by Lucia Grace
“No problem, sweetheart. Training should be quick and easy then, and you can start tomorrow if that works for you? Let you get settled today with your crazy new roommate here and unpacked before you join the chaos of In Ruins.” Gus smiles at me as he finishes.
It’s a simple smile, with a hint of care. Almost the look a father would give.
I swallow thickly at that thought.
“Welcome to town, sweetheart. We’re happy to have you.”
With those few welcoming words, my heart warms and tears sting my eyes because for once in my life I feel like I may have a chance at no longer feeling alone.
THE BUZZ OF THE TATTOO gun charges through the air as the vibration from the needle hitting skin travels up my arm. It’s a rush I will never fucking get used to. I never feel more alive than I do right here in my tattoo shop—Inked Souls.
Even all the random pussy I sink myself into can’t compare. It’s a close second, I can’t deny that, but nothing is like the thrill of putting inked needle to skin and watching my creations come to life on the bodies of strangers trusting me with branding them forever.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a sketch pad and pencil close by. Drawing anyone and anything. From my family to superheroes to my little sister Saylor’s favorite princesses. My parents were always supportive of my creative mind, but when tragedy struck and took them from me, tearing our little family apart, sketching became my outlet.
My hurt, my fears, my dreams, my hopes. All of them sketched onto the pages of notebook after notebook.
As I got older, the sketches turned into designs created specifically to be inked onto my skin forever. Some held meaning. Like the open pages of my mom’s favorite book—Of Mice and Men—tatted over my right ribcage in her memory. Or the replica of my dad’s dog tags from his brief enrollment in the army branded on my right pec in his honor.
Others are random designs and sketches I drew up. Like the willow tree that covers the bicep of my left arm, the intricate design of the weeping branches curving onto my shoulder blade and the tangle of roots weaving down past my elbow, mixing with the ink on my forearm to create a full sleeve.
The more sketches I created and the more ink I covered myself with, the deeper my passion ran for tattooing. So once I got Saylor and myself out on our own and away from the bullshit of the last five or so years of our childhood, I put all of myself into becoming the best artist in the county.
And that’s how Inked Souls was born.
Five years ago, after just as many years working my ass off to save up money for my own shop, I finally had enough experience and cash to open a place that was solely mine. Inked Souls has been packed full of people driving hours just to get their ink done by yours truly ever since.
I swipe the rag over my client’s back to wipe away the fresh ink and blood rising from his skin, admiring the finishing touches to my design of the intricate owl Rafa had me draw up then tattoo on his wide back before I spray more solution and wrap it up.
“You’re all set, man,” I rumble out behind my mask before sliding it off, along with my gloves, and tossing them all into the trash next to my station.
“Can’t fucking wait to see this piece healed, bro. Thanks again,” he grunts as he stands, then slides his shirt over his head before slapping me on the back.
I stand to follow him out to the front of the shop. “Should be killer. Now get the fuck out of here.” I smirk at him.
“Ah yes, Saturday night. Time for the hustle.” He laughs out. “Can’t tell you how happy I am to go home to a warm bed every night. Aren’t you getting too old for this shit, bro?”
“We can’t all find a chick as hot as Belle, Rafa. And fuck you. Do I look too old?” I ask as I stand tall and puff out my chest.
We share another laugh, and with one last goodbye and shake of hands, I lock up behind him and flick the open sign to closed.
I may be pushing thirty, but after a full day at the shop, I want nothing more than to down a few ice-cold beers and find myself some random girl to take home and pound into. And that’s exactly what I plan to do tonight.
Walking to the back of the shop, I flick off all the lights knowing Nash will take care of the books when he comes in tomorrow morning and head out the back door, locking that before turning down the alleyway. Once I make it down the side of the building and hit the sidewalk, I can see the flashing neon sign to my second home just across the street.
In Ruins is where I was given my first job as dish washer in high school. Gus, the owner, is a widower with no children, who for some reason took a chance on a no-good kid like me with a chip on his shoulder. I was looking for a job to save money to get Saylor and me out of our crazy great-aunt Ruth’s house, and a bar may be an unlikely place for a thirteen-year-old to work, but it was the only place hiring. Gus took one look at me and offered the helping hand I needed. He’s been family ever since, one of only three people I allow myself to give a shit about and care for.
I’m taken out of my thoughts as I walk through the open door and spot the bright red hair of my sister manning the bar. Or “womanning” it as she so cleverly likes to call it. The place is packed, nothing new for a Saturday night.
Before I take three steps inside, a tall blonde sidles up to my side, the top of her head coming up to my nose. A bit too tall for my liking. Before I can walk around her, she starts sliding her hands down my chest and around my sides, then rests them right above my ass.
“Hey, sugar,” she husks out, tipping her head back slightly to meet my confused eyes. Her vodka-scented breath fans across my face.
“Hey,” I grunt in response, reaching around to unclasp her claws from my back.
“Thought maybe we could go to my place this time,” she says while holding on even tighter around my waist.
This time? There’s been a first time?
