivia. Of the guys, Zeke is the newest and he’s been with us for 3 years now.

  The newest recruit is also the only woman, Oliva, but she’s badass and she’s totally fallen into the ridiculousness this rag tag family has going for it. She’s become like the littler sister we never had, well at least I never had, growing up. It’s probably cliché as hell, but we like to work hard and party hard too. Although, in the last year that’s slowed down quite a bit for me.

  Maybe that’s where my general fuck it attitude has been coming from lately. I haven’t been interested in going out and partying, hell, I haven’t even picked up a woman in more than 6 months. Okay, truth, it’s been more than a year. I’m just not feeling it anymore.

  That’s really saying something because for a little while there I was known for playing the field. What can I say? I attract hot women and didn’t have a reason to turn them down. Even now, I don’t really have a good reason, I just don’t want a different woman in bed with me every weekend.

  I know woman find me attractive, being 6’3”, muscled and sleeved. They like my green eyes and how it contrasts with my dark brown hair that I keep a little longer on top and usually slick back. I’m tired of the women who just want to check me off on their bucket list. Bad boy: check. Yeah, joke’s on them because I’m not really all that bad, they just make that assumption because of the tats.

  What they don’t know is that I really want one woman that I can treat like the goddess she is and build a happy life with her. I want the wife, the kids and even the fucking dog. No one thinks that’s true about the bad boy, though, and that’s helped me keep a lot of people at arm’s length. I don’t trust easily; most people are fake as hell and can’t be trusted.

  If it sounds like I’m nursing a broken heart, well, then you’ve gotten me more figured out than a lot of people. It’s not a unique story, but I thought that I was in love and then I found Bri cheating on me with my best friend, Will. It was right before my shop opened. I had been super busy, sure, but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to hop on some other guy’s dick.

  They had the fucking nerve to come into my shop about a year later to say congratulations on how well the shop was doing. They also wanted to apologize because, apparently, they didn’t get the damn memo that I was done with them when I broke Will’s nose. The worst thing? They actually tried to invite me to their fucking wedding. Yeah, no. They probably have kids and shit by now or they’ve gotten divorced. Not that I give a fuck.

  Damn it, this is going to be an especially long day if I’m already contemplating the universe and my insignificant place in it so early in the morning.

  I get the shop’s laptop going so that I can check out the appointments for the day. I really need to hire a shop manager or a front desk person or something. Our last one worked out her notice two months ago and I really hate having to stay on top of everyone with their schedules and shit. It’s also not very professional to have to stop working on a client to greet new customers or give them information about how to make an appointment with an artist.

  Just add putting the job opening online to my to-do list. I also have a few cabinets that need their screws tightened and our stock room could really be reorganized. I need to upload new photos to our website and schedule more social media posts for the next two weeks. Fuck, this list just keeps getting longer and longer the more I think about it. Oh shit, Dex broke his stool the other day, I need to order another one.

  I’m skimming through my appointments today and thinking about the artwork I need to get together. My first two are second sittings for bigger pieces so I go ahead and print out the artwork that’s already attached to that client’s name for both of those. I love colorwork so I’m looking forward to taking the outlines we finished last time to the next level with fill.

  My last appointment of the day is with a new client, Andrea. She’s lucky her boyfriend is a friend of mine and a faithful client because she’s only been on my books for two months. I have a pretty big block of time set out for her since we’ll be doing a consultation and tattoo in one. Usually I space those things out, but Steve has helped me out a time or two in the past and always recommends my shop at the club he owns. So yeah, I want to make his girl happy.

  I just hope she doesn’t want a butterfly or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s just kinda cliché. I like to mix up my styles, though I tend toward a more architectural and realistic style. I have to say I like the artistry of the watercolor trend that’s taken over lately. Don’t let the guys know or they’d never let me live it down.

  Since I don’t really have anything to occupy me until the others filter into the shop, I sit down in the back room which is a more private space than the fishbowl our stations can be. I open my sketch pad and draw. I’ve had something stuck in my head for a while now but it’s not quite clear. Instead of forcing it I’ve been drawing mermaids, pin-ups, robots, and even some flowers. I’ve had this problem before and getting my mind off it is the only way to go. That also means that I’ll probably wake up at 3am one day with the idea clearly formed and be forced to draw it right that moment.
>
  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I found art when I was young, and it saved my fucking life. No joke, no exaggeration. I never met my dad, he skipped out on my mom when she was pregnant. Again, not unique. My mom was a typical single mom who worked her ass off to try and give me as good a life as she could. She was working three jobs when I was 13 years old and I was starting to get into trouble with kids from school. My first foray into art was doing graffiti on abandoned buildings and highway underpasses.

