Notch: The Lost Boys MC #4

by Rylan, Savannah

  “Like what you see?” I asked.

  “Hip bone tattoos. Those aren’t easy to sit through,” she said.

  “Do you have them?”

  “If I did, I’d never tell you about them.”

  “Are you always this warm and cozy with your customers?”

  “Only those that think they can trade sexual favors for tattoos,” she said.

  I paused. “Wait, men try to do that?”

  “And women. Apparently, prostitution for tattoos doesn’t discriminate.”

  She looked up at me and smiled the most delicate smile I’d ever seen. It ticked her cheeks and wrinkled her nose. It illuminated her dark brown eyes and made her shiny, pin-straight black hair glisten. I had no idea how a small grin could possibly light up someone so brightly. But her shimmer glistened for the entire world to see out front.

  It was blindingly beautiful, and I struggled to catch my breath.

  “Ready to sit?” she asked.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  She paused. “Maya.”

  A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

  I sat down on the chair and rested my arm against the leather. I watched her as she peeled back the outline paper, then pressed it tightly down onto my shoulder. She took great care and time getting it right. Making sure it wasn’t crooked and readjusting as necessary. Her fingers ran around the outline of the picture. They were soft. Delicate. Like the rest of her. Her dark brown eyes focused and her long, straight black hair fell down past her shoulders. It fluttered in the wind as the air conditioning kicked on, sending a soft chill through my bones.

  At least, I blamed it on the air.

  “I’ve got blankets if you need one,” Maya said mindlessly.

  “I’m good, but thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell any of your biker buddies if you prefer the fluffy pink one.”

  She looked up at me with a grin on her face and I chuckled.

  “How did you pin me for a biker?” I asked.

  “You mean, other than the leather jacket, the black boots, and the tattoos everywhere?”

  “Yes, other than those things.”

  “I heard your motorcycle coming from two miles away,” she said.

  I laughed as I leaned back, my eyes cast toward the ceiling.

  “So, are we doing this in black, or a different color?” Maya asked.

  I paused. “What do you think navy blue might look like?”

  “On your tan skin? It would look nice. It’s what I outline my tattoos with, anyway.”

  “And how many of those do you have?”

  “Seven,” she said plainly.

  “Where are they located?”

  “Black or navy?”

  I peeked over at her. “Navy. Let’s do it.”

  As Maya turned on the machine and sank the needles into me, I distracted myself with studying her. She was obviously of Asian descent, with her crescent eyes and her thick, straight hair. She was tiny in stature. Barely came up to my chest and had the body of a woman others would yell at to eat a cheeseburger. She was slim. Petite. A compact woman that packed a walloping punch.

  She was exactly the kind of woman that ground my gears together.

  But Maya hit a nerve in my shoulder and I hissed.

  “Hold still,” she murmured.

  “I’m good, that was just a rough patch,” I said, sighing.

  “Well, you jumped. Try not to jump on me. I know it’s rough, but you have to sit as still as possible.”

  “Only time I’ve ever been told that when a woman has her hands on me.”

  Her eyes darted to me as I lobbed my head over, taking her in.

  “Are you always this flirtatious with women who have control over whether or not you experience pain?” Maya asked.

  “Well, usually pain isn’t what I’m inducing in women,” I said, grinning.

  “Uh huh. And what is it you induce?”

  “Maybe it’s better if I show you rather than tell you.”

  She ran over that nerve again and I gritted my teeth.

  “Thank you for that,” I grunted.

  She grinned. “Figured that would be foreplay for you.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes as I laid my head back into the leather chair.

  “What are your other tattoos for?” she asked.

  My eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “Your other tattoos. What are they for? Why did you get them?”

  My mind rushed back to the sound of sirens and people crying. Boots hitting the floor as flames emerged from the building. I let them wash me away. I let my mind take me back. The smell of smoke was heavy underneath my nose as the pain from the tattoo ebbed and flowed.

  Faded away only to come back and strike with full force again.

  “Well, when I’m not biking around, I’m an EMT,” I said.

  “Mhm,” Maya hummed.

  “And every time I help someone or save their life in some way, I get a little tattoo commemorating that moment.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  I could have sworn I heard actual respect in her voice.

  “How long have you been working as an EMT?”

  “Just shy of five years. I took the certification classes right out of high school and dove straight into it.”

  “Never had a passion for college?” Maya asked.

  “I hated school,” I said, chuckling.

  I groaned as she ran over the top of my shoulder.

  “Keep talking to me. Focus on something else. What’s this latest tattoo for? Who did you save?” she asked.

  I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to focus my efforts.

  “There was a shootout,” I said.

  “How long ago?” Maya asked.

  “Only a few days ago. On Highway One. There was a gunfight. A man was shot through the arm. I was able to get him stitched up enough to stop the bleeding before I could get him into the ambulance.”

  “You talking about the shootout that happened across town?”

