CHAPTER ONE

 

Luca

 

I STAB THE KEY INTO the back door of Ink Me and shove it open. It hits the cabinet behind the door and something crashes to the floor, pissing me off even more than I already am. I flip the light switch, look around, and find pink shattered glass on the floor. I glare at the shards and silently curse my sister to hell for leaving her shit on the counter after I’ve told her multiple times to put it away.

After kicking the door closed with my boot, I shed my drenched jacket, then grab a hand towel from a cabinet and run it over my head a couple times to soak up some of the water from the torrential downpour outside. Dropping my keys on the counter, I head to the coffeepot. Once the machine starts gurgling, I grab the broom and sweep up the glass, then rest my weight against the counter. I take a minute to rub my temples, the pounding in my head from moments ago finally turning to a dull ache.

Those fucking dreams.

They do this to me every time I have them. I thought they were gone, but apparently that was wishful thinking.

For six years, I’ve dreamed of a woman in the dark. A woman I’ve never seen before, with glowing amber eyes. At first, I only got small glimpses of her, and the dreams were so infrequent I didn’t think anything of them. She never spoke to me, only stared at me with eyes filled with torment.

Two years ago, they stopped, and they moved to the back of my mind. As of a couple of months ago, they came back, this time with a vengeance. She’s more vivid and she speaks now. Not that I can really understand what she’s saying. She asks for help, for me to come to her, but I have no fucking clue who she is, where she is, or how she wants my help. I don’t even know if this person is real, and if she is, why it’s my dreams she chose to invade.

It frustrates the hell out of me, because although I don’t know who she is I feel drawn to her, like some invisible force has tethered me to her. I can physically feel her pain as if it’s my own. Anytime I get close to her though, she disappears, just evaporates into thin air, leaving behind her agony to mesh with mine.

That’s when I wake up, the pain from the dream still holding me in its tight grip. I never go back to sleep, because the pain is too great. It usually takes hours for the ache in my chest and the throbbing in my head to ease. That’s why I’m here at Ink Me three hours early. To try to take my mind off my bizarre-as-hell dream.

I make a cup of coffee and carry it to the small office at the end of the hall where I do most of my drawing. Sitting down in the old cracked—but still comfortable—office chair, I pull a pad of paper from the desk drawer and look down at the image I’ve been working on for months. I still don’t know what the full picture will be. It’s a vision I had one day. Every so often, small things will appear in my head, and I’ll add to it. Right now, it’s just a wisteria tree with its branches spread out wide, drooping and full of leaves and purple flowers. There’s a girl sitting beneath it with her knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and a bird on the lowest branch watching her. The branches hang so low that they almost shield the girl from the outside world. The last thing I added to the image was the silhouette of someone standing across from the girl. That was a couple weeks ago, and I haven’t had the call to draw more.

I flip the page to a fresh one and grab a pencil. A client came in a few nights ago wanting a tattoo of a woman that’s half angel, half devil. Original? No. But I draw what the client wants me to, and try to add some uniqueness to it.

Ink Me used to be my dad’s business. Growing up, I’d come here every day after school and watch him work. Mom hated it because most of the clientele that frequented back then weren’t people you wanted your kids to be around. Not because she had anything against the type of person who had tattoos or piercings—my dad was covered in tattoos and to this day she still says his body is a work of art—but because half were gang related or heavily into drugs or some other bad shit that hit the streets in this neighborhood. Silver Hill is split right down the middle with the proverbial railroad track separating the rich half and the dirty half. With Ink Me being the only tattoo place around, this was where people came when they wanted ink or piercings.

Before I was even old enough to really understand what a tattoo was, I knew I wanted to work here. I got my first tattoo machine when I was twelve years old and practiced on fruit. At sixteen, I apprenticed under my dad and he shaped me into what I needed to be to one day own Ink Me. I bought him out five years ago, and since then, I’ve cleaned the place up—not that it was trashy before, but a good paint job inside and out, new counters, equipment, and furniture does wonders—and I refused to put up with the bullshit of the fuckups that come in here. Dad was no pushover when he owned the place; actually, he was pretty much a hardass, but he also had his wife and three kids to feed, so he couldn’t be that selective in his clients.

