Chapter 2
Pain for a Living
Kian
“Are we just about done? I don’t know how much more of this I can live through.”
Through a herculean effort of self-control, Kian Boychuck managed, at the last second, to stop himself from rolling his eyes. If he had a damn dollar for every single time someone walked into his shop thinking tattoos would be painless, he’d have enough money to fill up every inch of the two thousand square foot shop. He tried to find an ounce of compassion in his dead heart, but what did the guy expect from a man who handed out pain for a living?
“Not nearly. We still have a couple hours left. Do you want a glass of juice? Get the blood sugar up?”
Kian swore that the guy, some skinny, twenty year old, preppy dude who actually rolled in wearing a polo and square toed leather shoes, paled even further if it was possible.
“Hours?” The guy’s mouth opened and closed, opened again, but no sound came out. “Alright, some juice would be great.”
Annoyed, Kian set aside his machine. He stripped off his black latex gloves and left his room. Around the shop, the hum of conversation and the buzz of tattoo machines filled the air. There were four private rooms, two of them his, as well as six stations out front, right behind the reception desk and waiting area.
He currently employed six artists, four men and two women, but they didn’t all work at the same time or on the same days. He only employed the best. His artists were already well established by the time they came to the shop seeking employment or a booth rental. It had to be that way. He sure as hell didn’t have the patience to apprentice anyone, though he’d been asked.
Kian made his way towards the stainless steel water cooler located right behind the reception desk. Heather, the shop’s secretary, for lack of a better word, flashed him a bright red grin. She had her laptop set out where everyone could see it, shamelessly browsing her social media sites.
“How’s it going this morning?” She popped a wad of pink bubble gum in her dainty mouth. Heather, at barely five feet tall, was pretty much what anyone would consider a firecracker. She had a lot of personality packed into her tiny frame. Her waist length dark black hair was piled neatly on top of her head. She had dainty features, almost like a little fairy. She was heavily tattooed, all in visible areas. Her neck, her shoulders, collarbones, chest, arms. She wore a tank top and a pair of pasted on blue jeans that showed off not only her petite figure, but a good portion of her ink as well.
“Not bad. Morning’s alright so far.”
Heather lowered her voice and arched a drawn on black brow. “Really? I thought your client would be wailing down the place by now.”
Kian managed to keep a straight face. Years of cop training sometimes still came in handy. “Yah, well, who knows? I expect a tap out within the hour. Because, you know, six hours on the bicep is too long.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “On the outer arm yet. I could see the inside…”
“The guy asked if we had numbing cream.”
“It’s not the worst idea in the world. I actually tried some and it was great. The last sitting I had was almost painless. It felt a little like cheating. Until it wore off at any rate. Then it was pain city. I’ve done some research though and artists say their clients sit for the right amount of time, to the end most of the time and the muscle spasms are quite a bit less. Maybe it’s not the worst idea in the world? Getting people through it?” Heather’s eyes roved over his face. “I know what you’re thinking, but not everyone can be as tough as you. If they were, it would be a bleak world indeed.”
“Hmm.” Kian made a sound of disgust. The problem was, many of the shop’s clients came to get tattoos for the sake of art itself. For him, it was all about the experience. He craved the physical bite of pain. It was therapeutic in a way that nothing else had ever been. Numbing cream indeed. “Yah, order some then. We’ll give it a try for those that want it. For an extra charge of course.”
“Of course. They’re not cheap. We can carry some in stock at the front of the shop if people want to buy it ahead of time. Maybe some products for after care too.”
“Yah.” Kian frowned. He hated all that gimmicky shit. “Alright. Just be sure to put up signs saying we don’t advocate for or against the use of it. I don’t want people fucking up their art and blaming us.”
“For sure.” Heather gave him a firm nod, turned back to her laptop and went right on browsing through her social media feed.
Kian would have given her hell had it really mattered to him. The fact was, Heather was a damn good receptionist. She was efficient. Clients loved her and the shop was clean and ran smoothly. He couldn’t ask for anything more. She was highly intelligent, Kian knew. She did the work of ten people. If she wanted to fill her free time with mind numbing nonsense, then she very well could.
He walked on, to the small staff room that was theirs alone. He pushed open the black, solid door and entered their domain. The place was nothing more than a small kitchen on the left and a few leather couches on the right. Two coffee tables were set up in the middle, the couches arranged in a square.
He couldn’t recall how many times guys had crashed in there or how many times he’d walked back to find his artists drawing up this sketch or that. His eyes roved the room and landed on an open sketchbook. The image of a gypsy stared back at him. It was probably Mike’s. The guy was incredible. The best artist Kian had ever seen. There wasn’t a medium the guy couldn’t make look amazing. That included things that normally didn’t count as art like clothing, sculpture, hell, the guy even made cleaning his work station look like an artistic process.
Kian reached in the cupboard above the sink and produced a packet of juice crystals. He added a hefty amount to the cup in his hand and watched the water change color. It turned a dark purple. The stuff was so strong he could probably stick a fork upright in it.
He entered his private room much more hopeful than when he’d left. He handed off the glass to his client, who actually did look a little better after he drank it.
“Let me guess. You didn’t eat before this.” The guy slowly shook his head as Kian washed his hands and grabbed a fresh set of gloves. “That’s a mistake. Doesn’t our website say come with a full belly?”
“Yah, I tried. I just couldn’t. I was too nervous.”
“You said this wasn’t your first tattoo.”
Kian grabbed up his machine, dipped it in black ink and resumed the outline. The guy’s skin was raised and puffy, red around the edges, but no more than normal. He hoped he’d able to at least finish the outline before the guy quit on him. He actually liked the design. A ship with a kraken breaking it apart, smoke and fire everywhere. It was a bad ass, traditional design. He’d actually been a little proud of his client for asking for it.
