Enzo (Jinx Tattoos Book 1)

by Colt, Shyla

  She shook her head. “You’re a cheeky one.”

  “So I’ve been told. Your mum went out to grab lunch, but you’re more than welcome to wait here if you’d like.”

  “When did you join the staff? I haven’t seen you before.”

  “Oh, just a few weeks ago.”

  “And you know art?”

  “It’s me trade, so I’d hope so.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Painter?”

  “Sculptor. Traditional means with clay, and new age with more unconventional materials. Which is really just a clever way of saying any bit of scraps I can get me hands on.”

  She giggled. “Do you have a name, mystery man?”

  “Oh, right rude, I’ve been.” He stuck out his hand. “Keir Gallagher.”

  His hand felt soft and his handshake was firm. “Pleased to meet you, Keir Gallagher.”

  “Likewise, Aibhlinn Leahy,” he said with a blinding white smile that made warmth spread through her belly. Thick, dark eyelashes framed the mirth-filled eyes rounded out by bushy but well-groomed eyebrows. The man was downright delicious.

  “How did you come to work here?” Aibhlinn asked.

  The door behind them jingled and they both turned.

  “Hi, darling. I didn’t know you were coming by today.”

  “Me either,” Aibhlinn replied.

  Her mother chuckled. “Why don’t you take your long break, Keir?”

  “Sure thing, Colleen. It was good meeting you, Aibhlinn.”

  Her name sounded like a spoken enchantment on his tongue. She wanted to close her eyes and bask in it. “Same here, Keir.”

  He walked around her and headed out the door with a long legged stride full of confidence.

  “Ack, if I was younger…”

  “Mum,” Aibhlinn squealed, laughing.

  “What? I saw the way your eyes lit up. It’s been a long time since I saw that look.”

  “He’s charming,” Aibhlinn noted.

  “Don’t forget to add attractive, intelligent, and just a wee bit brilliant. He’s got a Bachelors in Art from the Limerick School of Art and Design, and he’s built some buzz in his home town.”

  “So, why come here?” she asked.

  “To expand and try to tap into the American market. I took him on as a favor to his mother. We were friends back in school. You know I love to pay it back when I can,” her mother replied.

  “I do. That’s really sweet, Mum.”

  “Eh, least I can do. I got enough salad for two if you want to share,” she said.

  “Now that you mention it, I am hungry. I spent all afternoon painting.”

  “You know I love to hear that. Do you have a theme?”

  “Love,” Aibhlinn muttered, not ready to share her plan.

  “You know, if there were sparks between you and Keir, I wouldn’t be upset.”

  “Mum—”

  “What? I want grandchildren at some point. Besides, you my beautiful girl, are too wonderful to be so alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” Aibhlinn said.

  “Aren’t you?” her mother asked. She sighed. “Listen, a watched pot never boils, and someone who gives everything without asking for something back or telling the other person what she needs will never truly be happy. I love you and I love Enzo as if he were my own, but you have to get out of this box and look around. Let him wait. Then he will truly be forced to decide, and see what he’s taking for granted.”

  “I hear you, Mum.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m not a little girl pining for her best friend. I’ve been alone because I was tired of mediocrity, and forcing myself into a situation I didn’t want to be in because society deemed it necessary. The blind dates and dating websites were downright soul sucking. People didn’t want to find their soulmate, they wanted a piece of ass. The person that showed up for the first four dates was a representative. The man I saw after that was the real one, and I didn’t much like him. I decided to focus on my career and building a life that satisfied me. I’m not Rapunzel trapped in her tower. I’m the warrior princess out there slaying her own dragons.”

  “Ahh, my Aleanbuh. I only want you to be happy.”

  “And I am, Mum. I promise. Yes, I may work a bit too much, but I’m putting in the time now, to free up my future. The romance will come later.”

  “Maybe sooner than you think?” her mother teased.

