Bad Ink

by Megan Hetherington

  “Why?”

  “Just because. Then you come to this elevator.” I walk her over to the corner, away from the brightly lit, passenger cabin we’ve exited. “This is the service elevator and goes straight to the roof, where I have a deck.”

  Guiding her by the elbow, we step inside and I punch in the code. “It’s your birthday. Do you think you can remember?”

  “What the…? Isaac, I don’t like this. You’re scaring me.”

  The doors shut us in and the lift speeds to the top floor. My ears popping on the way. I open my jaw and click it from side to side to ease the pressure.

  Cate is stunned, trying to take it all in.

  At the top, we step into a glass-encased room with one steel door out onto the amenity side of the roof, where the janitor and window cleaners exit, and opposite an identical door with a code pad to the side of it.

  I slide up the panel cover, pausing and taking in her already frightened expression before saying, “And this one is Hope’s birthday.”

  It’s like the moment in a movie when the air sucks out of the atmosphere before a mushroom cloud explodes.

  Fortunately, I still have hold of her elbow. As her knees buckle, I tighten my grip and keep her upright.

  I punch the six-digit date in and the door swings open into my oasis.

  Cate continues to lean on me, so I scoop her into my arms, and carry her through like a wounded animal, rustling our way passed bamboo plants on to a decked area. Carefully, I lower her onto the soft padding of a recliner, positioned next to a sunken hot tub bubbling away with lights which color the water a soft shade of purple.

  She looks up at me, her eyes questioning.

  “You knew?”

  I nod.

  “How long have you known, Isaac?”

  “Too long.” I lower my head and pepper kisses along every inch of exposed skin. “I’m sorry, Kitty.“

  It’s all I can say, so I say it again and again, punctuating each apology with a kiss, a lick, a suck.

  She gently rubs her hands over the bumps on my shoulders and back, caressing away knots in my muscles.

  “What for?” she whispers against my lips.

  “Everything and nothing. What hasn’t happened yet and what surely will.”

  “But, Isaac… I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t. And I’m sorry but it wasn’t safe… still isn’t safe.”

  “Safe? What’s going on Isaac?” She pushes onto her elbows.

  “Not now Kitty. Later. I’ll tell you everything later, as long as you promise to tell me what went on with you while I was away.”

  I don’t allow her to question my statement, keeping her mouth occupied with mine. My tongue tangled with hers. Teeth biting her lips.

  God this feels good. Better than I remember and better than I ever imagined.

  She pushes against me and for a moment I stop, in case I’ve got this wrong and she’s about to reject me. “But I need to know?” she gasps, relaxing back onto the recliner.

  “I know you do. And I promise I’ll tell you everything. Let me show you first how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am for pushing you away.”

  “And then you’ll tell me what’s going on?”

  My eyes search hers. I could stop and we’d have a conversation, but that’s the thing about making love. There’s no room for sarcasm or misinterpretation. And it never lies. I need to soften the way for the conversation. Make her trust me. Yearn for me.

  “Uhuh,” I murmur onto her lips.

  When she’s sufficiently entranced, I drag my lips across the line of her jaw and up to her ear. Breathing heavily into it and sucking eagerly on her fleshy lobe, my tongue tangling with the silver of her earring.

  She gasps, her fingernails digging into my back.

  “Do you like that, Kitty?” I breathe into her ear.

  “Uhuh,” she purrs. “But I…”

  Her protestations fizzle out when I force my wet tongue into the center of her ear, making her feel how strong and supple it is. “I have a very skilled tongue.”

  “Mmm.” Her knees draw up with the anticipation of where my tongue should be. “But you need to tell me…”

  I trail my fingers down her abdomen and onto her mound, rubbing the heel of my palm onto the denim enclosed center.

  “Oh god, Isaac…” She squirms under my touch. “You’ll tell me everything?” Her question laced with need.

  “Kitty, we can’t talk right now. Later. I Promise. I’ll tell you everything I can.” Thrusting my hot tongue back into her ear.

  Traitorously, her hips push against my hand.

  “Promise?” her sweet breath feathers across my neck.

  My head lifts so my eyes can meet hers. I know they are true, because that’s all I can be now with Cate.

  “This is happening. Now or later. It’s up to you.” I pause, long enough for the lust oozing out of her eyes to give me her answer. “And if it’s now, we can talk afterwards. All night long even. But if it’s later, then it’s gonna be a very short discussion.”

  Her bottom lip sucks in between her teeth. Fuck, does she want this.

  “Now, do you want me to show you how skilled my tongue is?”

  “Yes.” Her voice urgent, as her hands go to unbutton her jeans.

  “What was that? I didn’t quite catch your answer?”

  She stiffens beneath me. “Don’t you make me beg for it,” she snaps.

  I laugh at her gritty reply. “We’ll see about that,” I taunt.

  Rising on to my knees, I curl both hands around the open fly to her jeans and rip them apart. The triple stitched Levi’s burst at the seam, opening her to me.

  “Shit. Isaac.”

  “Sorry Kitty. Raul’s coming out to play.” I wrench at the lace triangle of her panties and pull the torn garments down the creamy, soft skin of her thighs.

