Page 1 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
CARVED IN INK
1
ART
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
I throw the letter onto the counter of my tattoo shop. I scowl at it, as though the piece of paper can absorb my fury and make the person behind the words feel my rage.
“What’s going on, boss?”
I turn my attention to my two employees, who both stopped their work at my outburst. Kane is the one who spoke, and now frowns at me, his green eyes narrowing, his long blond hair falling into his face. My other employee, Rocco, sports a similar expression. Rocco lifts his hand to smooth his fingers down his beard, as he tends to do when he’s distracted.
I struggle to school my features into a civilised expression. “The shop’s changed hands. Seems the old lady who owned the premises has kicked the bucket, and this place has been left to her niece. She’s not only thinking about putting the rent up on us, we’re also getting a tenant.”
Like everyone who works at my tattoo studio,Carved in Ink, I’m covered in tattoos. Complex sleeves run down both of my arms, ink traverses up my neck, and across my knuckles. I’m an artist at heart, and love to work in black and white. Thoughhappy sketching portraits using pencil, it’s when I work in ink that my passion truly comes to life.
“Tenant?” Rocco asks. “What kind of tenant?”
I shrug. “The stuck up American who’s inherited the shop. She’s the one who’s jacking the rent up on us, as well.”
I only met the original owner of the shop a handful of times. She’d been in her seventies and hadn’t had much to do with the place. As long as I paid the rent on time—which I always did—we were left to get on with things. Admittedly, the rent I’d been paying had stayed the same for the past eight years, and in this part of London was a ridiculously low price, but that didn’t mean I was able to pay a huge amount more.
In truth, the thought of having someone living above the shop bothers me more than the rent hike. I like to work late into the night, with rock music blaring. Sometimes, the crew will just hang out, drinking beer and messing around until the early hours. Having someone above us is bound to cause trouble. There will be complaints, I have no doubt.
I glower at the thought. Fuck it. Serves them right if they’re kept awake until the early hours. What else do they expect if they move in above a tattoo shop?
Boards with artwork cover the walls, allowing prospective customers to browse. There are also folders containing even more pictures of tattoos—dragons, roses, skulls—anything a person could ever wish for. I, however, prefer it when people come in with their own original ideas. Black and white portraits are my speciality, but anything where someone comes in with a concept and allows me to use my creativity and talent to produce something that will be a one-of-a-kind piece is my favourite. It's an honour to be asked to not only draw something personal to an individual, but to then ink it on their skin, so it will be with them for the rest of their life.
“Your first client will be here in ten,” Rocco calls out. “I’ve got your ink ready for you.”
“Cheers. It’s the cover-up for that guy with the crappy British Bulldog.”
Rocco groans. “You mean the one he got when he was pissed in Magaluf?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. What are you up to today?”
“I’m working on the girl who’s having the black wings on both shoulders. I’ve completed the outline already, so now I’m filling in.”
“That’s a big piece. How’s she taking it?”
He shrugs. “Like a pro. I swear women have higher pain thresholds then us guys. I’ve had men cry like little babies over the smallest of tats, while the women just clench their teeth and bear it.”
I chuckle. “I hope you’re not implying we’re the weaker species.”
“Ha!” He snorts. “Only when it comes to pain. We’ve got the balls for the rest of it.”
He grabs his crotch to make his point, and I shake my head in amusement. I’m not so sure about that, but I know I’m going to need some over the next few months. It said in the letter my new tenant will also be my new landlady and I can see some heads are going to be butted. But I have a big set of balls and I intend on using them. I’ve been here for eight years now, and I don’t plan on being dictated to by some jumped up foreigner who just happens to be lucky enough to have this property land in her lap.
I like this being a guy’s place. The other men who work here are all of a similar personality type to me—tough, say-it-like-it-is, men’s men. We get on well, for the most part. Sure, we have our arguments, but it isn’t anything a fight, followed by a few beers, can’t solve. Even the women who come here to be tattooed seem to like the all male atmosphere. They’re able to joke andflirt with the men while they’re being given their body art, and left feeling upbeat and sexy. It isn’t unheard of for one of the guys to hook up with a client from time to time either. I’ve had my fair share of one time hook ups, but that’s all they’ll ever be. I have two rules when it comes to women—no relationships with clients, as relationships always end up messy. Plus, I always make sure the woman knows exactly how things work. It’s nothing more than a one time thing. It’s always made clear from the start, and that way I don’t need to worry about rule number one not being followed.
The idea of having some chick living upstairs depresses me. It’ll be some uptight, middle-aged woman who thinks she rules the roost. All the guys who work here are all in their twenties, and, being older, she’ll probably try to mother us. If that doesn’t work, she’ll lay down the law, knowing she owns the place and, at the end of the day, she can end the lease, if she wants. It’ll be a struggle to find the extra cash for the rent, but it’s the loss of the flat above the shop that’s causing me the real headache, for more reasons than one.
Still, I’ll have to figure things out. I’ve worked my whole adult life to build this place, and I’m not about to have some bird walk in and ruin it all.
2
TESS
