Enzo (Jinx Tattoos Book 1)

by Colt, Shyla

  Enzo

  Jinx Tattoos Book 1

  By

  Shyla Colt

  Published by Hot Ink Press

  This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Copyright © 2016 by Shyla Colt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are

  either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Artist: Dreams 2 Media

  Photographer : Eric Battershell photographer

  Editor: There for you Editing, Leanore Elliot

  Edited for Hot Ink by: EAL Editing Services

  Published by

  Hot Ink an imprint of CHBB Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

  any means without written permission of the author.

  Playlist

  I Can’t Make You Love Me: Bonnie Raitt

  If: Janet Jackson

  It Hurts: Angels & Airwaves

  Fade Into You: Mazzy Star

  I Gave You All: Mumford & Sons

  Love Will Tear Us Apart: Joy Division

  In My Veins: Andrew Belle

  Almost Lover: Jasmine Thompson

  #1 Crush: Garbage

  I’m Only Happy When it Rains: Garbage

  White Blank Page: Mumford & Sons

  The Cave: Mumford & Sons

  I Know You: Skylar Grey

  Scars: Papa Roach

  Forever: Papa Roach

  Summertime Sadness: Lana Del Rey

  Acknowledgments:

  Nothing Gold Can Stay ~ Robert Frost

  Things We Dare Not Tell ~ Henry Lawson

  Hymn to Physical Pain ~ Rudyard Kipling

  She walks in Beauty ~ Lord Byron

  Gold Star Chili

  Old St Mary’s Church

  I’d also like to thank my wonderful beta readers, Tina Harris, Meghan Jackson, Christie Mitchum, Crissie Sutcliffe, Lee'Ann Hardin, Andrea Huseman, and Carrie Roberts for all of their support.

  Pronunciation

  Aibhlinn is prounced Ave-Lynn, which is why you’ll see her called “Ave”

  Aoife – Ee-fa

  Keir- Keer

  Glossary

  A leanbuh (uh LAN-uv): my child

  “A mhuirnín” (uh WUR-neen): “darling”

  “A chroí” (uh KHREE): “heart”

  M’fhiorghra (Meer-Grah): my true love (literal translation of the soulmate concept)

  A Chuisle (Uh Khush-leh): pulse

  Leanbh (Lan-uv): child

  Bairn: babe

  IRA: Irish Republic Army

  The Army: nickname for the Irish Republic Army

  Enzo

  Jinx Tattoos Book 1

  Shyla Colt

  Dedication:

  Thanks to the man upstairs for giving me the talent and motivation to not just weave a story, but continue to become a better writer. For all my Colts out there! Thank you for trusting me to entertain you. Your support means so much. For my husband who deals with my eccentrics during the writing process, my children who inspire me to a better person all around, and my mum.

  From childhood’s hour I have not been

  As others were—I have not seen

  As others saw—I could not bring

  “Alone” Edgar Alan Poe

  Chapter One

  Enzo

  he alarm mocked him as he woke to limbs tangled with his own. The blonde from the night before snuggled into his side. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his head on the pillow. Overnights weren’t his norm, but waking up alone on today of all days wasn’t an option. He had a love-hate connection with the day of his birth, and thirty-four was too old to deal with shit with liquor. So…he fucked in excess and kept his liquor consumption to a minimum instead. Normally, he would be ready to go for round three, but all he wanted was silence…some peace. He moved away from the blonde and rolled from the bed, ready to wash away the night before.

  “Time to go home, sweetheart,” he said.

  She stretched her arms above her head, letting her blanket fall to her lap. Her perky breasts were perfection and obviously fake.

  Still, Enzo took a moment to appreciate her investments.

  “You sure I can’t tempt you into breakfast?” she purred.

  “Positive, got somewhere to be.”

  She pouted her plump red lips.

  What kind of makeup shit lasts overnight? The thought of the chemicals involved made him shudder. “As amazing as you were last night, I’ll have to pass.”

  She huffed and tossed the blankets aside, swinging her shapely legs over the side of the bed as she stood. She was petite, tanned, toned, and plastic. It made her easy to look at, have a good time with, and say good-bye to.

  Not that he ever felt bad. She knew what she was getting into, they all did. He made it clear he didn’t do seconds and wasn’t looking for more than a mutual exchange of pleasure. Still, some of them seemed to think they would win some magical lottery, and things would change in the morning. He’d seen Tracee around the tattoo shop a million times. She was an ink chaser.

  She wanted a tattoo artist for an old man in the worst way. He made it clear she was barking up the wrong tree, but she kept coming around. He wasn’t looking to have a significant other, and her desperation to land someone who would take care of her made his skin crawl. This would kill two birds with one stone.

