by Rhys Ford
Bear had a way of peeling back a man’s skin with a steady gaze and inscrutable expression. He could wait anyone out, a rock in the chaotic stream around him, and Rey was torn between heading back into the kitchen to check on the chili or confessing to everything he’d done since he was old enough to know when he was in trouble.
“I don’t know what to do with all of it,” he admitted, lowering his voice. The guilt Gus carried around staggered Rey, and sitting in the brothers’ family room, surrounded by the bits of their accomplishments, he realized how far Gus had come from that day on the bridge. “She stole his innocence, you know? I mean, yeah you do because you were there for it, but—”
“I wasn’t there for it. Social Services kept us apart. I wasn’t allowed to see either one of them for a long while, and by the time someone finally let me see him, he was… it wasn’t good, Rey. They didn’t take care of him. Just tossed him into a couple of shitty homes and walked off.” Bear looked away, his mouth pulled in. Sitting up, he set his beer on the table behind the couch. “Those people didn’t do right by him. Or Ivo. They were little boys who’d lost their mother, and Gus, he lost a hell of a lot more. I just don’t want him to lose anything—anyone—else. Not when he’s finally trying to get his feet under him.”
“I’m not….” Rey took a breath, then a sip of beer. Wiping his mouth on his hand, he picked carefully through the words flaring up in his mind. “I could say what Gus and I get up to isn’t any of your business.”
“You could,” Bear agreed slowly, nodding. “But you know I picked up the pieces the last time, and it wasn’t pretty. It’s different now. He’s got Chris and you’re… steadier. Maybe living with Mace is good for you because you’ve had to compromise, learn how to adjust, being around someone a little wild.”
“Mace would argue about that.” Rey snorted. “He thinks he’s the stable one out of all of you.”
“That’s probably Luke. Mace is more… driven,” he conceded. “Mace’s climbed the farthest. He doesn’t want to go back. Gus… he doesn’t want to go forward.”
“We’re going to go forward. I don’t want to lose him again.” Shifting on the couch, Rey glanced up as the house creaked above them. “I love him, Bear. I do.”
“Sometimes that’s not enough.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “He doesn’t trust me. Hell, he doesn’t trust anyone. I understand that now. I thought I did before but… after today, I understand why he’s scared inside, and I’m kind of pissed off at… a dead woman. I know she was your aunt—”
“She was a parasite,” Bear broke in. “The only reason she wanted me with her was because she got money from the trust to take care of me, and she lost that once they found out she was using the payments to fuel her growing drug habit. They were working to remove me from the moment CPS notified them they’d been to the apartment.”
“You didn’t want to go, did you? Because that meant leaving Gus and the others behind,” Rey speculated, nodding when Bear shrugged. “You were a kid too back then. And from what Gus says, you tried like hell.”
“Still couldn’t keep us together.” The older man leaned over, scratching Earl’s side. The dog’s tail beat a rapid tattoo on the floor. “I worry. Mostly about Gus. So you coming back in, I’m going to worry. And it’s not that I don’t like you—”
“But you’re tempted to grab me by the head and smash it like a grape?” He cocked his head, grinning when Bear chuckled. “If you want reassurance I’m not going to screw this up, I can’t give that to you. Wish I could, but I can only promise I’ll try, and that promise is Gus’s, not yours.”
Bear stretched his hands out, studying his fingernails or maybe a dot of ink only he could see. Rey’d been mostly joking about the head-squishing, but the idea didn’t seem very far from Bear’s thoughts. Or for all he knew, the other man was contemplating how the price of tea in China was affected by a butterfly flapping its wings. The silence grew between them, an uncomfortable glacial drift icing over their words and the camaraderie they’d built up over the years.
“Gus is stronger than a lot of people give him credit for, you included,” Bear finally murmured, looking up to meet Rey’s gaze. “He’d be the first one to tell me to fuck off for getting in between the two of you and that’s a good thing, that confidence, even if we both know a lot of that is him barking to warn us off. I know you care for him. Even Mace can see that. I’m not asking for a promise. I’m asking for your patience. The last time you guys were together, it was pretty much a bit of food and fucking. Both of you are going to need more than that.
