“No regrets, Galahad?” she said, when she couldn’t take the cuteness anymore.
Scott turned and beamed at her. “None whatsoever. For the first time in my life, I look halfway hard.”
He did, his pale gold skin and hard-earned rowing muscles was the perfect backdrop to the scene of painful celestial victory. He’d taken the needle like a champ, lying utterly still, even when she’d inked over his collarbone. Noah had shaken his hand afterward and Sam had felt such affection for the two men, it had almost brought her to tears.
The bittersweet memory must have showed on her face because Scott picked up the puppy and came toward her. “How are you feeling, my love?”
“Good,” she said with a smile. “A little punch-drunk.”
“That makes sense.”
It did and it didn’t. Before Sam had begun tattooing, she’d known she was going to win. It sounded arrogant, but she hadn’t told anyone, she’d just known it was true. There was a golden energy running around through her. It guided her hands, making her angel feathers sleek and the steel of the helmet gleam. She poured herself, effortlessly into cultivating the tattoo and when the final buzzer sounded, she stepped back and saw she’d completed the best work of her life.
She hadn’t cried when the bearded MC announced she’d won. Nicole and Tabby had—they’d screamed and wrapped their arms around her and jumped up and down, but Sam had just smiled and looked at Scott. They smiled at each other and she knew he understood that it didn’t matter. They were in love and everything was how it was meant to be.
Of course, when she was on the stage getting jizzed with champagne, she did get pretty damn excited. She lifted her trophy in the air and the crowd cheered and she felt like the luckiest person in the world. The only thing that could have made it better would have been her dad being there to see her, but something about that small sully made everything else sweeter.
She’d spent the next three hours being photographed and interviewed for her solo scenes in the Netflix movie. Edith had honed in on an unexpected selling point—her and Scott’s romance. She was fascinated by the fact that they were childhood enemies made good and wanted to know all about their history. Before Edith started filming, Sam had pulled Scott aside and told him he didn’t need to participate. “You’ve done enough, and I don’t want you to get in trouble with your work or anything.”
“It’s fine,” Scott had told her. “I want to help Silver Daughters get good press and if that means I have to tell people you once put literal ants in my pants, so be it.”
“What if they want you to take your shirt off again?”
Scott flushed at that. He hadn’t realised that part of being a tattoo model meant standing on stage showing off the merchandise while the MC pointed at your body. Scott was a polite posh boy at heart and standing around showing off his six-pack had made him extremely uncomfortable. He’d rubbed his shoulders and looked so adorably bemused by the people wolf-whistling at him that the audience cheered louder for him than anyone else. By the end of the presentation, he’d been catcalled by so many horny women, he said he was pretty sure how it felt to be Magic Mike.
“I don’t mind taking off my shirt again,” he told Sam. “But please tell me I don’t look like a twat.”
“You don’t look like a twat,” Sam promised. “You have always and will always be gorgeous, Galahad.”
And he’d kissed her before they went in for the interview.
When she and Scott were finally released from the grip of media appearances, she emerged to find Nicole and Tabby planning a party. Instantly, Sam’s exhaustion turned to excitement and she helped to call their friends and make a list of what they needed. Noah, Toby and Scott all agreed to help out. They went to the shops together to collect booze and food for a barbecue and Scott swung her into the cleaning product aisle to steal a kiss.
“My tattoo is burning,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
“We’ll put some of dad’s oil blend on it when we get home.”
“Oh, it’s not because of the ink, I’m just so incredibly in love with you and your talent.”
Tabby had been walking nearby and dutifully pretended to puke into a box of Cheezels.
Back at the studio, the boys and girls separated to string up fairy lights, prep the ancient brick barbecue and make a punch that would delight and incapacitate their guests.
As Sam cut up strawberries and tossed them into the punch bucket, she couldn’t recall ever being so happy. The feeling was so pure and crystalline, it cut at her insides. In her dad’s favourite book, The Prophet by Khalil Gibran, there was a line about love and how experiencing it fully was to feel tenderness to the point of pain. She’d never understood how that could be a good thing until now.
“I wish dad was here,” Tabby said, as she squeezed a box of chardonnay into the bucket.
“Me too,” Nicole said. “The punch won’t be the same without him.”
“I wish he was here, as well,” Sam said, but she knew that if their dad was there—if he’d never left—then Scott’s father wouldn’t have doubled down on his attempt to buy the house, giving Scott no reason to come and see her. Nicole would never have come to Melbourne to help her with the business, meaning she never would have entered Ink the Night and been accepted into Fadeout. Tabby wouldn’t have met Toby and conspired to save the six puppies currently scampering around their heels.
None of it would have happened.
With a rush of that same golden energy that had pulsed inside her during Fadeout, Sam saw for the first time why her dad had left. His absence had created space for her and her sisters to comfort and challenge one another. His lack was like the blank places that made a tattoo more than just a mess of shape and color. It made it art.
Sam closed her eyes and listened to her sisters bicker over whether to add grapefruit juice or orange liquor to the punch. She wanted nothing and she thought of nothing, she just felt her painful, all-consuming love.