Even if he couldn’t sit through it and had to break up the sitting. Kian didn’t care. He was paid for his time in advance and he’d keep the guy’s money. There was no carrying it forward.
He wished he could be nicer, but life had taught him that being nice was no way to run a business. Or it was, if you wanted to get walked all over.
“It isn’t, but the first one I got was only half hour long.”
Ten to one it was a butterfly. Oh wait, wrong client. “Just hang in there. We’ll get the outline done and it’s all smooth sailing after that.”
“You sure?”
“Yah.” Kian lied convincingly. He always was a good liar, able to talk people down. That’s what made him a good cop. Or at least, it had.
He sighed, thinking he was off the hook with annoying complaints, at least for the next hour or so before the guy got all shaky and edgy again under his hands.
He was wrong.
A light knock at the door brought his head around. His hand paused, the machine hovering an inch above his client’s arm.
Savannah Fiacco stood in the doorway. Kian could have groaned. He wished he could have told her to leave, to stop distracting him, to go bother Mike, to do a thousand other things, but he knew he damn well couldn’t. He had to keep his mouth shut when it came to her, annoying, spoiled, infatuated brat that she was, or her father was sure to hear about it and that meant trouble and trouble to him just wasn’t worth it, at least not where his investments were concerned.
“Kian,” Savannah crooned in a sugary, obnoxious tone. Pink, lacquered plump lips turned up in a wide smile revealing teeth that were just a little too straight and a little too white. Like everything else about Savannah, that smile was almost completely fake, manufactured through thousands of her father’s dollars. She batted long, fake eyelashes. Her eyes were brown, but she had in green contacts. Her blonde hair hung to her waist, but it was straight out of a bottle. The roots were jet black. “I just wanted to say hi.”
“Where’s Mike?” Kian asked roughly. He’d warned the guy against Savannah, but Mike couldn’t help himself. She’d come to the shop six months ago on an errand for her father, to give Kian this or that, and Mike had been instantly smitten. It wasn’t long until Savannah was always around, either before or after hours and all too often, during. She was a distraction to everyone and Kian hated that most of all. He also hated that she was only with Mike because it meant one more chance to see him.
Oh to be twenty again. Wait, who the hell would want that? There was only one night of his life he’d want to go back to, solely to erase it. To keep it from ever happening. It was a damn pity that the past never could be changed. A pity that fucked with his entire life.
“Out having a smoke.” Savannah glanced at the guy in the chair and offered a dazzling smile. She thrust out her pink, too tight, cut too low, cropped too high, top in an effort to parade her ample breasts. They were all natural, as was the rest of her curvy figure. Her jeans matched her shirt in the fact that they were too sizes too small, painted on and probably uncomfortable as hell. Her heels were at least six inches tall, bringing her up to model like heights.
“Okay.” Kian turned back to his client, finishing up the line he’d started.
“I just wanted to say hi.”
I’m sure.
“Hello,” Kian ground out. “How’s your father?”
“Good. You know daddy, always up to something.”
Yes. Always. Savannah didn’t know the half of what her father did. The club that he was joint owner of with Kian was perfectly legal. The shit that went on there often was not. Unfortunately it was a product of owning a business that made a whole bunch of cash most nights of the week. The only night the place wasn’t open for debauchery was Wednesday.
“Great. You and Mike got plans tonight?” Kian tried, whenever he could, to dissuade Savannah’s crush. He’d let her down a million times without actually saying the words. He hated that his partner’s daughter had been in love with him since the minute she laid eyes on him.
He couldn’t quite regret meeting Jordan Fiacco in the bar that night. The guy was all full of hopes and dreams. He had cash he wanted to invest. They’d cooked up the plan for the club over a few whiskeys. He’d been hammered by the time the cab dropped him back at his place. The club was an instant hit in that underground, raunchy, warehouse kind of way people craved. It had lots of dark corners to hide all manner of deeds. It was so wildly successful, it produced the cash that Kian needed to open up his real objective: his shop.
He couldn’t afford to make the wrong move. Considering Savannah hung on his every word while she was supposed to be Mike’s girlfriend made it hard not to make the wrong move.
“Nope.” The cloying scent of Savannah’s perfume reached Kian’s nose and he tried not to breathe. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Ask him to take you out to dinner. There’s a nice place that opened up. I’m sure he could get in.”
“Oh?” Savannah’s head was always turned by the prospect of money being spent to spoil her. “I’ll go ask.” She let out a little, high pitched giggle of delight and thankfully disappeared.
“One second.” Kian set down his machine yet again. He got up, closed the door and locked it. When he resumed his seat, he found his client ogling him, slack jawed. “What?” Kian asked irritably before he disposed of his gloves and put on a fresh set.
“What did you ever do to attract the attention of a woman like that?”
Kian rolled his eyes. “First of all, I never wanted to attract it. I’m fifteen years older than she is. Secondly, I made her father my business partner. Third, she’s dating my best friend.”
“Oh.”
Yah. Oh. That one word pretty much summed it all up. The guy considered that for a moment before he winced.
“You know, I think we should just continue this another day. I’ll book a second time on my way out.”
Kian ground his teeth together so hard it sent pain spiking through his jaw. “Just wait. We have an hour of outlining to do and then I’ll let you go. You just have to make it through that. It’s going to be damn difficult to resume where I left off otherwise.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, his client seemed close to tears. “Alright,” the guy finally agreed.
“Don’t worry,” Kian said soothingly, an ironic twist to his words. “We’ll have numbing cream next time you come.”