I look up when I hear a familiar, raspy roar of amusement and see Saylor outwardly laughing at me and this situation I’ve found myself in. I give her a pleading look, then glare when she makes no move to help at all.
Fuck, I may be six foot four and jacked as all hell, but when it comes to a stage-five clinger, a guy just needs some help from his littler sister. Apparently, that shit ain’t happening though as she just continues to laugh and serve the patrons around her.
“Well, what do you say?” the clinger urges, wrapping her arms even tighter around me if that’s at all possible.
“Look…” I trail off hoping she’ll offer her name. She doesn’t. Just keeps staring at me expectantly. “I just got here, so even if we hadn’t fucked before, I wouldn’t be leaving until I had a few drinks. But since you’ve implied that we’ve already gone a round in the past, there’s no way in hell I’ll be taking you anywhere. So retract the claws so I can grab those drinks I came in here for.”
Her face morphs from hopefulness to anger in the blink of an eye as she finally lets go of me. “You son of a bitch!” clinger screeches, drawing attention from almost everyone around us, my laughing sister included. “So you can fuck me once and then be done just like that?” she asks as she snaps her claw-like fingers.
“I don’t even remember your name. So it couldn’t have even been that great of a fuck,” I reply, speaking the truth. I have no fucking clue who this bitch is.
I see it coming before she makes contact and grasp her wrist as she tries to slap me. Now I’m fucking pissed. I lean into her face to make sure she understands what I’m saying. “Listen. You knew the score the first time I took you to bed, so don’t prance around here thinking you’d get another shot at me. One time. That’s it. Regardless of how good the pussy is, it’s only ever one night. Now, you’ve embarrassed yourself enough already. Step back and keep away from me. Or better yet, get the fuck out of here for the rest of the night.”
Stepping back away from this chick, I watch resignation mix with her anger. “Go to hell,” she fires off before stomping out the door behind me.
I’m sti
ll shaking my head at her making a scene as I walk up to the end of the bar at my usual stool. Saylor tosses a coaster down in front of me before placing a cold bottle of a local brew on top of it, sly smirk firmly in place. Her dark eyes, the same as mine, are dancing with humor.
“Seems like Barbie over there thought she’d slide in for another go.”
I grunt at her comment and take a swig of the longneck, downing half in one go. “Chick is delusional. I didn’t recognize her, so fucking what? I still have no clue who she was. No need to make a scene over it though.”
“Oh, I don’t know, a shot in the dark here, but it may have something to do with how you treated her like garbage and tossed her away that pissed her off.”
“Like I told her, she knew the score the first and only time I’d be fucking her. She obviously agreed. Thinking there would be a chance at another shot was her fucking mistake.”
Say just rolls her eyes because she knows nothing she says will have me changing my ways. I may be a dick, but I make sure any chicks I decide to fuck know the score before giving them the best lay of their life. One-night stands are just easier. No feelings get involved and that’s how I like it. One less person I ever have to worry about losing in my life.
Gus comes up to Saylor behind the bar, tossing a set of keys in his hand. He gives me a chin lift and a quick hello before addressing Saylor. “These are for Kennedy. I’ll probably have her open for a few days until she gets used to things around here and to see how she handles the regulars before moving her onto the night crowd. May be a good idea anyway considering,” he finishes while giving her a knowing look.
“Kennedy?” I ask out loud like a fucking idiot. Who the hell is Kennedy? And considering what?
“Yeah. The new waitress we definitely didn’t need, but our girl here decided to hire anyway.”
“Gus, does it really surprise you that this spitfire went ahead and made a decision without your knowledge? Come on. It’s Say. She makes her own set of rules.” And ain’t that the truth. For as long as I can remember, she’s been walking to the beat of her own drum. Even when we were kids she was a free spirit.
“She’s new in town and needed work. I couldn’t turn her away. She looked about ready to break. I couldn’t do that to her,” Saylor defends herself.
“Is that the reason you just so happened to all of a sudden be looking for a roommate, as well?” Gus asks while my eyes swing to my sister.
“Roommate? Since when are you looking for a roommate? What the fuck, Say? Do you need money or something?”
“No, you big ape. Calm down. Like I said, she mentioned she just arrived in town. She looked lost and lonely. And since you moved out over six months ago into that fancy new condo of yours, I have your old room just sitting empty.” She shrugs. “So since she’ll be working here, it only made sense that I offer her the spare room.”
“You don’t know anything about her. What if she’s unstable?” Worrying about Saylor is nothing new for me. She’s been all I’ve had for so long—besides Gus and Nash—that protecting her is all I know.
“She’s a vulnerable young woman, Rhett. Not a fucking ax murderer,” she sasses before being pulled away to help fill a drink order being shouted over the bar, and a handful of patrons, from some drunk frat boy.
I roll my eyes at her mouth as I take another pull from my beer and start scanning the small dance floor, looking for my next lay. Hoping that chick from earlier didn’t fuck up my chances. But as I move my eyes away from the dance floor, I spot a table full of ladies with one black-haired beauty looking right at me. I slide a smirk her way from behind my bottle and watch her eyes get heavy with lust, her half-lidded stare raking over the ink on my forearms up to the t-shirt pulled tight across my biceps and chest.