Thanks to Tabby’s social media presence, their victory party quickly swelled from a manageable fifty, to almost a hundred people within an hour of starting. Gangs of hipsters stood in packs drinking and patting the puppies and cheering whenever they saw her or Scott. Sam was pulled aside for intense conversations about Fadeout, almost all of them ending in tattoo requests. She told the partygoers to call or email the store in the morning, knowing if half of them booked an appointment, Silver Daughters would be at capacity for months. Gil showed up toward midnight, carrying a bouquet of roses and wearing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for bolting when that nutter showed up with the petrol bombs. I didn’t mean to, I just shit myself and ran. I’ve got kids, Sammy, you understand, don’t you?”
Sam couldn’t quite understand, but she couldn’t be mad at Gil, either. Not when everything was so good. She put the roses in a vase and steered him toward the punch. The party continued on, everyone cheering and drinking and dancing in her living room.
Everything was perfect, and yet now that she was alone in her bedroom with Scott, Sam felt her mood dip slightly.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Scott asked, putting down the puppy. “You look sad all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine, I’m just thinking about your dad and what happened yesterday.”
Scott took his face in her hands. “What are you thinking about?”
“That I can’t believe it was yesterday, for one thing. And that I hope your dad’s okay, as messed up as that sounds. I’m so happy it feels, I don’t know…cruel to wish bad things for him, especially since I know he’s probably sick and has been for a long time.”
Scott nodded. “I understand the sentiment, but you don’t need to think on it right now. He’ll be in the hospital for at least another fortnight and if and when he’s released, he’s going to live with my great aunt and uncle in Seymour—they’re both tough as nails. They’ll know how to handle him.”
Sensing the pain rising in him, Sam put her hands on his shoulders.
“It’s okay, you know that, right? It’s all going to work out. I’m not happy about what your dad did, but I know he’s not well and I know he’s not you.”
He smiled sadly at her. “You’re the most exceptional woman I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, well I always said you haven’t met enough women.”
Scott’s hands slid down to grip her waist. “Is that right, Samantha?”
“I think so.”
“That’s interesting.” His hands dipped even lower and he squeezed her ass. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up with you.”
“Oh?”
He leaned in closer, a malicious glitter in his eyes. “Yes. It occurs to me that I never punished you for attempting to auction off my virginity on eBay.”
“And Gumtree.”
“And Gumtree,” he agreed.
“Also, you could place bids on buyscottsandersonaroot.com,” Sam reminded him. “I made sure that was a thing.”
At this Scott picked her up and walked her back toward her bed. He tossed her down onto the mattress, his face set in a way that was both deeply attractive and worrying.
“Um, what are you doing, Galahad?”
Scott seized her, flipping her onto all fours. “I think some kind of formal punishment is in order, Ms DaSilva. Without it, you might be tempted to reoffend.”
“You mean a spanking punishment?” Sam tried not to sound too thrilled. Spanking was something she and Scott had yet to do—perhaps because they were aware of what it would mean to cross that line together.
“We’ll see,” Scott said in the cut glass voice she loved so much. “Pull down your underwear for me, Samantha. Nice and slow, like a good girl.”
Sam glanced around, taking in the tattoo on his chest. “I love you, Scott Sanderson.”
“I love you, too, now press your face into the mattress and pull your panties down.”
“Wait, what about the puppy? I don’t want to traumatize her.”
“Look at your wardrobe.”
Sam turned and saw the little pup had curled up on one of her jumpers and shut her eyes. “What if we wake her up?”
Scott clamped a hand to the base of her neck, bringing her cheek to the duvet. “Then you’ll just have to stay quiet, won’t you, little girl?”
“Yes.” Sam reached back and tugged her cotton briefs to her ankles.
“That’s nice,” Scott said approvingly. “You know, you made me feel pain today, Samantha. Would you like to feel some yourself?”
“No,” she lied, putting a little whimper into her voice.
Scott’s hand cracked down onto her ass. The strike was perfect, hitting her right where the flesh stung and tingled best. In spite of her desire to let the puppy sleep, Sam cried out in pleasure and pain.
“You want more?”
She gave him another false no, arching her back so that her ass was on display. Scott spanked her again and the sensation was like fire on her flesh. She called out his name, needing him to stop and to never, ever stop.
“I’m not going to fuck you, darling,” Scott warned. “This is payment. This is me getting what I’m owed from you. I’m going to spank you thirty times and then you’re going to get on your knees and suck my cock until I come in your mouth, is that understood?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “Yes, yes, infinity yes.”
“Good.” Scott slapped her ass, even harder than before. “Stop talking and bite your sheets. You’ve got twenty-seven more to come.”
I love you, Sam thought as his hand cracked across her ass. I love you, so much.
An hour later they stumbled back downstairs to the party, and both of them couldn’t stop smiling. Sam was pretty sure everyone knew what they’d been up to but she couldn’t care. She was too happy. Scott carried his puppy in his arms. She’d miraculously managed to stay asleep through their entire encounter. “Are you going to keep her?”