  I got caught one night and the look on my mom’s face when she had to come down to the station to pick me up devastated me. I never wanted to see that look on her face again. The cop who nabbed me was super cool and he hooked me up with some community service to get the tagging charge off my record.

  It probably helped that he didn’t find the pot on me since I had smoked it earlier. Pretty sure that would have changed things. He got me an in with his tattoo artist and I started working around his shop. The cop told me that it was a better use of my artistic talents than tagging and it didn’t hurt that it brought in a few extra bucks for the house.

  That allowed my mom to go down to two jobs and that felt like an amazing accomplishment as a 13-year-old. When I was old enough to become an apprentice, I already felt secure in my artistic abilities. Some might think that my mom would have been opposed to the whole tattoo thing, but she has always been my biggest supporter. She was first in line when I could finally work on actual skin with my rig.

  When I turned 19, I moved from my hometown to Denver. Even though I had put down my tagging, I was and am still smoking cannabis so moving to a legalized state seemed like the right idea. My mentor hooked me up with one of his friends here, so I got the in and a chair before I even made the move.

  That was eight years ago now. Don’t worry about the cannabis thing, I only smoke after I’m at home and the shop is closed. I’d never risk my shop by tattooing high and my crew knows my rules on that shit too.

  So, that’s my origin story and sob story all wrapped into one.

  I did right by my Mom once my shop started making some good money; I moved her out here to Denver and she retired. I’ve given her all sorts of trips as gifts and she’s gotten to travel all over the world. Right now, she’s on a river cruise in Europe. God help me if she brings home some slimy gigolo, that’s my only fear with her traveling by herself. She deserves to be happy and to find love so even if she does, I’ll grin and bear it while running an extensive background check.

  Finally, the crew starts filtering into the shop and I hear them giving each other shit over what they got into over the weekend. I went out with them on Friday night after the shopped closed, as I do every week, but I just couldn’t deal with staying out for long. Too many women were giving me crazy eyes, which they probably thought was seductive. I just wasn’t into it.

  Dex saunters back before too long and greets me, “Mornin’ Boss.”

  I nod at him, “Mornin’. Sounds like you all got into some trouble this weekend.”

  “Naw, just the norm. Troy picked up some chick, as usual. She had crazy eyes though so I wouldn’t have touched her. Her friend was trying to pick up Walsh, but Walsh had the good sense to not get involved. Zeke was Zeke, you know, broody. Olivia begged off not long after you left but refused to tell us where she was going or with whom.” He wags his eyebrows for effect.

  I chuckle, it’s always good to get the Monday morning gossip out of the way in one fail swoop. I cock my eyebrow and give him a look, “You didn’t try and get some?”

  Dex just shrugs. I’ve noticed that something’s going on with him the last few months, but he hasn’t wanted to share and I’m not one to push. Not yet, anyway. He’s always been the kind of guy that needs to work through shit first, but he’ll let you in once he feels like he’s figured it out.

  “You okay, man?”

  Dex gives me a small smile, “Yeah, brother. I’m good. Just got a lot of stuff on my mind. Looking forward to getting some ink in some skin today and letting my mind go blank on the other shit.”

  I nod, “I feel you there.”

  He juts his chin toward the sketchbook, “Whatcha working on? Anything for today?”

  I angle my sketchbook toward him to show him the pin-up I’m working on with curly hair and curves for days in a blue dress with sunflowers on it. She’s got a sunflower tattooed on her shoulder, too. I had just started coloring in her brown curls and eyes. “It’s not for today, just trying to get out of my head a little. I’ve had a design on the edges of my mind for a while now and I’m trying not to force it, ya know?”

  “She’s got some gams on her,” he shoots me a big grin and his dimples pop.

  I chuckle, “Gams? How old are you?”

  He laughs and glances at the clock, “Don’t knock it, those are gams if I’ve ever seen ‘em. Don’t you have an appointment coming in soon? I think I saw the artwork on the printer.”

