Page 23 of Shattered

“Yeah, just stay out of the way and out of my light,” Bane says casually.

I didn’t expect Bane to be so professional, but he is. He seems to be treating Neela like any other customer, and he didn’t address last night in any way.

I stand up from my chair to approach the table. A lamp is on, shining directly on Neela’s back, so I stand on the other side. Bane starts with black ink, which I can only guess is to outline the flowers. He pours some from a bottle into a tiny little plastic cup. Once he has everything ready and clean, he warns Neela before starting. I focus on Neela’s face as he applies the first contact, and she winces. It’s clearly uncomfortable, but Neela tolerates it well, eventually relaxing a little on the table. I wonder if getting tattooed puts her in the same high as subspace.

The high I feel watching the machine work on Neela is entirely different. Watching the ink pierce her skin, leaving a permanent, unforgiving mark, makes my head rush with awe.

After watching Bane outline over the red stencil, I sit back in my chair, grabbing one of the binders beside me. It’s labeled ‘Asher - Flash.’

I open the binder to the first page and find a series of skulls outlined in black on white paper, with a signature that must be Asher’s. The skulls are 3D and detailed, some with flowers behind them or in their mouths. When I flip the page, my jaw hits the floor.

It’s a full-body tiger in a pouncing pose; its back end is high, and its front end is low as it hits the ground. The slightest snarl of its teeth gives it a vibe of danger. Badassery.

No one fucks with a tiger.

I flip through the rest of the art, amazed at Asher’s skill. Though I hate to compliment him, it’s clear this is pure passion, and I can’t belittle it. But I keep going right back to that tiger.

Chapter 7

Asher

When I return to the shop, I find another vehicle parked—a familiar vehicle. I crawl out of the car with my hand on the roof, bracing myself. This morning’s errands took a toll on my leg, and I feel it now. It’s harder to walk than usual, and this is when I usually fall.

I cannot fall in front of that bitch. Or Bane, or anyone for that matter.

I take my time outside since there’s no one around, and I can’t see shit through the windows, so I know I’m not being watched. I take a few steps to stretch out my damaged leg. Once I’ve gathered myself, I head inside. While I want to storm in there and scare the fuck out of Sunshine, I can hear the buzz of a tattoo machine through the door, so that’s not going to happen. Instead, I open the door asquietly as possible, slipping inside almost unnoticed. Bane has a woman on his table as he tattoos her lower back. Sunshine is sitting down, watching them with her back to me.

Bane lifts his head as I enter, and he stops the machine. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, walking over as naturally as I can manage. Sunshine turns to see me, and she scowls, but I completely ignore her as I walk past.

“Finally got the carnations.”

Once I see the piece Bane is outlining, I get it. It’s a bundle of rugged pink carnations he’s wanted to do for months, but he’s not sold anyone. The girl on his table glances up at me with her cheek resting against the table. She’s young, and her arms and legs are covered in colored flowers. The piece Bane’s doing will fit right in.

“Nice ink. Something tells me you’ll be back,” I say to the girl, noting her sheer number of tattoos.

“We’d better reserve her a parking spot,” Bane jokes.

I’ve blatantly ignored Sunshine, walking straight past her and keeping my back to her. When I finally turn around, I find her staring at me with venomous eyes. One of my binders is sitting in her lap, closed. Instead of greeting or taunting her, I lunge forward on my good leg, getting close enough to snatch the binder from her lap, scratching her knee with my force. She’s wearing some shorts and a tight shirt. I don’t see a single tattoo on her or any in the video she sent.

“Did I say you could look at my shit?” I growl.

She actually rolls her eyes, and I can feel her friend’s glare on my back.

“Watch it,” the friend says.

“It’s okay, Neela. This fucker doesn’t scare me.”

Every time this bitch opens her mouth, I’m even more shocked. Is she trying to start shit? By now, I’ve pretty much confirmed she’s self-destructive. She needs someone to lose control on her. Based on the way her body responded last night, it makes sense. She was overwhelmed, but it was apparent she was so deep in pleasure that she couldn’t make a clear decision. I’ve never seen anyone sexed out of their mind like that.

And as much as I hate this bitch, I want that again. And I might know how.

“Don’t touch my shit. You don’t have the balls or the pain tolerance to get a tattoo.”

Just as I expected, she’s on her feet in an instant. To piss her off even more, I shove her to the side and flop down in her chair, throwing my hands behind my head and dropping the binder in my lap. It’s all a show because if she tries to stand up to me, she’ll easily knock me down based on how much pain I’m in right now. She takes the bait and yanks the binder out of my lap.

“You think I don’t have balls or pain tolerance? That’s cute,” she growls before turning around to her friend. “Neela, where’s the most painful place to get tattooed?”

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