Scott grinned. “I think I have to. I’m nervous about taking her away from her brothers and sisters, though.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sam said. “I have a feeling they’re not going anywhere, at least not while Tabby’s around.”
“Have you got room to keep five Cocker Spaniel-Rottweilers?”
“No, but have you ever tried to talk Tabby out of something? It’s essentially impossible. Hey, speak of the devil…”
“Sam! Scottison!” Tabby barreled toward them, her color high and her hands outstretched. “You guys need to come with me right now!”
“What is it?” Sam asked, praying to God her sister hadn’t gotten her hands on fireworks.
“Nothing bad, I swear. You need to come outside and see, but!”
She and Scott looked at each other and shrugged. They had nothing better to do. Outside they found, Toby, several cans of paint and Noah and Nicole, both drinking white wine and eyeing each other warily. Sam wondered if either of them had acknowledged whatever lay between them yet, then she decided it was none of her business. Nicole was her twin, but she was also a grown woman. She would have to deal with her romantic complications as best she saw fit.
Sam threw an arm around Tabby. “Okay, what are we doing out here?”
Her little sister pointed up at the signage. “So the front of the place looks shit, yeah.”
“No, it looks fine,” she and Nicole said at the same time.
Everyone laughed and Scott nudged her side. “You can read each other’s minds, can’t you?”
“Shut up, Galahad. Anyway, the sign’s fine. It’s just a bit faded.”
“Sure,” Tabby said. “In a shit way.”
“Yes, okay. Faded in a shit way. What’s your point?”
“That we should repaint the letters.” Tabby strode over to the cans of paint and nudged one with her toe. “We’ve got everything we need here and it’ll only take a little while. Then, once we’re done, we’ll have truly started a new era of Silver Daughters Ink.
“But it’s night time,” Nicole pointed out.
“So what?”
“So we might fall and break our necks?”
“That’s why the guys are here, they can catch us and ring the ambulance or whatever.”
“I don’t like this,” Scott muttered, but Sam could feel that energy again, that golden rush that said this was what they needed.
“I think we should do it,” she said loudly. “For dad and for us.”
“Sam…” Scott warned. “It’s not safe.”
Sam grinned and when she looked at Nicole, she saw her twin was smiling, too. “Should you tell him or should I?”
“We can both do it.” Sam took Nicole’s hand. “A life lived in fear…”
“…isn’t a life well lived.”
Scott sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Edgar DaSilva has a lot to answer for. Go on then, get up there, just please be quick. And be careful.”
So, giggling madly, Sam and her sisters clambered onto the roof and repainted the sign. Nicole used a fat roller brush to re-do the red, while she and Tabby tackled the letters. Sam’s ass stung with every step—a reminder she was looking forward to feeling all weekend. In less than half an hour they were climbing back down the ladder, supported by Noah.
Once they were on the ground, they all stood back, taking in the glossy letters.
“It looks fucking sick,” Tabby said.
“Very nice,” Scott agreed.
Noah grunted his approval and Toby and Nicole clapped loudly.
Smiling again, Sam pulled out her keys and opened the letterbox, figuring she might as well empty it while she was here—make it a proper fresh start and all.
The tiny space was chock-full of catalogues and other paper bullshit. She sifted out a letter from the bank—thankfully without a final notice stamp—and then she froze. There beneath a Coles catalogue and an ad for Korean barbecue, there was a bumpy, yellowish envelope addressed in handwriting she knew by heart.
“Guys,” she said, tearing it ope
n. “Nix, Tabby, come and look at this.”
Everyone crowded around as she opened the envelope. She turned it upside down into her palm and out fell a piece of blue rubber, a shiny black feather and a tiny brooch, which, when Sam turned it around, had a kitten stamped on the front. There was also a small sheet of paper which she held up to the storefront light and read aloud.
For my girls,
A sign of good things to come.
Love, Dad
“Fucking classic dad,” Tabby said, picking up the feather. “Poetic and vague as fuck. He’s a master of the craft.”
She sounded bright but Sam knew she was trying not to cry. Toby went to her side and after some hesitation put an arm around her and held her as she sobbed. Trusting she was in good hands, Sam held the brooch to Nicole. “I think this is for you.”
Her twin examined the pin and with shaking fingers pinned it to the front of her dress. She cast a sidelong look at Noah and then slipped away, returning to the party, or most likely her bedroom. That was fine, Sam realised. She needed some space. She’d be back when she was ready.
“What’s the thing that’s left,” Scott said, his arm sliding around her waist.
Sam plucked up the piece of blue rubber and then laughed out loud.
“What? What is it?”
She looked at him, a painful tenderness scratching at her insides in the best possible way, like the kiss of a tattoo needle inside her soul. “It’s a water balloon.”
“Bloody hell,” Scott said, because he was the love of her life. “That is a sign of good things to come, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she said, kissing his cheek. “It is.”
The End
Acknowledgements
Fuck me, this was a hard one. Not the story, I came up with the idea for So Wild ages ago and I knew it was a book I had to write. It’s just that writing it was one of the hardest experiences of my authorial life (phrase I invented, roll with it.)
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