His name was Charlie. He sat in River’s chair while River worked on a tattoo on his hand. From his wrist to his knuckles. A bright red rose with black trim and lots of other designs around that. Why the rose? Because that was Charlie’s mother’s favorite flower. One day, she had a stomachache, and a week later, she was gone. Some kind of rare condition that just finally took over.

That was one thing I started to see in St. Skin.

The stories.

A lot of people came in to get tattoos that had heavy stories behind them.

Charlie was a big guy with a thick, scruffy face, greasy hair that came past his ears, and a smile that could make any woman smile back. He wore a leather jacket with a black t-shirt under that, ripped jeans, and black boots.

He was totally fine with my taking pictures of River tattooing his hand.

I positioned myself in the corner, zoomed right in, and got some seriously amazing pictures of the needle depositing ink into Charlie’s hand.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked him after River finished the ink.

“Yeah,” he said. “A lot.”

“Then…why?”

“Why not?” Charlie asked. “Do you know why I got this on my hand?”

“Easy to see?”

Charlie smiled. He had cute dimples. I envisioned a picture of him with his hand at his chin. Showing his ink and showing his manly yet slightly boyish features.

“No, not because it’s easy to see,” Charlie said. “Because when I got out of line, my mother would backhand me. With her left hand. So now when I look at my hand, it reminds me of two things. One, how much I miss my mother. And two, to never to get the fuck out of line.”

Charlie laughed.

River put some ointment on the freshly inked skin. It was so beautiful bright and shiny, but it was swollen all around. I couldn’t imagine having a needle like that getting jammed into my hand for as long as Charlie did.

I slipped out of the room and into the hallway.

I was looking through the pictures when Charlie emerged.

Between his fingers was a piece of paper. For me.

“What’s this?”

“My number,” he said. “If you ever want to hear more stories about my life. Or maybe just grab something to eat. Bring your camera, too. I’m not shy.”

He smirked.

I smiled.

“Door’s that way,” a voice said.

It was Maddox.

Charlie glanced back at Maddox, eyebrow raised. “I know.”

“Oh, okay. Just checking. I’m sure Hazel has to get back to work here.”

“Right,” Charlie said.

I just smiled.

Charlie walked away and I looked at Maddox. “Haven’t seen you yet today.”

“Were you looking for me, sugar?”

“No. I don’t want to get in your way.”

Maddox nodded.

It had been almost a week since I started coming into St. Skin. I already had hundreds of pictures. I reviewed a lot of them with Tate, and he wanted more. A lot more. So I kept working because he kept paying me to work. My interactions with Maddox had been few and far between.

I turned and felt Maddox approaching me.

“Get any good shots?”

“You actually care?”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do,” I whispered. “So, now you’re interested in what I’m doing here?”

“I hate what you’re doing here,” Maddox said candidly. “But picking up guys while you’re working? That doesn’t seem professional.”

“Picking up guys?” I asked. “Him? Charlie? I wasn’t…”

“Thin ice, sugar,” Maddox whispered. He leaned down and got way too close to me. “I hope I don’t have to tell Tate.”

I gasped. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Maddox said. “Not at all. Just making sure Tate and St. Skin get exactly what they’re paying for.”

“Like pictures of your ass?”

“You took the picture.”

“You showed me your ass.”

“You came into my room uninvited.”

“Correction. Tate invited me to do anything I wanted.” I smiled big. “And by the way, you’re the tough, brooding guy around here, but you’ve got a tattoo of lips on your ass. How does that happen?”

Maddox put a hand to the wall, almost boxing me in. Anyone else who got so close or did what he did would have gotten a kick to the balls. Or at the very least, I would freeze up and start to panic. But that didn’t happen with Maddox. Instead, it was the opposite. I felt at ease with him.

“You want to know about the tattoo on my ass?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m curious.”

“I’ll make you a deal, sugar.”

“Sure.”

Maddox leaned down again. So close I felt the stubble on his face rub against my cheek. It made me shiver and my heat move through me in places it shouldn’t go.

“I’ll tell you my story when you tell me about that tattoo on your hip.”

Maddox then left me with my mouth hanging open.

I touched my right hip.

How? How did he know? How did he see? How…

Maddox paused at his door and looked back at me. He winked.

I caught my breath a second later.