“Spend some time with him. Do things together. Sex is great but… if you’re going to go for the long haul, build a foundation under you.” He chuckled again, a throaty roll of amused thunder. “Hell, date. And when the system comes after him and wants him to toe the line so he can see Chris, remind him why it’s worth it. You’ve got a good family. I’ve heard you talk about your stepdad. I’d love to see Gus have that kind of relationship with his son. I’m depending on you for that. Just love him, Rey. Teach him caring about someone and trusting them doesn’t make him weak. It’s what I’ve been telling him all along, but it hasn’t quite sunk in yet. Maybe with you, he’ll finally see it.”
“That I can promise you, man.” Rey saw a gauntlet of interrogations stretching out before him. “Am I going to have to go through this with all of you? Because if I am, I’d like to spread it out over a couple of weeks. Maybe Mace next because I can take him, and he’s the scariest one after you.”
“No, just me. I drew the short straw,” Bear said, reaching for his beer again. “And Mace isn’t the one you should worry about, because if Luke’d lost the draw, he’d planned to shoot you in the back of the head and bury you in a deep hole. It’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to worry about, Rey. Always the quiet ones.”
Fifteen
“OKAY, DUDE, the color’s not even down and it looks cool.” Ivo’s breath tickled Gus’s ear. “Did you do a comp?”
“It’s over there on my table. And stop breathing on me, asshole.” An elbow moved his younger brother back an inch, but Ivo wasn’t going to be deterred. He dodged the next jab, grinning like a fool. Gus shook his head at his client’s smirk. “Let me guess, you’ve got brothers.”
“I’ve got younger brothers,” Alex replied. “Pains in the ass.”
“I’d love to be your pain in the ass,” Ivo murmured, only loud enough for Gus to hear. “Jesus, he’s hot.”
“Go sit down, little brother. You’re drooling on my shoulder.” Gus dabbed his needles into his pot of black ink, rubbing at a line with a dollop of clear ointment, then turned back toward the tattoo. “Brandt, don’t encourage him. He’s like a stray cat. Once you give Ivo a little bit of attention, he’ll be screaming at your door first thing in the morning to be let in.”
“Usually telling someone I’m DEA takes care of that.” The man’s deep brown eyes sparkled at Ivo’s retorting scoff. He shifted his broad shoulders to the right at Gus’s gentle push. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to move.”
“No, it’s okay. Let me know if you need to stretch or something.” He was half into the black outline, and with an eye on the clock, he’d be able to get the massive piece’s structure done before his next appointment. The phoenix’s color would wait until the outline healed, but he could potentially get some of the black shaded in if there was enough time. “I want to get the lines down today and maybe some of the shading, but if you need to tap out after the outline’s done, I can pick it up the next time.”
“I’ll sit through it,” he replied firmly. “I’ve been through worse. It’s why I’m getting this done. Almost died a little bit ago, so I wanted a phoenix. To show I’m still alive.”
“Rising from the ashes?” Ivo commented. Picking up the color comp from Gus’s station, he studied the paper carefully. “Never seen one like this. Russian with reds, blacks, and oranges? Lot of detail work. This thing’s going to be a monster.”
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“Yeah, going to put some heavy golds in some of the outer feathers,” Gus replied. “Maybe some green-grays at the edges of the black to punch up the contrast. I want a lot of textures on the outer wings and tail feathers, but I don’t want to lose the flow of the head and beak. They’ve got to stand out.”
“I like the almost Japanese koi feel of the body’s feathers.” His brother turned the paper around, tapping at the outer curve of the bird’s shoulders where the wings connected. “How do you like it, Alex?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted. I got the shit kicked out of me on assignment. Touch and go for a bit, but while I was in the hospital, my friend Kane told me I should get a tattoo of a phoenix done when I finally crawled out. Kind of a fuck you to the universe for trying to kill me.” Alex held still when Gus began another stretch of lines, only wincing slightly when the needles drifted to the tender skin under his arm. “I was good until right there….”
