Page 113 of The Tattoo Artist

Because mercy won’t be a fucking word in my dictionary when I get him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ARES NICOLAIDES

TWO YEARS AGO

IWAIT ANXIOUSLY, CLUTCHING THE BOUQET OF FLOWERS I managed to grab on my way here. What if she doesn’t like flowers? What if she’s allergic to them? These thoughts swirl in my mind as I fidget with the stems. I didn’t even realise it was Valentine’s Day today, hence why the poor choice of flowers. The entire store was completely empty. I’ve never been out with a girl before—I’m completely clueless about what to do or how to act. Why am I overthinking this so much? I need to calm down.

The automatic doors of the library part, and there she is, walking towards me. She looks even more stunning than the last time I saw her, which was just yesterday. Her smile lights up her face the moment her eyes meet mine.

“A motorbike? That’s an unusual choice of transportation,” she remarks, breaking the silence.

“My brother took my car, so this was the only option left,” I explain, feeling a bit self-conscious. “These are for you.” I offer her the flowers.

Her fingers wrap around the stems as she takes them from me. “You were definitely overthinking this,” she teases, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Me? Overthinking? Never,” I reply, trying to play it cool.

She laughs. “Oh my god, Ares, you were definitely overthinking.”

I can’t help but grin back at her. “Stop annoying me.”

“Okay, where are we going?”

“I’m taking you somewhere nice.”

I reach for the helmet I got for her, moving closer to help her slide it over her head. As I turn to grab the jacket, I notice her struggling a bit with it. A smirk tugs at the corner of my lips as I reach out and gently grab the bottom of the helmet, pulling her closer to me.

I adjust the strap of the helmet, all the while locking eyes with her.

Her eyes.

The way her eyes light up when she smiles. Fucking hell, she could ask me for anything, and I would go to the end of the earth to get it just to see her eyes light up like this.

She slides on the jacket and tucks the flowers into her backpack.

I sit down first on the bike, offering her my hand. She takes it, stepping onto the peg before settling behind me. Her arms immediately wrap around my waist, and I look back closing her visor. She nudges me, jokingly.

I start the bike, the engine roaring to life before kicking my kickstand off and driving. “This is so cool.” Our intercoms were linked, so I could hear everything she could say.

“We barely started butterfly.” The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm glow over everything it touches. That’s what she reminds me off. The sun. I could hear her laughing as we hit the motorway, the way her hands rest around my waist. It’s as if she’s saying, ‘I trust you,’ and that means more to me than words could ever express.

I rest my hand on her leg, making sure she was okay.

“That was amazing!” She exclaims, hopping off the bike with an infectious energy. We’ve stopped at a rundown building downtown, and she seems intrigued by its dilapidated charm. “What is this place?” She asks me, her curiosity piqued.

“I’m working my ass off to buy it.” I slide off my helmet and lean against the bike beside her.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “For what?”

“I want to turn it into a tattoo parlour,” I reveal, watching her reaction closely.

Her eyes light up with intrigue. “You like tattoos?”

I nod. “I do.”

Her smile widens. “I love art, so I guess we’re kind of the same.”

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