  I look at the clock and am surprised that it’s only half an hour before my appointment. “Good looking out. My first two appointments know the drill and where my station is, but keep a look out for Andrea this afternoon, she’s Steve’s girl.”

  Dex’s eyebrows furrow together, “Steve’s got a girl? Like just one?”

  This question doesn’t surprise me, Steve always said he’d still be a bachelor when he’s 50 so for him to settle down with one girl came as a shock to me too. Last time I talked to him, to get Andrea on my books, he told me he even bought a ring and was planning on proposing. It takes a lot for me to be speechless, but that one got me.

  I shrug, “Yeah, he put that one-night stand shit up like a year ago when he met Andrea. I’ve met her once or twice, seems nice enough. She keeps him in line. We all know that shit can’t be easy so she must have balls of steel.”

  Dex laughs and we make our way out into the main part of the shop. I grab the artwork from the printer and head to my station to get set up for my first appointment.

  My first two appointments of the day go great. Two appointments for fill in work and two happy customers with completed tattoos. I order Dex’s new stool before I go to catch a break and a smoke out back of the shop. Don’t lecture me, I’m on the way to quitting, right now I’m down to three cigarettes a day. Trust me, that’s a vast improvement.

  I’m just letting my mind blank in preparation for Andrea’s appointment when I hear the most gorgeous laugh coming from the front of my shop. The sound stops everything in its tracks except my cock, which goes rock hard instantly. The fuck? My dick hasn’t done that in, well, I don’t think my dick has ever done that from hearing a woman laugh.

  CHAPTER 2

  AMELIA

  One thing I hate is stereotypes, so it always bugs me when people make assumptions about me based on my appearance. I may not look it, based on those wholly ridiculous stereotypes, because I’m kind of plain in the way I dress and I’m chubby, but I love tattoos. No, my hair isn’t black, I don’t look like I rolled out of bed to get on stage at a rock concert and I don’t wear vans or whatever people think that people with tattoos should be wearing.

  I have a few, but I’m itching for more. The problem is the who—who to have do said tattoos. I have so many things I would love to put on my body, but I just want to give an idea to an amazing artist and have them go to town using my skin as their canvas.

  Andrea, my best friend, told me about her appointment with Beckett and I told her my secret dream of letting the right tattoo artist do whatever they wanted. She just looked at me stunned. Probably because she thinks I have an irrational need to control almost everything in my life. People who think that about me aren’t totally wrong, but they aren’t totally right either.

  When it comes to work, you better fucking believe I like to keep things in line. I have to because that’s the job of a manager. Oh, yeah, I manage one of the biggest dispensaries in the city, Green Space. Andrea’s my assistant manager, that’s how we met when I first moved to Denver. I needed to get out
of clothing retail and going back to school to finish my degree doesn’t seem likely anytime soon. Considering that I’m a daily cannabis smoker, managing a dispensary felt like the perfect fit.

  And it has been a perfect fit. The employees are pretty chill, but some can be absent minded. That’s not necessarily related to cannabis since absent minded employees existed when I was managing a clothing store also. The customers are fun, and they range in age, gender identification, mobility, race and all the other demographics.

  My favorite are probably the people who are visiting from out of state and it’s the first time they’ve been able to walk into a store and buy cannabis legally. Their eyes get so big at all the options and almost all of them talk in hushed tones like the cops are going to bust through the door if they talk too loudly.

  The owners of the dispensary are awesome. They listen to my ideas about marketing, promotions and what strains customers want to see in the store. They’ve given me free range for my location for a lot of things since they’re in the middle of getting their second store up and running in Boulder. I do the schedule, hiring, ordering our product as well as other merchandise for the store. They even let me sell some of my crochet beanies in the store during the winter. Yes, I’m 25 and I love to crochet. Wanna talk about stereotypes again?

  Anyway, they’ve also let me design t-shirts, one of which I’m wearing today to accompany Andrea to get a tattoo. It says “Pot Dealer” with a few shapes of ceramic pots underneath. I pulled a three-quarter length sleeve cardigan on over it right before leaving my apartment since fall is descending already even though it’s still early September. The shirt makes me laugh and it’s kind of true, even if it’s legal dealing.

  When Andrea said she was going to Banks Ink. to get her first tattoo because her boyfriend, Steve, goes there and is friends with Beckett Banks there was no fucking way I wasn’t going with her. She only had to wait two months to get in to see him. Color me impressed with Steve’s connections.