Page 3 of Viking Ink

“That’s bullshit and you know it. He took advantage of you. Used you so he could keep going to those drama classes, and swanned around like he was the next Clive fucking Owen.” Rez’s dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Please tell me you’ve gotten yourself tested.”

Mitch nodded, slumping down further in the booth. “Yeah, regularly. And he and I never did anything without condoms. I think deep down I didn’t trust him to stay faithful. He even used that against me—said I must have known and been alright with it, because we used protection. Said I was basically saying it was okay he fucked around.”

I pulled my brother tighter against me, feeling that familiar urge to protect him like I did when we were younger. “This weekend we’ll come over and help you pack up. You can move in with me until we can find you a better place.”

Mitch shook his head. “No offence, Simon, but you know we’d drive each other batshit within a week. I’ll just stick it out until I can find somewhere.”

Cal cleared his throat, looking almost shy—which was just plain weird. The man looked like a regular on a biker TV show, and he didn’t mince words. Callum was never backwards in coming forwards, as my mum used to say. “You could come stay with me, if you want. It’s just me and Alice since Penny left, and I have plenty of room.”

“You mean it? You really wouldn’t mind?” Mitch asked.

“Alice will love having her Uncle Mouse around. You can help her build that damn Lego set you brought her. Fucking thing’s complicated,” Callum said.

“Really? I mean, yeah. Thanks, Cal.”

There was something in my brother’s voice I couldn’t place, but having him out of that place and ensconced at my best friend’s house was the best possible thing. Cal was older than me by seven years. He’d taken me under his wing and offered me an apprenticeship learning to tattoo from him and his old man. When his dad had retired, Cal had offered me a partnership and Viking Ink was born. Cal had always had a soft spot for Mitch. When he’d shown an interest in piercing, Cal had arranged for Mitch to learn from the best piercer he knew. Then again, when Penny had walked out on Cal without so much as a text, it was Mitch who’d rolled up with the obligatory comfort fish supper from the Battery and a six pack of lager, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock that Cal would offer his place to Mitch.

That sorted, I looked around the pub. The Lion was popular with the locals, mostly because of Rue and their no-nonsense attitude, good pub food, live music twice a week, and a pretty fun pub quiz on Sunday nights. Rue had also made sure it was known that the Lion was a safe space for everyone—treat everyone with respect, no being rude to the bar staff, and no fighting.

“Do you think those numpties are going to be a problem tonight?” Cal asked as he brought his lager to his lips.

“God, I hope not. But something about this lot rubs me the wrong way.” I didn’t like the thought of a group of drunk louts like that hanging around town possibly getting aggressive with some innocent bystander like that young busker. I glanced over at the group of five blokes. They were all cut from that very particular Public School cloth; loudmouth gits who had only come to the Lion as it was close to the train station. These guys weren’t local. They sounded like they came from down south and were probably looking to cause some trouble before they caught the last train.

I moved my chair slightly, giving myself a better view of the bar, and Rez did the same as the group became more boisterous. Crude comments were being thrown to random patrons and at the bar staff.

Rue’s voice rose above the din of the pub. “Gentlemen—and I do use the term with heavy sarcasm—I think it’s time for you to call it a night and head for your train.”

“What if we don’t want to go?” the loudest of the group shot back, glaring from where he leaned against the bar. His face was what my ma would have called piggish—small eyes, fat cheeks and a mean little smile. He looked like the sort of guy who’d smash a pint glass over someone’s head if they turned their back on them.

I stood, pushing my chair back. Cal and Rez did the same. I raised my voice loud enough to be heard over the pub noise. “I believe Rue asked you men to leave.”

Piggy stopped glaring at Rue to turn and face me. Squinting drunkenly, he puffed his chest out. “What the fuck do you want?”

I shrugged. “Leave, and take your mates with you.”

Piggy shoved his mates aside and walked towards me. He was shorter than my six foot six, but broader, built like a rugby player with a thick neck, blunt features, and, from where I stood, a very punchable face. Guys like this were always looking for trouble after a match.

“Listen, old man, why don’t you and your buddies fuck off back to your table and let the boys and I enjoy our night? We’re not going anywhere.” Piggy had a distinctly drunken slur, and he wove slightly as he waved a finger in my direction.

He did not just call me ‘old man’!

I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and moved just as one of the boys swung a beer jug towards me. Years of pub brawls I wasn’t proud of and training at McKellen’s gym had taught me to act on instinct, and I ducked sideways as the jug came crashing towards my head. I could feel the air move with how close it came. I swung, aiming for the freckled fucker’s cheek and knocking him over. His feet tangled and he fell backwards in a slow-motion tumble, his arms windmilling and making the whole thing comical. Piggy and the two other numpties moved forward. I could see they were gagging to turn this into a full-on brawl, and I was more than ready to take them all on. When my blood was up, I wasn’t one to think straight. My dad always said it was the red hair that made my blood run hot. I preferred to think it was because I was a hard bastard who didn’t like seeing arseholes hurt others. Rez and Cal and Mitch were standing behind me, and I knew they’d be happy to throw fists and back me up.

But before we could start, Rue stepped between us, phone held in their hand. “You get one more chance, or I’m calling the cops, and I’ll be letting them know that fuckface on the floor there tried to brain one of my regulars with a beer jug.”

“Fuck this. Let’s get out of here,” Freckles growled, holding his jaw. It was going to bruise, but I doubted I’d broken anything. Staggering to his feet, he shot me a furious glare, “We know where we’re not wanted.”

“Could have fooled me,” Rue said.

“Yeah, fuck this place,” Piggy snarled, shoving past me. “Let’s go, these old fucks don’t know how to have a good time.”

“Where are we going to go? The train doesn’t leave for another hour,” Piggy’s friend grumbled.

“Just hurry the fuck up!” Piggy said.

We watched them stagger out of the pub, glad to see the back of the troublemakers. Rue gave us a grateful smile. “That shit could have gotten nasty. Drinks on me in thanks, boys.”

“Saffy okay?” I asked. She had copped the brunt of their poor behaviour before we’d stepped in, and no one deserved being spoken to like that.

---