  The sparkle in her emerald eyes and the smirk on her face made Aibhlinn belly laugh. Her mother surely had leprechaun blood in her veins, because she could charm the dourest of people.

  They sat down at the small table against the wall that housed the register and caught up as they cared for the customers who came through.

  Dread Mother of Forgetfulness

  Who, when Thy reign begins,

  Wipest away the Soul’s distress,

  And memory of her sins.

  “Hymn to Physical Pain” ~Rudyard Kipling

  Chapter Three

  Enzo

  Past

  e sat in the basin, shivering and hungry. His stomach cramped in protest and the smell of urine lingered in the air. He’d relieved himself in the drain earlier. His chapped lips ached, and his throat was scratchy and dried. He was afraid to turn on the shower for fear of angering his mother. She’d locked him here. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but if he could be a good boy long enough, she would let him out. He rocked back and forth, humming to distract himself from the darkness. The lights didn’t work anymore. He’d tried to flip the switch over and over again, once the sun went down. I can be a good boy. I can.

  Present

  Jerked from sleep, he found himself suddenly awake. His eyes popped open. Blinking rapidly, he struggled to orient himself. Hot, sticky, and flustered, he threw off his sheets. I’m at home. I’m an adult, not a child. None of that is current. Breathing heavily, he eased into a sitting position, and fought to keep the bile from creeping up his throat. After being trapped in the cramped space for days, the bathroom had become his idea of hell. The toilet had been a clunking, rickety ancient device that only worked half the time. Once it clogged up, he hadn’t known what else to do but go in the bathtub.

  He’d been five. Anger seared his veins like poison. Regardless of all that his mother had done, he always thought the treatment was his fault. That he had caused it by behaving naughtily. By the time his mother had come down from her high, enough to remember he existed, he was severely dehydrated, starving, and less than a foot away from a shit and piss filled drain.

  The experience created an aversion to small bathrooms. He hadn’t had a dream like this in years, but it made sense with her death and his birthday having passed a few weeks ago. Despite the sweat, the last thing he wanted to do right now was take a shower. He made his way into one of the spare rooms he used as a studio. He hated the darkness that lived inside of him; the horrible memories that refused to leave him no matter how much time passed.

  He grabbed a pencil and began to sketch. If he could purge himself, he would. He would expel all the things that stripped him down, took away his choices and broke parts of him forever. The scratch of the feather light etchings was a focal point for him to cling to. He watched as a face, too similar to his own for comfort to shake, began to take form. The figure’s face was distorted. Its mouth wide open, as it screamed bloody murder, like it had just emerged from the womb fully grown.

  Setting the pencil aside, he grabbed a palette and dumped a generous dollop of black onto the wood. As he mixed the paint with his brush, he envisioned the flow. Satisfied with the consistency of his paint, he went back in. The rhythmic brush strokes smoothed his ruffled feathers. The dream remained in the forefront of his mind, but he controlled it now, not the other way around.

  Blackness came from his mouth, crossing the blank space. He paused to study the image and went back in with greys and white, adding wraiths and ghosts.

  Each ghoul represented a memory he wished he could bury. He’d
gone on to be successful, yet still he felt trapped behind a thick pane of glass, watching the world go on around him. He’d done the counseling thing—his parents had insisted on it. It lessened the nightmares and lowered his walls enough to let those closest to him in.

  He took a deep breath and set down his brush. This was how he got it out. Spent, he carried his brushes to the sink and washed them out. If only we could wash away the ugliness in our lives so easily. He bowed his head, clutching the edge of the sink.

  I need a distraction. Desperate to remove the images plaguing him, he set his brushes to dry, walked over to his phone, and scrolled through the names. Tracee popped into his mind. She’d treat him like a king and bend over backward to please him. He needed that now, to feel like he mattered, and wash out everything but pleasure. Anything to take away this feeling of helplessness and sadness.

  “Enzo?” she whispered.