“That’s usually the spot for most people. Goes from that low, steady burn to nuclear pinch,” Gus agreed. “Not much is over here and I don’t stay there for long, but I’ll be coming back once in a while. Unless you want me to power through the area. And if Ivo’s bugging you, we can have him go sit in the corner.”
“He’s all right. Baby brothers are a pain in the ass. It’s their job.” Alex chuckled. “One of mine married one of my former partners, and so now he thinks he’s got some sort of pass to be more of a brat.”
“Fixed that real quick, huh? You’ve got to slap them down sometimes or they get cocky,” Gus said, then laughed when Ivo flipped him off. “Keeps them humble.”
“Definitely,” he agreed, hissing when the machine’s needles passed over a sensitive spot. “And I wanted it Russian because I’d seen some art at Dimah’s house and really liked it. It felt right. You caught the feel perfectly. Can’t wait to see the finished piece. Drawing nailed what I had in mind. Better even.”
“Gus’s one of the best artists I know,” Ivo murmured, getting into Gus’s light. He was about to yank at Ivo’s hair when the bell over the door clanged and a pair of slender young women walked in. “Ah, I’m the Gatekeeper today. Let’s see what the sidewalk has brought us.”
“Don’t take this wrong,” Alex murmured, eyeing Ivo’s stilettos. “But I keep waiting for him to break his neck in those things.”
“Yeah, it’s easier to just not watch. Less strain on the heart.”
“Nice legs, though.” Alex studied his arm, hissing when Gus drifted back over to a delicate stretch of skin. “How long do you think this will take? Total, I mean. Not just today.”
“Probably a couple more sessions. Maybe four-hour stretches if you can hold to them,” Gus warned. “Lots of details in it, but I think it’ll be nice. It’ll have that cloisonné feel to it. The reds and oranges will pop on your skin. I just need to make sure I pack in the black well so there’s a good contrast. Need another break?”
“No, I’m good. Besides, your brother’s watching. If I took a breather now, he’d think the underarm bit broke me.” He sucked air in through his clenched teeth, and Gus looked up, meeting Alex’s narrowed eyes. “Oh no, keep going. Remember, powering through this.”
It was easy enough to fall into the ink. Tattooing was different than drawing, a storm of needles, gritty ink, and blood. There were brief moments when he forgot the canvas he was working on was someone’s skin, especially when doing detail work. Then the skin would shift under him, pulling Gus back to the now. The buzz and hit of vibrating needles lulled him, rocking away a bit of the noise in his brain, and the lines unspooled under the machine’s path, thick black curls and angles mimicking the purple transfer he’d done of his final outline.
Two and a half hours in, Gus felt the roll of Alex’s skin shrink in, and he pulled the machine head away. A shiver worked through Alex’s shoulder, and Gus reached for the rinse he kept on his cabriolet. Cleaning off the man’s upper arm, he studied the piece, looking for any gaps or saturation points he needed to work on.
“You done?” Alex frowned. “I’m good.”
“Actually, I don’t want to overwork your skin. Just checking to make sure I’ve got everything I want down for this session and we can wrap you up.” He studied a point on the phoenix’s beak, having a quick debate on if he wanted to pack more ink into feathers around its curve. “Lines are solid, but this piece is pretty big. Shoulder to elbow’s going to need balance. You go dark to light with ink, and I want to play it safe since we’re going with some strong colors. I don’t want to muddy the brights we’re going to be putting in, so let’s see how this heals up, and then I’ll have a better idea on how much more shading you’ll need.”
“Okay, now it hurts, but the adrenaline’s kicking in.” He exhaled hard, then leaned his head back when Gus cooled off the spot with cleanser. “Wow, I’m both amped up and sick to my stomach, but it wasn’t bad. More like a… burn. Except for under my arm. That was like salted razors cutting into me.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a good spot for your first. I’m going to clean you up and then use this derm-film on you. It’s clear, like medical adhesive, but you’re going to leave it on for a few days. There’s going to be some buildup of inks and fluids underneath, but don’t worry about that.” He wiped away the excess ink, then measured out a large strip, judging how much he’d need to get the tattoo covered. “This stuff’s awesome. I can’t tell you how much ink bleeds out in the first couple of days. Stains your sheets and clothes. This’ll stop that, and it’s waterproof so you can shower and do everything else. Just let me get this on and I can give you some stuff on aftercare.”