My smirk grows into a confident grin. I guess my night wasn’t ruined by that clinger after all.
As soon as that thought filters through my mind, I’m exchanging my now-empty bottle for a full one and making my way over to secure this chick for the night.
SAYLOR’S APARTMENT ENDED UP BEING right above the bar. To say yesterday was my lucky day would be an understatement, and I’m still shocked that it seemed so easy to get a job and a place to live all in the same day. At the same time, no less.
After Gus showed me around the layout of In Ruins while Saylor finished restocking the bar, he let her go for an early and extended lunch so she could show me to my new apartment. It can be accessed through a door in the back that opens to a flight of stairs that leads to a hallway with three doors: one at the end that exits at the front of the building, the one on the left is Gus’s apartment, and then the one on the right is my new home with Saylor.
She was right when she said it was clean. The place was practically spotless, and despite the almost rundown appearance of the hallway, the inside of the apartment was practically new. Neatly painted walls, dark hardwood floors throughout, and dark cabinets and granite countertops in the kitchen and bathroom.
We walked in to a small hallway with a closet that opened up to an open floor plan of a kitchen, dining room, and living room, the space roomy and inviting. Off the living room, furnished with black leather sofas and a matching recliner, were three doors. The middle was the shared bathroom that had a soaking tub and glass-encased shower. Then to the left of the bathroom door was Saylor’s room and to the right of it was…mine. My very own space painted in a muted sky blue with matching dark furniture.
I still want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. I know it must not seem like such a big deal, but nothing ever goes my way like this.
Nothing.
Not ever.
It’s how my entire life has been. Growing up in foster care never afforded me anything easily in life. Not possessions or affections.
I was told my mother was young, too young and addicted to drugs to keep a baby, so she left me in the hospital after giving birth. She didn’t even stick around long enough to fill out the birth certificate. My father was never known, so the Department of Health and Human Services was called, and I was immediately put into the system.
At first, they thought I’d have no problem being adopted being an infant, from what I was told. Usually it’s the older children who have trouble finding a family. But being the product of an addict for a mother and not knowing the father’s background wasn’t appealing to the young couples looking to start a family when the natural way wasn’t working for them.
So from my very first days on this earth, I was bounced around from place to place. Foster homes over-crowded and too full to keep me long term. Then families who really wanted to adopt me after having me in their care not being able to afford the fees and the care it would cost for another child.
And then I got older.
Once I was over the toddler age, families passed me over time and time again, not wanting to adopt a child they couldn’t raise from infancy.
I was part of a cycle all too familiar in this world and part of a system much too broken and underfunded to be fixed.
So I spent eighteen years of my life in the foster care system. Under appreciated. Practically ignored.
Never wanted.
Some were terrifying, especially as I got older and my body matured; my looks drawing the attentions of not only foster brothers, but of foster parents who were meant to care for me.
But besides those few foster homes, most weren’t terrible. They just didn’t care.
Which almost made it worse.
None of them were home.
None of them offered the stability and family and love that my fragile heart so desperately wanted.
“You okay, doll?” Saylor’s husky tone has me shaking my head to clear my mind from wandering in the past. I look up to see her behind the bar.
I really am so thankful for her taking me in yesterday—offering me a place to live and showing me around not only the apartment we’re now going to share, but a little bit of what the main street has to offer.
“Yeah…sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts. Thank you,” I reply as I take the drinks she filled for my order before bringing them over to the table.
I turn before I can see the worry etched across her face and the concern flash in her eyes.
After setting down their drinks and letting them know their food will be out soon, I turn away from the table I’m serving and stop dead in my tracks when my eyes land on the biggest and sexiest man I have ever seen standing over at the bar, his eyes right on me as Saylor chatters on next to him as she slings drinks behind the dark mahogany.
His eyes are scanning me, taking me all in, and holding me captive to this very spot.
I can’t move.
I can barely breathe.
Butterflies have taken flight low in my belly as heat spreads through me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Through every square inch of my body.
I can feel the flush of color rising from my chest up through my neck and onto my cheeks. Burning hot.
The attention of men has always caused a flurry of emotion to take over my body, from the slight fluttering of butterflies to the desperation of wanting to keep their attention. But I’ve never felt this instant need and want for a man so intensely before.
Not ever.
Not with any of the men I’ve caught looking my way and not with one of the too many men that have actually caught me.
But it must just be because he’s simply the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, with his massive, bulky frame, rumpled dark hair, deep brown eyes, and lush dark beard that looks to be perfectly trimmed.
It has to be why my heart and my body are reacting this way. Wreaking havoc and causing war. But I can’t act on these feelings swarming through me.
Sunvale is my fresh start, my new beginning where I no longer let men determine my self-worth. Where I no longer seek the love and want of a man to make me feel loved only to be cast away after I give them all of me. Tossed away like the trash they always believed me to be.
So as much as I want to follow through with my old ways and lay my heart and body on the line for this sinfully sexy man, I can’t.