  “You’re a real ass, Enzo, you know that?” Tracee asked as she poured her body back into her skin-tight black dress.

  “You already knew that, though, Trace. We knew this wasn’t more than a night of fun.”

  She cocked her hip and narrowed her eyes. “You sure about that, sweetheart? We had a lot of fun. Imagine that in your bed every night.”

  “Not looking for that, Trace,” he said with a shrug.

  “Would you say the same thing if I had my head stuck in a book and my body covered from head to toe?” Tracee scoffed.

  “What the fuck did you say?” Enzo asked, stepping forward.

  The color drained from her face. She snatched up her sky-high heels and fled. “Nothing, see you around,” she muttered, skittering out the door before he could respond.

  People wondered about him and his best friend, Aibhlinn. They didn’t think a man and a woman could be friends without jumping in the bed together. His theory was the exact opposite. Sex ruined things. It broke up lifelong relationships, made people paranoid, and upset the natural order you first had before romance entered the picture. No, his spitfire Irish lass with the piercing blue-green eyes and flowing chestnut mane would remain off limits forever.

  The very thought of her made him smile. Even on his darkest day, she never failed to bring him a little happiness. He walked to the front door of his house and locked the door behind Tracee. A quick glance at the clock told him he had about thirty minutes to get his ass into gear. He walked back over the maple hardwood floor and into the bathroom. The white on white tiles and glass shower enclosure made the room appear more open and easy to get into and out of, which made the space tolerable.

  Turning on the hot water, he sank onto the bench at the far end of the massive stall and let the gathering steam clear his pores and his muddled head. Lack of sleep and beer had him fee
ling sluggish. After a few minutes, he rose to his feet, stepped under the spray, quickly soaped down, and rinsed off.

  He was pulling on his plaid button up when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, the lock turned.

  “You decent, birthday boy?” Aibhlinn called with that slight lilt he’d grown to love.

  “Yeah, I’m coming out now,” Enzo called back. He appeared in the doorway and smiled.

  Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her thick thighs, and large ass, she was mouthwatering.

  Off limits didn’t mean he couldn’t admire her assets. An off the shoulder Pink Floyd sweater displayed tantalizing porcelain flesh. She had her hair pulled up into a messy bun that showed off her long, slender neck.

  “You ready to go?” she asked.

  “What? No breakfast?” he shot back.

  She rolled her eyes. “Smart ass. We’ll be back for that later. If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss the sunrise.”

  He nodded his head and walked toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they hugged. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for coming, Ave.”

  “Where else would I be?” she whispered.

  Anywhere, with someone worthy of your time and affection. It was his deepest fear. That she would enter a romantic relationship and their friendship would go by the wayside. It was selfish wanting her to remain his number one girl…she deserved more. It worked for them now. They were both artists obsessed by the act of creating.

  The years were passing swiftly, and she’d gone from unknown to sought after in her career field. First come loves, and then comes marriage. He snarled, pushing the thought of the day she, too, left him far in the background of his brain.

  “Come on, I’ll drive,” she said, pulling him to the door.

  He allowed her to manipulate him.

  At five-foot-eleven, she still lacked the strength to move him if he resisted. Along with fucking, he liked to workout. It kept his head from getting overcrowded and allowed him a healthy way to work out his frustrations. Locking the door behind them, he followed her to the black SUV.

  She hit the fob and unlocked the door.

  Enzo was at the driver’s side, opening her door before she could protest. He knew how to treat a woman. He wasn’t so fucked up that he felt a sick need to use and abuse them. His mother, the angel who adopted him and straightened his ass out, would skin him alive if he ever went that route.

  “Thanks, Enz,” she said, climbing into her seat.

  He made his way to the passenger side then leaned his head back against the headrest, and zoned out as she pulled out of his driveway and headed for their destination.

  Fog hung in the air, creating a thin layer of white. The haze turned the massive structure that was their destination into something mystical, or creepy, depending on how one looked at it. Bundled against the fall chill, they made their way from the car and into Ault Park, in the direction of the pavilion.

  After the climb, his eyes drank in the frosted landscape. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  This park held good and bad memories. His birth mother brought him here many times. Originally, he thought it was because she was a good mother who loved the outdoors and knew he loved to be among the beauty the park offered. As he grew, he understood it was a public place to get her fix. No one thought twice of a man, a woman, and a child walking through the woods.

  He would never forget the first time his brain registered the cash she gave Uncle Ian was for drugs. The tiny brown squares were heroin. They’d found her body here on his sixteenth birthday, needle still in her arm, eyes vacant, and body cold. She’d turned a day he already loathed into something even worse.

  He inhaled, embracing the chilly air that crept down his throat and into his chest.