Then it occurred to me…

I was supposed to watching Maddox—but he was watching me.

* * *

I spent the next few hours constantly pulling down my shirt, making sure I wasn’t showing off any skin. Not that it mattered. I was in a tattoo shop, after all. If anything, it was weird to show bare, clean skin since everyone I encountered seemed to be filled with tattoos.

As I wandered around the front of the shop again, taking it all in, I really began to understand this amazing world. What the tattoo meant. What the artists did and why they did it. I knew Tate had built a massive business, but this went far and beyond the money aspect.

My phone buzzed with a call from a client. A woman named Leslie wanted to get pregnancy pictures done. It was her first child with her husband after trying for almost two years. She wanted me to capture the last few weeks of her pregnancy. I had to meet with her and her husband to figure out what they liked. I didn’t really ask people what they wanted, but I still talked to them. It helped me pick up on little things here and there. And then I used that information to set up a photo shoot.

Leslie left me a voicemail that she wanted to meet up soon.

I had parked around back, so I walked through St. Skin so I could get into my car and call her. I didn’t need her to hear the sounds of tattoos in the background.

As I passed by Maddox’s room, I glanced to my right out of habit and saw him sitting on his stool. I paused and realized there was nobody else there. He wasn’t tattooing anyone. He didn’t have any music playing. He was just sitting there. Leaning forward a little. His elbows on his knees, his right hand on his face. In his left hand was what looked like a picture.

He just sat there. I’d never seen Maddox so still and quiet before. He always seemed to be doing something. Moving. Talking. Cursing. Throwing those evil glances at me. Reminding me how much he hated that I was there.

There was a moment of hesitation.

I wanted to take a picture of him.

There was something so raw and beautiful about what I was seeing.

I told myself I’d take the picture and then remove it from my camera and never show it to anyone but Maddox. I’d put this single picture on a memory stick and give it to him. Or better yet, I could text it to him. But I’d need his number.

Or I could I just leave him alone.

But the moment was too good.

The rough and tough tattooed bad boy just sat there as though he had his heart broken. From the side of his face, I could see it. Beyond that, just the sheer outline of his face and his jaw was totally sexy.

Like a hunter in the woods moving stealthily to not scare the deer, I slowly lifted my camera. I made a small step forward, almost entering the room. All around me there was music. Different sounds and noises flowing through St. Skin.

The silence in Maddox’s room was such a dark contrast.

I managed to get the camera turned back on. I didn’t have time to adjust any settings, so whatever I could get would be it.

My finger eased over the button, and I pressed.

Normally the click of the shutter wasn’t that bad. But in that moment it sounded like a sledgehammer hitting glass.

Maddox turned and looked right at me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growled.

With the flick of his wrist, the picture flew from his hand. I turned the camera and took a quick picture, wanting to capture the picture floating in the air.

Then I looked at Maddox.

That look on his face.

A look I had lived with all my life.

The terror and the panic set in. It was like stepping into icy water. Everything just went stiff.

My finger pressed again for another picture.

“What the hell are you doing?” Maddox bellowed at me.

His massive hand grabbed my camera. Holding it by the lens, I took another picture.

“Hazel!” he snapped. “What are you doing?”

I just looked up at him. I felt the terror climbing through me like a growing vine. Twisting, turning, tightening, constricting my muscles, bones, around my stomach, my heart, my throat.

I couldn’t breathe.

I stepped back as I let the camera go.

Maddox was still holding it. The strap around my neck floated in the air.

Panic made people do weird things. A switch just went off sometimes, turning everything into survival mode. I had no closet to dive into. I had no one-eyed bunny to hold. And I had no picture books to go through to find happiness.

So I bent my knees and let the camera strap move over my head. That left Maddox holding the camera all alone. I found strength in my legs and hurried to get out of the room. In the hallway I saw Prick, Max, and River.

“Where’s your camera, babe?” Prick called out. “I’ve got something for you to take a picture of.”

Prick grabbed between his legs.

River punched him in the arm.

“No worries,” Max said. “She needs to get a lens that can really zoom in.”

The three laughed.

The laughs were bubbly and echoey all around me.

I turned and saw that the back door was my closest exit.

I blasted through it, and someone was waiting for me.

I screamed.

I burst into tears.