Me? You come in here doped up, bring trouble, or with an attitude, you can carry your ass right back out the door. The only thing Mom liked about me being at Ink Me so much as a kid was that it meant I wasn’t out on the streets getting into trouble or hanging with the wrong crowd. Even so, I still had to learn to hold my own, or I’d get crushed. The older I got and the more shit I saw on this side of the tracks, the tougher I became. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who was forced to do the bidding of some punk who thought he ruled the streets. I didn’t want to be the one who ruled the streets either. I just wanted to be left alone. So, I made sure I was. I didn’t look for confrontation, but I sure as shit didn’t back down from it if it was thrown in my face. From my mid-teens and on, my reputation was, you don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you. But if you do fuck with me, you’ll be in a world of hurt.

Another business on this side of the tracks is Abe’s Gym, a place where I learned kickboxing and Krav Maga. It was Abe’s teachings that helped build my status of being someone to not screw with.

My reputation has carried over into Ink Me, and with that, the clientele has drastically changed for the good. With the place cleaned up, the shitheads no longer coming in, and add in that I’m a damn good artist and tattooist, business is triple what it used to be. I get people from the surrounding counties coming in, and I book up weeks in advance.

Draining the last of my coffee, I get to work on the angel/devil drawing. Time stands still for me when I sketch or I’m marking someone else’s skin. It’s relaxing and the only time I feel real peace. Even as a boy, I was good at making an image come to life on paper. There were times I’d be at our rickety kitchen table, my hands dirty with pencil lead, and my parents had to practically pry the pencil and paper from my hands to get my attention. It was the one thing I was good at. Something I was proud of.

I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the back door opening. I drop the pencil on the desk and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to wipe away the scratchy feeling of not getting enough sleep the night before. Luckily, my headache has turned to a dull ache nagging in the back of my head.

Looking down at the paper in front of me, I’m surprised to see I’m almost done. Just a few tweaks here and there and then I can call the client and set a time for him to come check it over.

Hearing cabinets slam in the back room, I twist my neck from side-to-side to relieve the stiff feeling of sitting in one position for so long, then stand and stretch. After, I make my way down the hallway and find my sister grumbling to herself as she searches for something.

“It’s smashed,” I tell her, leaning against the doorway.

She whips around, clutching her chest dramatically. “Holy shit balls, Luca. You scared the hell out of me.” I give her a minute before her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, it’s smashed?”

I tip my chin to the trash can and she walks over to peer inside. “You left it on the counter, and when I came in, it fell.”

A scowl forms on her face as she looks at the remnants of her favorite coffee mug, causing her eyebrows to form a deep V. Her eyes lift to mine and she purses her lips. I point my finger at her before she has a chance to open her mouth and spew whatever shit she’s thinking.

“Save it. I’ve told you to put your shit away and you didn’t listen.”

She huffs out a breath, but keeps quiet, knowing I’m right. I’ve dealt with this for as long as I can remember. Growing up, she was always leaving her shit out around the house. Mom used to threaten to throw her stuff out if she didn’t learn to put it away. Of course, Mom never went through with it. Which meant Ella knew she could get away with it, and that’s carried over into adulthood. She kicks ass at tattoos, is damn near as good as me, and I love her, but she drives me fucking bonkers when she leaves her shit all over the place. Luckily, she keeps her work station clutter-free and clean because she knows that’s one thing I won’t put up with. We stick people with needles all day and she understands the importance of cleanliness when it comes to that. I’ve learned to pick my battles where I can.

With a mournful look at the trash can, she spins on her heel and stalks over to the cabinet that holds some Styrofoam cups and pulls one free from the stack.

“You remember I have to get off at four today, right?” she asks over her shoulder. “Vicki has that appointment I wanted to go to with her.”

“Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest and regard her. “You know it’s going to be okay, right? No matter what the tests results show.”

Her shoulders lift with her deep inhale. A moment later, she turns with both of her hands wrapped around her coffee. Leaning back against the counter, she brings the cup to her lips and blows on the hot liquid. Her eyes are downcast, but I still see the worry linger in their depths.