  Her cheeks flush and she gasps as I drag my hooded eyes from hers and dive my head between her legs, licking my tongue flat over her pussy.

  I gorge on her, sucking her labia and rubbing the stubble on my chin up and down her opening. Humming on to her skin, my appreciation at how sweet she tastes.

  Her hips jerk when I suckle on her clit and her hands wrap around my head, where she tries to keep me in place. But there’s no need. I’m where I’m meant to be.

  When she’s seconds away from the best orgasm of her life, I pull away, to see her beautiful face before it explodes into a million tiny pieces of sheer ecstasy.

  Then I sink back for one last lingering lick.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve given a woman pleasure like this. I didn’t purposely save doing this to any other woman, waiting on her. But it’s how it seems now. And it’s perfect; a pleasure I want to indulge in every single fucking day.

  Lost in her orgasm, she doesn’t see me climbing out of my jeans. Nor does she move when I gently push into her. Only awakening when I audibly sigh my relief. Choosing a steady pace so we both can enjoy every single second. There’s no need to rush—we’ve seven years to make up for.

  I resist the urge to increase my pace, locking onto her eyes and sucking her into mine. Then she moves beneath me and, in unison, we rock steadily, over and over again, into our first shared orgasm. And shed our first shared tear.

  After several minutes of coming back down to reality with her protected under the crook of my arm, I wrap her in a blanket from the back of the recliner, and stand. Pulling my jeans up, in case I need to deal with any unwanted visitors inside.

  “I’ll grab some drinks and then tell you what’s going on.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” She grips the blanket and shuffles to a seated position.

  I indulge another look at her before I step into the apartment. She’s rested her head back onto the cushions and is looking at the stars. Content? I hope not.

  With a deep breath I clear my mind, making sure I have straight what I can and can’t tell her. I won’t lie to her. I can’t
now. But there will be details I’m unable to reveal.

  Carrying a bottle of water and a glass of white wine I go back to her and face what will be the million and one questions flying through her mind.

  “So, what do you want to know first?” I offer out the stemmed glass to her.

  She takes the wine from me and downs a healthy gulp before asking, “How long have you know about Hope?”

  “Before I came back to San Diego.” I rub the back of my neck.

  “So the tattoo is for her?”

  “Uhuh,” I admit.

  “So, I don’t get it. Why did you come back without getting in contact, and then when we met, not mention it?”

  I slant forward, resting my elbows onto my knees and looking sideways into her eyes. “It’s complicated.”

  She plonks her drink onto the glass-covered table, wine sloshing over the rim. “So you keep telling me. But you have a daughter and you’ve not once asked about her?” Her voice shrilling at the end.

  With a need to calm her and make her understand, I put my bottle down too and take both her hands into mine. Rubbing my thumb over the tender skin in between her thumb and forefinger, I tell her, “I’ve seen her. I’ve watched you both. I know more than you can imagine and it’s killed me not being able to meet with her. And I want you to tell me everything about her. All the parts I don’t know.” I squeeze her hand. “But I couldn’t go waltzing in without talking to you first.”

  “But I don’t get it—it’s exactly what I’ve been trying to get you to do. Talk.”

  “I know. It’s only I have a… situation… to deal with and it wouldn’t be safe to involve you until it’s fixed.”

  “What situation?”

  “It’s best you know as little as possible about it.”

  “You need to give me details, Isaac. If our daughter is in danger, I swear, I’ll… I’ll…” She bites her bottom lip and looks up to stop tears from spilling from her eyes.

  After a deep breath, I tell her calmly. “Hope is not in any danger, as long I keep my distance and you do as I tell you. We will be fine.”

  She shakes her head and tries to pull her hands away. I fight against her desire and draw her closer to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “In under two weeks, it will be over. Until then… I have to keep you both out of the picture.”

  The concern pours through her eyes as she searches my face. “And what happens in two weeks?”

  For a few seconds I gather my resolve. “Then I need to leave here.”

  “Here?”

  “San Diego. California. Get as far away from this as possible.”

  This time she pulls away from me. “So, you’re going. Leaving us before you’ve even had a chance to get to know Hope. For us to determine what the hell is going on here?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t have a choice, Cate.” I stroke my knuckles across her quivering lips. “But you do. Come with me.”

  She laughs harshly. “You’re a serious piece of shit, Isaac Winters.”

  “I know,” I say calmly.

  She weighs me up for a while. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No. I’m sorry. This is deadly serious. I have a fight and after… I need to leave.”

  Her body flops back on the recliner. “Isaac, I’ve been mother and father to our daughter for seven years now. Created a life for the both of us here and you’re asking me to give it up. For what?”

  “Us,” I breathe.

  Her eyes flick over mine. “You don’t get it do you.”

  “I do. Believe me. It’s only there’s serious shit going down here, and it’s the only option.”

  “So you keep saying, but until you tell me more. Fill in the gaps. I don’t understand.”

  I rub my palms across my head. “I get that. Really, I do.”

  She grabs her drink off the table and pulls her feet onto the recliner.