  “I had so much fun with you the other day. I figured you could come by, and we could repeat the process.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “How fast can you get here?”

  “Thirty minutes,” she replied breathlessly.

  “I’ll be waiting.” He hung up, thinking about all the ways he would give her pleasure. He couldn’t connect on an intimate level, but he could damn sure satisfy a woman. You didn’t break me completely, Mother. He hurried to the shower, quickly scrubbing down to erase the stain of the past. Hopping out, he toweled off, and slipped on a pair of black boxer briefs, jeans, and a T-shirt.

  He paused to look at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were empty. I thought you weren’t going to do this anymore. You say want more because your life feels meaningless, but the first thing you do is run back to your bullshit ways. Silencing the voice of reason berating him, he walked out to the couch to wait for his fix.

  The doorbell rang, and he rose, ignoring the inner protests telling him to stop. He opened the door and leaned against the frame.

  Tracee was dressed to impress in a tiny blue jean skirt, high heeled black boots, and a tight, black, long-sleeved T-shirt. Her nipples were hard as they strained against her shirt.

  He licked his lips. “Looking good, Trace.”

  She smiled up at him. “Oh, this? It’s just a little something I threw on.”

  He stepped back. “Well, come inside. Wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

  She stepped inside, and he pressed her frame against the door. “You miss me?” he asked.

  “You know I did,” she murmured, fluttering her fake lashes.

  He ran his hand down her side and wrapped his fingers around her thigh, lifting it up.

  She hooked her leg over his hip.

  “Show me,” he said.

  He flipped up her skirt and ran his fingers over her panties. The heat and dampness made him grin. “Oh, I think I can feel it now.” He slid her underwear aside and pushed two fingers inside of her slick heat. Her muscles flexed around him, and he groaned. “So damn tight and hot.” He tilted his angle, plunged in, and pulled out over and over.

  Her muscles tightened, and her hips gyrated. She rose on her tiptoes, seeking more. “Oh, Enzo.”

  He deployed his finishing move, hooking his fingers as he hit the one inch, hard, round area better known as the g-spot.

  “Oh! Yes—right there,” she screamed, working her hips for all she was worth. She was beautiful, lost in her grand display of passion.

  Now, he was in control. He continued to hit her magical spot until she splintered beneath them, quivering and calling his name. Her response gave him a temporary high. He could bring pleasure. That was something. Keep telling yourself that, the angel on his shoulder said.

  “Shipping Out to Boston” began to blare from his phone. Aibhlinn. Suddenly, he felt dirty and ashamed of his behavior. He pulled back from Tracee, who leaned against the door heavily. Aibhlinn would be disappointed in him if she knew what he was doing. Not that she ever voiced her opinions on his promiscuity, but he could see it in her eyes. She thought sex was a sacred act that should only be shared by people with a serious commitment to one another. He halfway thought she didn’t believe in sex before marriage, but he knew she’d engaged in it, at least, a time or two. He peered down at Tracee.

  Her face looked flushed, her lips were open as she breathed raggedly, and her hair was mused. Her skin seemed to glow. She opened her eyes and gave him a shaky smile. “You sure know how to greet a girl, Enzo.”

  “I forgot I had something to do, Trace. This phone call is one I need to return.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “You know how it is when you run your own business,” he said with a shrug.

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “Serious as a heart attack.”

  “Maybe next time I won’t come when you call,” she retorted huffily.

  “You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Whatever it is you’re looking for, I can’t give it to you.”

  “You are such an asshole,” she growled.

  He nodded his head, stepping back as she pushed herself away from the door.

  For the second time, she left in a rage, slamming the door behind her so hard he swore the walls rattled.

  He walked into the kitchen, washed his hands, and returned to the couch. Picking up the phone, he returned Aibhlinn’s call.

  “Hey, what are you doing right now?”

  “Fucking up,” he whispered before his brain could tell him not to.