My sister is as hard as nails and feisty. Like me and my brother, Theo, she’s had to be with the type of neighborhood we grew up in. She’s also a brat, courtesy of my mother doting on her because she’s the youngest and her only girl, and my dad who treats her like a princess. Her persona in front of my parents is a complete one-eighty compared to how she acts when she’s not around them. Not to be deceitful, but because she doesn’t want our parents to see that darker side to her that came with growing up in our neighborhood.

However, when it comes to her partner, Vicki, she’s utter mush. They met back in high school when Ella was first struggling with being attracted to other girls. Vicki’s family moved from the other side of the tracks to this side when the local textile plant shut down and her dad lost his job. The minute Ella saw her, she went gaga and her struggle was no longer. She went headfirst into letting Vicki know she was into her, not caring one shit what anyone else thought. She wanted Vicki, and like always, Ella got what she wanted. Luckily, the feeling was mutual. They’ve been together for six years.

“Hey,” I call when she doesn’t acknowledge my words. Her eyes close for a moment before she pulls in a breath, then opens them. “Knock that shit off, Ella,” I scold sternly. “You don’t know anything yet, so don’t think the worst.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. She nods, forcing her shoulders back and becoming the tough woman I know she is. “You’re right.”

She says it, but the doubt is still there. A few weeks ago, a lump was found on one of Vicki’s breasts and today they get the results on what they’re dealing with. It could just be a harmless mass, but the doctors, being cautious, said it could be cancerous.

I push away from the door and walk over to her. Taking the cup from her shaking hands, I set it on the counter, then pull her into my arms. Her weight sags against me like she can’t hold herself up anymore. I rub her back and offer what comfort I can.

With her face buried in my chest, her breath hitches when she says tearfully, “I can’t lose her, Luca. I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to her.”

“You’re not going to lose her, Ella. You know she’s too damn stubborn for anything to happen to her. Besides, you losing her means she loses you, and you know damn good and well she won’t let that happen. The woman it too crazy about you to go anywhere.”

She laughs, and although it’s a tearful one, I’ll take it. “Well, I am a pretty good catch, so I can’t really blame her.”

When she pulls back, I cup her cheeks and wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “Why don’t you take the day off? I’ll call your appointments and reschedule. Jazz will be here in a couple of hours, and it’ll be fine with just the two of us.”

She’s shaking her head before I finish with my suggestion. “No. I need to be here. Vicki’s at work until three and the last thing I need is to be home alone thinking about the possibilities. You were right, I don’t need to assume the worst, and if I’m home, I will. Working will help keep my mind off it.”

I jerk my chin up. “Okay. But the offer stands.”

With a smile, she leans up and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, big brother,” she says in my ear.

I leave her and head toward the front. A glance at my phone says we have thirty minutes before the doors open, and I decide to get things ready for my first client. I grab out some transfer paper and a pen. Sitting at the small table in my station, I get to work on putting the design down on paper. It’s a simple design of an hourglass. Instead of falling sand, it’s dripping blood, representing life and how eventually we all run out of it.

Twenty minutes later, I slip on a pair of gloves and pull out all the materials I need. I hear Ella moving around out front and know she’s getting the register ready for the day. The ding from the front door indicates she’s already unlocked it, and that’s probably my customer.

Tugging off the gloves, I toss them in the trash and walk out of the small room and behind the front counter. Ella’s there handing Kyle a clipboard with our standard safety and permission form that has to be completed before all work is done.

“You ready for me?” Kyle asks when he spots me walk in.

“Yes. Once you get done with that, I’ll have you look over the design, then we’ll get started.”

While he fills out the paperwork, Ella gets a copy of his ID. It only takes him a minute before he’s handing the clipboard back to Ella and he’s stuffing his ID back into his wallet. He follows me down the short hallway into my sectioned-off area, where I hand him the design.

I’ve done several pieces for him, so he knows what I can do. I’m not being arrogant when it comes as no surprise that he whistles low in appreciation. I just know my skills.

“Damn, Luca, this shit is tight!” he remarks, still looking down at the drawing.