  The ache meant he was alive. That he’d survived against the odds. Thinking of the days scrounging for food in garbage cans, stealing from the stores, and running drugs for dope boys to feed his starving gut…he shuddered. She’d always saved the most fucked up shit for his birthday, like an anti-birthday gift. That last day she’d left and never returned was his twelfth birthday.

  He bowed his head in solemn remembrance. All the bullshit made it hard for a guy to feel joy on the day he came into the world and landed in a pile of festering shit. But that’s not where I am now. He glanced over at the woman standing beside him as the sky yielded from an inky blue to a purple, and a dusky orange. The sun’s rays turned everything golden, and for that moment in time, things were clean and new. The world was a hopeful place. The darkness was banished.

  “Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay,” he whispered, quoting Robert Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. There was a man who understood how to live in the moments before dawn ended. He hadn’t gotten there yet.

  Ava tangled her fingers with his, and he let her. She was a blazing white light in the murkiness. His Irish angel on his shoulder, constantly encouraging him to do better, insisting he reach for his dreams, and repeatedly telling him he was worthy. She was the best present he’d ever received, on the same day his mother left this Earth. Perhaps that’s why he liked having her with him on his birthday.

  Past

  He sat in the back of the room, sketching in the expensive pad Mrs. Jordan had purchased for him as a birthday gift. As far as foster parents went, Karen and her husband Bill were one of the rare ones. Not only were they decent, they seemed to enjoy having him and the other boys there. The children who moved in and out were more than a paycheck; they were a chance to change lives. He thought it was an act at first. Now, he understood they were the genuine article. He’d been here six months, and other than bumping heads on being accountable for his whereabouts, it had been fairly smooth sailing. The high school was the same as any other, but he dug the art teacher, Ms. Leahy. The Irish woman with bright red hair, blue eyes, and a melodic accent encouraged him to hone his skills.

  She said he had the potential to be a great artist. It was something he’d never really heard before. Writing and poetry were a means to escape from the shitty surroundings he often found himself trapped in. Artists and writers understood pain in the intimate way a boxing coach knew the mechanics of fighting.

  “Hey, that’s good.”

  He continued to darken the area of the crow’s wing.

  “Hey, did you hear me?”

  Peering up, he found himself lost in an ocean of an intense blue-green gaze. He blinked and took in the entire package.

  The girl leaning over his shoulder was dressed from head to toe in a black dress with black tights and tall black boots. Her deep red lipstick stood out against her pale face and made her hair look more red than brown.

  “You talking to me?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I like the way you’re shading that in,” she replied, gesturing toward the paper.

  “Uhh, thanks?”

  She laughed. “That’s about the usual response to me.” She held out her hand. “Aibhlinn Leahy, I’m Ms. Leahy’s daughter. I just transferred to this high school.”

  So, she didn’t know to stay away from the degenerate foster boy yet. “Enzo,” he said, quickly shaking her hand.

  “Ahh, it’s nice to meet someone else around here with a unique name.”

  He snorted. Heads turned to glance back at them. He scowled, and they faced forward. “Look, you’re new here, so you don’t know any better. But…I should warn you. Being seen with me will get you labeled as an outcast.”

  “And now, you’ve intrigued me,” she said with a smile that showed the tiny dimple in her right cheek.

  He shook his head, not willing to be the bad boy to some good girl gone wrong. “I should also mention, I don’t like people.”

  “Oh, you’ll like me, I promise.” She sank onto the seat beside him and set down her pad. “You like comics?”
/>   He blinked, trying to keep up with her crazy topic jumps. “Yeah.”

  She opened her page. “Me too.

  The impressive comic strip of Wolverine made him whistle. “You did this?”

  “Yeah, need to work on my shading in certain areas. Which is why your work caught my eye.”

  So, it’d been a self-serving thing. That he could understand. “Your detail is on point. I could use some pointers.”

  “Then I’ll help you and you can help me,” she offered.

  “Deal.”

  He had no way of knowing it was the start of a lifelong relationship that would in many ways define him as a man.

  Present

  Aibhlinn

  After they returned from Ault Park, Aibhlinn studied Enzo from beneath her lashes. He seemed more sullen this year than he had previously. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting his bowl of steel cut oats and toast in front of him.

  “You know I hate my birthday,” Enzo replied, and pushed the oats around with his spoon like a petulant child.

  His pouty expression was adorable. She tried not to smile at the picture he presented. It was all too easy to imagine what little Enzo looked like once upon a time. “No, this feels like more than that,” she said, frowning.

  He glanced up at her and sighed. “We’re getting old.”

  She snorted. “Speak for yourself, grandpa. We’ve barely hit our thirties.”