“And make an appointment for the next session,” Alex said, looking up when the door’s bell went off. “And Dimah’s here to grab me. Perfect timing. He’s been giving me a hard time about chickening out.”
IT’D BEEN a good day. He’d had breakfast with Chris through a video call, way too early for his liking, but he’d crashed for a few hours after his son said goodbye, then kissed the screen before Jules came on to sign off, laughing when she wiped Pop-Tart crumbs off of her laptop. The phoenix turned out even better than he’d hoped, and Alex sat firm for a long stretch, a good promise he’d be able to absorb the next few sessions it would take to finish the piece. A couple of walk-ins turned into a pair of Japanese-style shoulder pieces he and Ivo designed out for a pair of sisters while the shop’s apprentice, Noob, worked reception, scheduling in a few clients for later that week. Without Bear pulling the same hours, the place seemed a bit empty at first, missing his strong presence, but overall, it was good to work a long shift. Heading into eight o’clock, there were a couple of hours left before they closed up the shop, and without anything on the books, he could spend the time sketching out the flight of faerie dragons one of the Chinatown cops wanted wrapped around his right arm.
Armed with a fresh cup of coffee and hoping he could talk the guy into vivid, sharp colors, Gus returned to the front of the shop, only to find a piece of his own personal nightmares waiting for him by the front counter, the shop’s door left wide open behind him, letting the pier’s noise and brine-tainted scents flow in.
As nightmares went, the man was unimpressive. Older, balding, and skinny, he stood a few feet from the shop’s entrance with his shoulders rolled down and his chin jutting forward. His hair was thinner, scraggly, with bits of silver scraped over his mottled forehead, and his pale eyes were nearly hidden behind a pair of thick black glasses. He looked like an accountant, some stereotypical throwback from the ’50s who wore a short-sleeved button-up shirt, black tassel loafers, and a pair of dark brown pants hitched high up above his waistline. He looked innocuous, a bit sour but the kind of man someone’s attention wouldn’t grab a hold of.
But Gus knew his true form, a hateful cog in the system’s machine, an obstructive, sadistic, manipulating piece of shit masquerading as a human being.
“August Scott?” The man sniffed, and Gus’s guts clenched, memories
of a spittle-laden, derogatory rant raining down on him as he sat in a small room waiting for a judge to decide if she would let him live with Bear. “Well, you certainly didn’t go far, did you? You probably don’t remember me. I’m—”
“An asshole,” Gus finished for him. Keeping the reception counter between him and the social worker who’d pleaded long and hard to send him to juvie, Gus braced himself for whatever the man intended to bring with him through the shop’s door. “I know you. Don’t remember your name but I know you. If you’ve come looking for a tattoo, you might as well turn around and go back out. No one’s going to ink you here.”
He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know it was Ivo coming up behind him. His brother’s heels beat an angry, determined report on the shop’s floor, and they came to a stop a few feet to Gus’s left. Leaning his hands on the counter, Ivo studied the man, his eyes hard and challenging. It was enough for Gus to feel his brother’s heat near him, a soothing balm of crazy and familiar.
“Why would I mutilate my body that way?” The man’s name coyly danced through Gus’s mind, a feathery skim of a sound he couldn’t quite grab. Glancing at Ivo, the social worker stiffened, and his mouth pressed into a tight line. “You’re… the cousin?”
“I’m the brother.” Ivo nodded at the door. “Gus told you to get out. Why am I still looking at you?”
“I’m here about Lynn Wagner’s grandson, and if you don’t recall my name, it’s Frank Bulcher.” One of his shoes squeaked when he stepped closer to the reception counter, his long nose casting a shadow over Bear’s portfolio. “I work with her, and when she told me your name, I recognized it immediately—”