“Thanks.” I turn and grab out another pair of gloves. “Wait ‘til you see it once it’s done. The 3D effect I have planned for the blood splashes is going to look amazing.”

“I have no doubt.”

After peeling his shirt over his head, Kyle takes a seat in the chair. Before I take my own seat, I pull up a playlist on my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth stereo on the counter behind me. Linkin Park starts playing, and now I feel I can really get down to work.

I sit on my stool beside Kyle and pull on my gloves. Everything I need is on a small cart beside me. I break open a package of lining needles and insert one through the tube on the tattoo machine, then wrap a couple of rubber bands around the frame and needle to help keep it secure and steady while I work. I set the machine down and grab the disposable razor. Kyle, knowing the drill, lifts his arm, and I run the razor over his ribs where the tattoo will go to rid it of any hairs, then spray the skin with the bottle of green soap solution and thoroughly clean the area.

“Up,” I instruct, and he does so. Grabbing the transfer paper with the design, I press the top of the paper to the top of his ribs and slowly smooth my hand down the center of the sheet. Starting in the middle and working outward, I make sure there’s no wrinkles. I peel the paper away from the skin, leaving behind a blue-lined design, and damn if I don’t get a jolt of adrenaline, knowing I’ll be permanently inking this onto Kyle. This part of him will forever be mine. Each tattoo I do, I get to leave my mark behind. It’s a heady feeling knowing everyone that leaves here with new ink will always carry a piece of me with them.

“How’s that?” I ask Kyle to make sure everything’s up to par with his vision.

He turns and faces a big mirror, lifting his arm higher and inspecting the design. A slow grin forms on his face, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“It looks fucking great!”

He sits back in his seat and we get down to business. As usual, every time I pick up a tattoo machine, my mind blanks of everything else except the design in front of me. I pride myself on my steady hands and the neatness of my lines. How each section of the image flows into the next, like it wasn’t pieces that we put together, but ones that were naturally part of a whole.

An hour passes, and I’ve just finished up the outline and am getting ready to take a short break, when raised voices come from the front. I set the machine down, tug off my gloves, and pause the music.

“Take ten,” I tell Kyle. “Grab a drink, a smoke, use the bathroom, whatever. I’ll be back.” Before he has a chance to answer, I leave the room and head toward the front where I can hear Ella yelling at someone. I get two steps into the hallway when another voice starts yelling back. I smash my molars together when I realize who it is.

I walk up behind Ella, who’s standing at the end of the counter that’s open to allow people to walk behind it, just in time to hear her say, “Leave, bitch, before I drag you out by your skanky-ass hair.”

Hardass Ella at her best.

Acting like she didn’t hear the threat, Cora’s eyes land on me and she gives what most men would deem a sexy smile. At one time, I thought the same thing. Cora and I slept together a total of three times, and while she was good, she wasn’t good enough for me to overlook the white shit I saw under her nose once I left the bathroom after cleaning up the last time we were together. Or the fact that she’ll sell her body to anyone that will provide her with the drug.

I don’t do drugs, and I damn sure won’t be with anyone who does them. I’ve seen what the shit can do to a person. My best friend since middle school ODed on heroin ten years back. I watched it eat away at him until there was nothing left except a shell of his former self. Derek was one of the strongest men I knew, and we always swore to each other growing up that we wouldn’t be like half the people around here. We wouldn’t let the harsh realities of life take us under. We were better than that and determined to keep it that way. Then shit got worse with his dad, who’d beat him, his sister, and his mom. One night, he walked in on his dad raping his little sister while his mom was at work. When he tried prying him off, his dad pulled out a gun and held it to the girl’s head. Derek was made to watch as he continued to rape her. When he was finished, he pulled the trigger, then turned the gun on himself. Derek was never the same after that.

I wrap my arm around Ella’s stomach when she makes a move toward Cora.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” I ask, not bothering to hide my distaste of having to look at her.

She puts her hands on the glass case in front of her, no doubt leaving oily palm prints. Leaning up on her toes, she purposely squishes her tits together with her arms, knowing they’ll pop out of her tight top. I’m not even tempted to look down to see if I’m right.

