Page 1 of Vapor's Blaze

Chapter 1

Vapor

Saturdays are always busy at our tattoo shop. I wipe away the excess ink so my customer can get a look at the memorial tattoo I just finished. It took the better part of the evening but the face on his arm is exactly like the picture he brought with him for me to use as a reference. I worked it artfully into the full sleeve that’s been crawling down his arm with each visit over the last couple of months.

Looking down at the ink I just dropped, I ask nervously. “What do you think?”

I know I’m good at what I do, but there’s always that moment of uncertainty when a client sees the final design. Gazing down at the image his eyes get glossy. He blinks away his tears and nods. “Vapor, I don’t know what to say. You captured my grandmother’s smile and her spirit perfectly. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already did by liking my work,” I tell him.

His face lights up with admiration. “You’re a true artist, man.”

Genuine pleasure washes over me to get such a positive response. Kory is a regular customer and though I like a satisfied customer as much as the next guy, memorial tattoos are special because they’re meant to be a permanent reminder of a deceased loved one.

He jerks his chin at me, and we bump fists before he heads over to the register to check out. I’m happy with the job I just did. Dropping ink feeds my creative side.

My phone jingles and I smile when I read the text. It’s from a friend of mine, asking if I want to party. It’s Saturday night. Of course I’d like to chill out after a long hard week, but I ain’t gonna turn down an opportunity like this.

“What are you smiling about, bro?”

My brother is standing in front of me after checking out Kory. I rake one hand through my hair and yawn, “Nothing.”

“You did good work on Kory’s tatt. You’ve got a talent for faces.”

I shrug, knowing that Haze hates trying to recreate faces. We bought this tattoo parlor from one of our club brothers, around six months ago and we divide the work a certain way, with me taking most of the jobs that involve faces and him focusing on the complicated pieces with tons of intricate detail. The rest we split according to who is free. We both love dropping ink so it works for us.

“That piece wasn’t all that complicated. I’m glad Kory left happy.”

The second the door closes, Haze locks it and flips the open sign over to closed. Turning to me, he asks, “You coming to the clubhouse tonight?”

I shake my head as I text my friend back. “No, I’m going to grab a beer with Dexter.”

Haze stretches his arms over his head. “Have fun with that. Dex has to be the most boring person on the face of the earth.”

I smile to myself. “Sometimes boring is good.”

We do short work of closing down the shop, balancing the till and locking what little cash we took in today in the floor safe in our office. Most of our sales are credit card transactions, we still have the occasional old timer who likes to pay by cash. Once the shop is in order, we go outside, get on our bikes, and head our separate ways. Haze rides off in the direction of the clubhouse. I go in the opposite direction, to our apartment so I can shower and ditch my cut.

Tonight, I’m engaging in my one guilty pleasure. Dexter and I don’t have a lot in common. He was a nerd in school, and I was considered a cool kid because I rode a motorcycle. He helped me study for my exams, and I beat up his bullies for him. Our relationship seems pretty cliché when I think back on it. It was a symbiotic relationship really back in school, but we grew closer afterward. One thing we share is a deep-seated love for trance music. Haze and every other person in my life might think it’s lame, because they’re more into rock, but I fucking love it.

It’s not only the music, but also the whole atmosphere of trance, including the dim lighting, glowing neon jewelry, and the nonjudgmental atmosphere. And the fucking women are amazing. They’re unique, smart, intellectually challenging and so goddamn beautiful when they dance that it takes my breath away. I can watch those pretty little glowing butterflies all night long without getting bored.

I’m in and out of the shower in record time, then I slide on a pair of comfortable jeans, a black t-shirt, and fasten a leather band around one wrist. Instead of the biker boots that I’m so comfortable with, I wear a pair of soft leather sneakers. This is the relaxed me, excited to spend an evening doing as I like rather than what’s expected of me.

I hear Dexter pull up and head out to meet him. He always drives because I love to drink, and he hates alcohol—like I said, a symbiotic relationship. I climb into the passenger seat and close the door.

“Thanks for the heads up, Dex. Where is this party at?”

“It’s being held at a warehouse right off the interstate, it’s pretty isolated.”

Not trespassing again? I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “It’s totally okay because the owner is the one throwing the party and there isn’t anyone around for miles to complain about the noise this time.”

“Alright,” I respond happily. “I’m actively looking to avoid being picked up by the cops again.”

“Yeah, your brother was pretty pissed the last time. Does he know you’re headed to another rave tonight?”

“Hell no. He doesn’t need to know how I spend my time. Just because we’re twins does not mean we’re joined at the fucking hip.”

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