A few hours later, Roxy finally comes to. Whatever they hit her over the head with managed to make quite the shiner on her forehead. She holds a freezer burned packaged steak over the bruise as she mumbles to herself about needing to get to the makeup shop before work on Monday.
She looks over at the tattoo seat next to her, nodding up towards me, “What the hell are you going to do there?”
I put down the ink I’m mixing up in the small clear vials. After a long consideration, I’ve picked a dark black. Pink was my first option, but it fades so easily, especially in places where the skin flakes like the forehead and neck. But this black is top of the line, primo stuff. I was half surprised to see it in the basic kit Mack had ordered through Ian’s friend. This ink should be clear as day for decades at least.
I hand Roxy a printout from Ian’s email to me. On my way over, I had remembered a poster he had made for his tattoo artists of banned gang symbols and club insignias we were to look out for. At the bottom, he had added that circle with the three lines, but I’m not going to use that one. I had taken that symbol back for something good. Those with that tattoo were survivors and warriors, not dead bodies lying on the floor in Mack’s memories.
“I don’t understand,” Roxy admits. “You’re just going to tattoo these things onto him? What’s that going to do?”
Mack sits next to her in one of my guest chairs. He rolls to my side as he explains over the sound of the tattoo gun firing up with my pedal. “There’s a reason why that’s Ian’s banned list of tattoos. Putting the wrong tattoo on the wrong guy could get him killed. Those are symbols of memberships and having multiples make you look disrespectful at best, a traitor at most. So this wannabe thinks he can be a club member and roll with us, he can handle having every Portland club and gang’s logo tattooed onto his face.”
Roxy laughs loudly as I begin. Carefully, I trace the outline on his oily, red skin. I don’t have much time to get the job done before the drugs we forced him to take wear off and Detective Joey comes to round him up for his confession, but I still turn my music up. It only takes a few moments until I drift away into the work on my latest canvas.
—-
Five Months Later
“Come on, Anna! We’re going to be late. You know how much I fucking hate being late to anything.” Mack yells up at me from the bottom of the stairwell of our new home. I glance down at him as I pass to the second bedroom I’ve converted into my artist study. He looks hot in that black wool suit I’ve picked out for him. It’s a far change from the three pairs of jeans and six dirty shirts sitting in the one dresser I forced him to use when he moved me in here three months ago.
“I’m coming!” I call back, searching through the pile of papers of my sketches. There are flowers and starscapes painted in watercolors and abstract drawings of people’s faces. Underneath a book of figure drawings—mostly Dragon members who agreed to sit still for more than two minutes so I could sketch them—is the congratulations I’ve been looking for. I tuck it inside my billfold style purse and then head back downstairs.
“You look fantastic, Anna,” Mack says as he stares at me longingly from the doorway. “If we had time, I’d take you right here and now… I’d slip my hand right up the back of that slit and force down those panties…”
“Down, boy,” I scold him like the good-natured dog he is. “Your sister would kill us if we showed up to her restaurant re-opening with messy hair and lipstick stains.” Still, I add with a wink, making sure that my hand just casually passes over the seam of his suit pants, “But maybe we can fool around in the parking lot after we’re done. For old times’ sake.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” he exclaims as he slaps the back side of his hand against my ass. I fix my tight red pencil skirt and then usher him out the door towards the waiting car. It’s been nearly a half of a year since Riley was out on the streets, but I still check behind me and over my shoulder whenever I leave the house. Mack tells me this nervous tick will go away, but as long as he’s living, even if it’s in some high security prison serving five life sentences without a parole, I’ll still be cautious.
The driver of the limo opens the back door for me, watching me slide on the leather seat to the far end of the passenger side. Mack gives him a brutish look before asking, “You know the plan?” He nods and runs to the driver’s side.
“Plan? We’re just getting dinner, right?”
“We’ve got to stop off and take care of some business first. It won’t take long.” He goes silent, his hands fidgeting in his lap. I watch the car speed off towards an unknown destination while occasionally looking back at Mack shifting in his seat, playing with the seat belt, pressing his hands into his pockets. Whatever business he’s planned on handling tonight, it doesn’t look like he’s exactly eager to do it.
I’ve become used to it, though. While I try to stay out of Dragon business, it’s kind of fallen on me to keep the books, manage the schedule, and communicate with a few of the families and girlfriends in the loop. I even spent yesterday organizing a charity ride in honor of the women who lost their husbands in Riley’s attack. It’s the least I could do considering the boys have opened a third Crazy 9’s Tattoo Parlor for me.
The limo comes to a stop in front of a large metal gate. The driver walks out and unlocks the padlock with a key from his pocket. He pulls the car forward, and suddenly it dawns on me where we are.
“I thought we could go see your mom. We haven’t done that in months.” Mack points towards a grave nearest the entryway still muddy and fresh. The attendant told me that grass wouldn’t grow for another year or two, but I spent a few days mixing flower seeds with the dirt in hopes that something would pop up in that space. Walking to the headstone, I see a small bud of flower stubbornly growing in the flattened mound.
We both hold hands as we stare at the headstone. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m not sure if I can even talk. Mack rubs at the knuckles of my thumb before clearing his throat, “Hello Ms. Fox. I know I never got to really introduce myself to you, and I’ve only stopped by a few times with your daughter, but I’m here today to ask you a question.”
I look up at him as he stares straight at the headstone reading, Lana Fox: Beloved mother and inspiration to all.
He continues as he places his hands in his pocket, “I have had this ring for a few months now. I actually bought it the day after I got your daughter back, but I finally got the nerve to pick it up recently. It didn’t seem right to not ask your permission before I ask her to marry me. So here I am. I just want to make sure your daughter is safe, loved, and wants for nothing. That’s all I can offer her. I’ll spend the rest of my life giving her everything that I have.”
“Mack…” My voice trails off, lost in my cries of happiness.
“If you could just do me a favor and watch out for us, keep us protected, and I’ll do the rest.” He finally turns towards me, getting down on one knee in the muck of the ground. My world melts and spins around me as he says the words, “Anna Fox, will you do me the honor—”
I don’t let him finish the question.
THE END