  “Then stop,” she said softly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can, Enz. You’re one of the strongest people I know, whether you believe that or not. There’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it. Look at where you are in life. You’re a homeowner, a business owner, and you’re making art good enough to earn a place in a gallery.”

  “Your mom’s,” he said.

  “But does it sell?”

  “Well, yeah,” he mumbled.

  “Then you understand her decision isn’t because she wants to do you a favor. Snap out of it, Enz, you’re worrying me here,” she said.

  “Why do you put up with me, Aibhlinn?”

  “Because you’re my best friend, duh.”

  He closed his eyes and hung his head. “I had a dream,” he whispered, unable to hold the pain in any longer.

  “About your past?”

  “Yes.”

  “About your mother?” she whispered.

  “Yes, about the time she got high and forgot she had me locked in the bathroom of our shitty one-bedroom apartment on the wrong side of town. There was no food, a toilet that had a habit of clogging up, no lights because the electricity had been cut, and only the water from the tap. At least, the first day. Then that got shut off, too.”

  “Enzo,” her voice shook.

  “Don’t. Just… Now, you see why I’m fucked up in the head. Why I can’t be normal.”

  “You are normal.”

  “No, Aibhlinn, I’m really not. You have no clue what I was just doing.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. “I invited Tracee over.”

  “Did you fuck her?” Aibhlinn asked.

  “No, but I would’ve if you hadn’t called.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

  “Please don’t hang up. I-I need you,” he begged.

  “Funny, your actions say otherwise,” she snapped.

  Don’t give up on me, Aibhlinn. You’re a constant I depend on. “What do you want from me?”

  “You know, I think that’s a question you should be asking yourself.”

  He could read between the lines enough to know they were talking about so much more than it seemed on the surface.

  Past

  If you told him a few years ago he would go to the prom and enjoy it, he would’ve laughed. Yet, here he was lounging on the bed watching television in the hotel room he and Aibhlinn had rented. Their friends had started off partying with them bef
ore bowing out to retreat to their own rooms or head on home.

  She was still dressed in the blush pink gown that hugged her curves, and belled out into a skirt that brushed the floor. He’d ditched his tux jacket, unbuttoned his top buttons, and rolled up his sleeves hours ago.

  “We really are morbid, you know,” Aibhlinn commented.

  “Why?”

  “Watching Carrie on prom night,” she said.

  “Well, no one dumped pig’s blood on you, so I think we’re good.”

  “The night’s still young,” she stated dryly.

  Enzo laughed and shook his head. “Like I would ever let that happen.” He felt fiercely protective of his best friend. The girl had cracked opened his chest cavity and wormed her way into his heart…brought him kicking and screaming out of the darkness and into the light. She’d done something few people could: gained his trust. He studied her as she beamed.

  Her blue-green eyes sparkled and he could see the small flecks of green inherited from her father. Her thick hair tumbled around her slender, oval face in insane curls, and she glowed. Her full lips were tempting him. Bare of lipstick they glistened and glimmered a light shade of pink. Suddenly, he wanted to know what that lip gloss tasted like, what she tasted like.

  “Enz?”

  “Shhh.” He leaned forward and cupped her face.

  She went still, but didn’t move away.

  Taking it as permission, he pressed their lips together, and his world exploded around him. She tasted like sugar—sweet and addictive. He couldn’t get enough. He tilted his head for better access and she gasped, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

  It was akin to sticking his tongue into a light socket full of pleasure endorphins. Energy rushed through him weaving a seductive spell. His pants grew too tight, and his hunger for more flared. She whimpered, and he moaned. The sound of her surrender tasted better than any of the pleasure filled cries he’d wrung from other girls.

  His heart raced, and his hand shook slightly as he brushed her hair away from her face. It was baby soft and smelled like flowers. He’d fallen into heaven. He lowered her body to the bed. Pressed chest to chest, their eyes locked and he knew he was in way too deep. I love her. The words jolted him from his lust.