  My eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “The shootout near the ocean. I think it was Highway One. The one by that building that practically hangs off the cliff?”

  My attention was fully elsewhere now.

  “You heard about that?” I asked.

  She snickered. “Yeah. Everyone has. Rumor on the street is a couple local gangs got into it. Is that what happened?”

  “I don’t know logistics. I just get in there and try to save as many lives as I can.”

  “Well, everyone says that’s what happened. The local police don’t seem too worried about it, though. They police this strip heavily, with all the clubs and open bars in the restaurants on this strip. They come in here from time to time and make sure I’m not giving piercings and tattoos to drunk, underaged kids.”

  “Did they say anything about it?”

  She fell silent as she finished off part of the outline, then moved back down to my arm. Giving me a reprieve from the pain that was beginning to numb my senses.

  “Not really. I mean, I asked them about it. I asked them if we had anything to worry about. They told me not so much, since the shootout was on the other side of town. One of the officers told me that the police probably wouldn’t worry about looking into it too much because of the fact that it was nothing but gang violence,” Maya said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s the same kind of mentality back in my home country. The bad blood will ultimately kill themselves off in stupid fights. At least, that’s what the police believe. So they can focus their efforts on people who deserve it, supposedly.”

  There was a bitterness in her voice I detected. Her home country? What had happened there? Is that why she had migrated over to the States?

  Because of some sort of violence directed at her?

  Either way, I didn’t like how that sounded. I didn't like the fact that the police in San
Diego were beginning to think like prejudice bastards. But it also sounded like the police weren’t looking into shit. They weren’t looking for bodies or proof or who was to blame. Simply to cover it up and keep moving on so they didn’t get too bogged down with an investigation they knew would go nowhere.

  Since I was the best cleaner in town.

  “So, were you born and raised here?” Maya asked.

  And as she hopped back up to the crest of my shoulder, I started in on my life story again. Answered her questions as they came, using them as a distraction.

  But hot damn, I’d figure out a way to get to know her, too.

  Eventually.

  6

  Maya

  “Not within San Diego limits, but essentially. I spent my childhood in San Diego. But I grew up in the poor outskirts,” Notch said.

  “Did you always want to stay here?” I asked.

  “Shit—if I had a reason to, yes.”

  “Did being an EMT give you that reason?”

  “More or less.”

  He tensed underneath the needles. I got it, though. One of the reasons why I’d never get a shoulder tattoo was because of how much they fucking hurt. The cuff of the shoulder was always a bitch. The only people I found who could relatively stand it were those who had muscle stacked there, or those who were bigger in stature.

  Notch was neither, and I saw him grinding his teeth together.

  “Tell me about your other sleeve,” I said.

  “What?” he asked, grunting.

  “Your other sleeve. The whole of your right arm. How many people did you save to have those tattoos done?”

  “Not important.”

  “Notch, I need you to—”

  “I have one on each of my shoulder blades. They, uh…”

  My eyes fluttered over to his and noticed him focusing hard on the wall. So, I hopped back down to the bottom of the tattoo. I decided to outline the lake and the reflection of the tree to give him a break.

  But his eyes didn’t disconnect from the wall.

  “My left shoulder blade is a tattoo I got when I was first on the job. I mean, fresh out of school, essentially. There was a man in an alleyway that had been beaten really badly. Couldn't recognize his damn face. I had to employ some pretty rudimentary tactics in order to keep him from bleeding out from his eye sockets,” he said.

  “Holy fuck, what happened to him?” I asked.

  “A lead pipe happened.”

  I cringed at the thought.

  “What about your other shoulder blade? The right one?”

  “Are you going to answer any of my questions if we keep going like this?” he asked.

  I grinned. “You aren’t tossing me any questions, so I’m the one holding this conversation right now.”

  “You weren’t too keen on answering them before.”

  “That was before I understood how much pain this tattoo was going to actually put you in.”

  “So, you’re a sadist with a heart. Got it,” he said.

  I giggled. “Tell me about the other shoulder blade.”

  “You have a nice giggle there, Maya.”

  His words gave me pause.

  “Anyway, the other shoulder blade I got a couple years in. Guy got into a fight with a local gang. Had a knife wound to his stomach and his back, plus some lacerations to his thighs. A knife fight, probably three-on-one. That one was more pain management than anything. Though, the knife wound in his back was not even an inch off from his liver. Which would’ve been bad, had it struck,” he said.

  “It sounds like they were all lucky to have you,” I said.

  “Now, it’s your turn.”

  I hopped back up to the top of his tattoo and he growled.

  “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  I shivered at the way his words rumbled off his tongue. I mean, I knew he was trying to flirt with me. And I really was flattered.

  I also wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t used to being attracted to those who came into my shop and tried their hardest. Especially with how handsome this man was.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  I manipulated his shoulder around and heard him grunt.

  “Where were you born and raised?” he asked.