“I came to see you, Luca, baby,” she purrs. “To finalize our plans for tonight.”

“Plans?” Ella snarls, twisting in my arms to glare up at me. “What in the hell is she talking about?”

I should mention that Ella can’t stand the sight of Cora and would probably yank out every hair on her head given the chance. That happens when you catch a person bent over being fucked into the mattress by your best friend’s boyfriend, in their own fucking bed. I didn’t know about that when I got with Cora. Had I known, I wouldn’t have.

I barely glance at Ella—she should know me better than that—before I look back to Cora. “We don’t have plans. You wanted to meet up, and I told you to fuck off. Now it’s time for you to leave, and don’t come back.”

Her lips jut out into a pout, and it only makes her look ridiculous, not seductive like she’s aiming for.

“Come on, Luca. You know you want to play with me,” she whines.

Actually, the thought makes me sick. Before I get a chance to tell her that, Ella, much stronger than her small frame suggests, pushes my arm aside and jumps at her. She grabs a handful of Cora’s bleach-blonde hair and yanks down, forcing the woman to bend over or have her hair yanked out. She screeches and starts prying at Ella’s fist.

“You bitch!” she yells. “Let me go!”

“I’ll let go when you’re out the fucking door,” Ella spews, bending and getting in Cora’s face. “Luca said leave. Are you hard of fucking hearing or are you just so damn desperate you refuse to listen?”

“Fuck you, cunt!”

“Not even in your dreams, hussy.”

I give Ella her moment of fun, but then sensing the mounting rage in her form, I stalk over to the women before it goes too far. I’m not the only one in my family who took classes at Abe’s.

“Let her go, Ella,” I demand.

“No,” she snarls without looking my way.

Like me and Theo, Ella is protective of her family, even when it’s not needed.

“Ella,” I warn and grab her hand. She finally lifts her head and looks at me, showing the ire in her eyes. “Let her go. She’s leaving.”

She bares her teeth, but eventually unwraps her fingers from Cora’s hair, then shoves her head away from her. Cora stumbles back a step and straightens. She looks like she’s ready to go after Ella, so I step between them. This shit ends now.

I point a finger at Cora. “I’ve told you a dozen times, we’re through. I see you in here again, Cora, and it won’t end pretty for you. Now leave. Or I’ll throw you out.”

She tosses her now ratty hair over her shoulder and curls up her red painted lips. “You’ll regret this, Luca.”

“I doubt that,” I deadpan.

Ella snorts out a laugh and Cora’s eyes flick to her. “Watch your back, bitch.”

And with that, she stomps to the door, flings it open so hard it bangs against the wall, and walks out without closing it behind her.

“I’ll never know what in the hell you saw in her,” Ella mutters.

I shoot her a look. “Don’t start.”

Walking to the door, I look out and make sure she’s gone before closing it.

“You need to learn to curb your temper.” I walk past her to the hallway. “It’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

She scoffs. “My temper is just fine when it comes to that woman.”

Ignoring her, because she won’t listen anyway, I go back to the room Kyle’s in. He’s back in the chair doing something on his phone.

“Everything cool?”

His question comes as no surprise. Neither does the fact that he didn’t come out to investigate what was going on. Living on this side of the tracks, you expect shit like that to happen. It’s our normal everyday lives.

“Yeah,” I grunt, grabbing my phone to start my music again.

“It was Cora, wasn’t it?”

I tip my chin as my answer.

“Better watch that one. She’s fucking crazy. She jacked up my brother’s junk big time when he refused to let her go down on him. Ended up in the emergency room to make sure she didn’t do permanent damage.”

“I’ve got my eyes peeled.”

I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about Ella. She’s strong and can pretty much take care of herself, but there’s no telling what that crazy bitch will do.

I make a mental to note to put a word out on the street that if anyone fucks with Ella, the consequences will be harsh. People already know my reputation and that extends to my family, but if I put out a warning specifically aimed toward Cora or anyone pertaining to Cora, the word will spread fast, and I know she’ll hear it. I just hope she’s smart enough to heed it.

I pull up my playlist, press play, grab a fresh pair of gloves, and get back to work on Kyle’s tattoo.