Page 48 of The Tattoo Artist

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips, his hands remaining raised in a gesture of surrender. “Of course, you can, angel,” he hums, his voice dripping with seduction.

“I’ll just be a couple steps behind you.”

Ares is Diávolos.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALEXANDRA JONES

CHURCH WAS NEVER FOR ME.

“From dust you came, to dust you shall return. Jesus Christ, our Saviour, shall raise you up on the last day…” the priest speaks.

The irony is that my mother is forcing me to sit down next to Clark while he mourns his father, though he didn’t shed not a single tear and actually seemed sort of happy about it. His mother on the other hand was sobbing into my mum’s chest, and I felt nothing but guilty.

I knew who did it.

And now I know why.

He did it for me, he did it because he saw what has happened.

I glance down at the necklace resting in the palm of my hands before glancing up as a few people begin speaking about Mr Johnson, my fingers slowly graze my bottom lip-remembering how he kissed me.

A part of me wanted him to kiss me some more.

I shouldn’t be thinking like this at a funeral, I look to my right as Clark fidgets with the untouched tissue in his hands. Staring at the coffin.

The funeral service had emptied, and the sober atmosphere in the church left only Clark and me behind. Sat in the same place.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Clark,” I whisper, my voice filled with empathy. He turns his head, and his blue eyes locked with mine, revealing the pain he was trying to hide.

“It’s not like you killed him,” he said bitterly, looking at the coffin that held his father’s lifeless body.

Funny, because it felt like I did.

What if I never spoke about how Mr Johnson made me feel uncomfortable in front of Ares, maybe he wouldn’t be dead, and this funeral wouldn’t be happening.

“I don’t even care, to be honest. He was nothing but a fucking scumbag,” My eyes slightly widen, shocked from how he spoke about his dead father. The strained relationship with his father was now tainted by death, and he was trying to navigate the confusing emotions surrounding the loss.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said.

“I hated him so much. I’m actually glad he’s dead,” Clark admits, his pain evident in his words. I leaned back in my seat, giving him space to express his emotions. “Whoever killed him, they did me a fucking favour- sorry God.”

“Why?” I ask softly, wanting to understand the reasons.

“Because I’m gay, Alexandra,” he revealed, and my eyes slightly widen in surprise. “I like men. He found out, and he beat me, said I was nothing but a sin.”

Clark is gay.

“They even tried to force me to marry you.”

Just because he’s gay? They were going to force him into a marriage that he didn’t even want because he had feelings for the other sex.

“No offence, but you’re not my type at all,” Clark suddenly said, breaking the heavy tension between us. I couldn’t help but chuckle, relieved that he found a moment of humour amidst the darkness.

“No offence taken,” I reply, unable to stop laughing.

“Not saying you’re not pretty, you’re absolutely beautiful-”

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