  “Go on. Tell me, Isaac Winters. Because it’s the only way you’re gonna persuade me. And even then, I’m not promising anything.”

  “Okay. Let’s go inside.”

  I scoop up our clothes from the floor and take our drinks into the living area. She follows, still wrapped in the blanket.

  19

  Isaac

  Cate relaxes onto the sofa where, only last week, I’d taken her like the cold-hearted motherfucker I am.

  Pushing that to the back of my mind, I top up her wineglass and settle next to her.

  “So where should I begin?”

  She takes a sip of wine. “At the beginning. From the day you stopped writing.” It sounds like a knife rusting inside her.

  I gulp. “I had to stop writing, Cate. I’m sorry.”

  “Why? I could have helped you through it.”

  I shake my head, a sick smile on my face. The last letter was hard to write, but it had to be done. The sentence given, I was waiting to be transferred to jail. Everyone took the opportunity to scare me on how lawless prison would be. How I’d have no privileges and be lucky to survive. So, I wrote to her; I told her to forget me, jail was not a place she needed to know about.

  “No, Cate. It would have been torture. I had to protect you from knowing what went on in there. It was a sick, fucked-up place.”

  I put my hand onto the inner skin of my forearm and squeeze at it until it puckers and disfigures the tattoo there—a sunken face, a noose around its neck, a mouth open with a silent scream.

  “Henry?” she rises and kneels next to me.

  I nod. “He was convinced, and rightly so, the holding cells were mild compared to the despair of prison. He couldn’t face it.”

  Lovingly, she takes hold of my hand and caresses it until I release the pressure, leaving a mark on my skin which ignites the colors on the tattoo.

  “I went to his funeral,” she whispers.

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, it was awful. Most of our high school were there. I half hoped you would be—that they’d let you travel home to see him buried. Maybe even release you out of sympathy.”

  A sarcastic snort huffs from my nostrils before they flare with anger.

  “Never. That would require a level of compassion which wasn’t remotely present. The authorities didn’t give a fuck about me or Henry. And I’m surprised they even let his body be taken back to the US.” I rub the back of my hand from the irritation brimming in my nose. “I suppose it was less hassle to let someone else deal with it.”

  “Your parents weren’t there?”

  “Parents?” I snap out.

  “Your foster parents. I tried to contact them many times when you stopped writing.” She pauses and looks at her hands. “They ignored me.”

  I sink back on the sofa. “Yeah, they gave up as soon as I was sentenced. Didn’t have a need for me anymore. I…” I pause for a moment, not able to give her the full story revealed to me of how I came into foster care. One reason I changed inside prison. “I didn’t hear from them either.”

  “So, what happened? Tell me, Isaac. Tell me what it was like.”

  I look at her, my mouth languishing open for a second. “You sure about this?”

  “I’m a big girl now. And I need to know what you know. Otherwise there’ll always be a gulf between us.”

  After a deep breath, I begin what I know will be a cathartic journey. Choosing the words carefully to ensure no slip of meaning.

  “It was the noise which hit me first. I thought it would be the smell, but that wasn’t too bad. The riotous, out-of-control sounds coming from everywhere at once. From places I couldn’t see and people I didn’t want to. Jeering. Taunting. Shouting. Screaming. I didn’t understand any of the words, but the sounds. The sounds were unmistakable. All noises of insanity.”

  She visibly shivers, and I feel it too. Creeping across my skin with its bony fingers.

  Tucking the blanket under her chin, she nods, so I continue, “In the early days, I was like a cornered animal, skulking in the shadows, desperate not to be noticed. But
the shadows are where the most twisted of men hide.”

  She gulps. “Did anything happen to you?”

  I snicker. “Oh yeah. Plenty happened to me.”

  “Like what?”

  I brush her hair back from her face, a face which is showing the innocence she believes she has lost. “No, Cate. You don’t want to be part of the nightmares.”

  A tear trickles from her eye, weaving its way down her cheek until I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you,” she says.

  “But they’re only nightmares. I survived.” Barely.

  “How?”

  “I moved into the light. That required me to become a different person.”

  I open my palm and look at the first tattoo I was inked with in jail. On the hand which took its first life. Perversely, it’s what gave me the initial flutter of hope I would survive that cesspool.

  “What does it mean?”

  I clench my fist tight shut; my knuckles popping with the pressure. “It signifies the day I came out of the shadows.”

  She uncurls my fingers, revealing the image of a knife on the heel of my palm, claret-colored blood dripping into a black heart tattooed on my inner wrist.

  “You killed someone?” she gasps.

  “Don’t judge me. It’s not who I am.” I look up to her, seeking understanding. “And, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Oh.” Her face grimaces with a tinge of understanding and a lot of disgust. “Do you have to kill again?” Breathing her words with an underlying tremor. “Is it what this about? Is it Carlos—do you have to kill him?”

  “No. Carlos’s ultimate fate is not my doing.”

  “I don’t understand, Isaac?”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone. I have to come through on a pact I made with a guy in prison. That’s all.”

  “So why is it dangerous?”

  “Because the pact means I’m in amongst dangerous men. Men who don’t stop at anything to get what they want. Men who don’t value life, only power, money, control.”