  “China. Tianjin. On the outskirts, like you,” I said.

  “Is that a poor area?”

  “Actually, the complete opposite.”

  “Well, lucky you,” he said breathlessly.

  “We still see the same amount of death and carnage out that way. It just looks better on marbled floors,” I said.

  I finally finished the outline of the shoulder part of this man’s tattoo. And as I began my descent down the side of his bicep, he sighed with relief.

  “Is that violence what drove you to the States?” Notch asked.

  I shrugged. “The men in the States are nicer, too.”

  “Nicer looking?”

  I grinned. “Possibly, depending on how much pain in my tattoo shop they can take.”

  “How am I doing, then?”

  “Better than most.”

  “Above average. I’ll take it. Though, I’ll warn you right now, that status rings true in many aspects of my life.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Always with the dick references.”

  “I mean, I was talking about my ability to court women. But I see where your mind is now.”

  I giggled again as his eyes panned over to me.

  “You really have a nice laugh. And smile. You should do them more often,” he said.

  My eyes fluttered up to his. “Then, give me a reason to.”

  He followed my instructions to the letter. He continued talking throughout the entire tattoo, and I found myself filling things in without giving it a second thought. Anything to keep him in my chair and keep talking with him. He continued flirting and I continued flirting back. He had this dry and witty sense of humor I came to enjoy. I didn’t get much humor in my life. Or wittiness, for that matter. But halfway through filling things in, I watched his skin begin to turn crimson.

  My sign to stop.

  “All right,” I said.

  “You can keep going if you want,” Notch said.

  I shook my head. “Blood is rising to the surface and not receding. Your arm needs a rest. You can come back when it’s healed, and we can get it finished. But for tonight? You’re done.”

  I rolled away from him and put down my tattooing pen. I picked up some sterilized wipes and wiped away at the excess ink that had risen against his skin. I quickly coated it in Vaseline and wrapped it in saran wrap, then let the man get out of the chair.

  And as he slid his shirt on over his head, his voice pierced the room.

  “Should I make an appointment with you? Or just come back in a month?” Notch asked.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk with you about your other sleeve,” I said.

  He sighed as he inched his leather jacket back on.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  I furrowed my brow. “I noticed some of the tattoos are a bit disjointed. You still have a lot of free skin available for something that’s considered a sleeve. I figured, if you wanted, we could come up with a design to connect the tattoos on your right arm. Make it more fluid.”

  His beautiful blue eyes found mine and I watched him smile.

  “Well, looks like I’m not the only one with a nice smile,” I said, grinning.

  “I’d actually like that. If I get to brainstorm with you,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t have suggested anything less. Though, it’s time for me to close up shop. If you want to come back tomorrow, we can start tossing around ideas.”

  “Will you not be busy?”

  I shrugged. “I won’t be on my lunch break.”

  “Already asking me out for lunch, huh?”

  “Not quite what I did, but if you want to take it that way to make you feel as if you’re a step ahead of the game, that’s your prerogativ
e.”

  “Oh, Maya. You really know how to wound a man’s pride,” he said, feigning pain.

  “Only when the man’s pride is bigger than his head,” I said.

  “My above average head?”

  I threw my head back in laughter at that one.

  “What an angelic sound,” Notch said.

  I sighed with content as I stood up from my stool.

  “Let me snap some pictures of that arm and I can bring some brainstormed ideas to the table. Are you okay with that?” I asked.

  “I would’ve been more okay with it had you suggested that before I put my shirt and my jacket back on.”

  “I’ll help you out of it. Come here.”

  I walked over to him and slowly slipped his arm away from the leather jacket. It smelled rugged. Like ocean water and dust. I pushed the fabric off his shoulder and rolled up his short sleeve, cuffing it at the top. I pushed it over his shoulder, revealing the tattoos. They were outlined in black and shaded with all sorts of darker colors. Reds and greens and blues and rich oranges. I let my fingertips slide across his skin, taking in all the different designs. All sorts of flowers and skulls. Piles of dust with dates on them and a beautiful picture of a sunset that wrapped all the way around his entire bicep. Spanning its circumference and girth.

  I was in awe of it.

  “Getting any ideas?” Notch asked.

  I cleared my throat and ripped my hand away from his skin.

  “A few,” I said.

  I tried to shake the lustful thoughts away from my head as I went in search of my camera.

  I snapped a few pictures from every angle, then helped him back into his jacket. His skin was soft, but his muscles were tight. Toned. Fraught with strength. American men had nothing on the men I’d encountered back in my home country. They were rough around the edges and not afraid to go after what they wanted. With them, there wasn’t a set tradition on how to woo a woman. What to do when taking her out on a date. With American men, it was something different every single time.

  I wondered how different things would be with Notch.

  “All right, let’s get you out of here so I can close up shop,” I said.

  But when I looked up at Notch, I found him grinning down at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.