2. Asher
Asher
Earlier that morning…
I only have one client on the docket today and it’s some asshole from my brother’s fraternity. Kyle.
Ugh. I shake off my disgust at having to interact with him at all. He’s such a tool. I mean, he’d have to be to hang out with my brother.
My brother is... well, he’s an asshole and I can’t stand him. I love him because I have to. Because he’s my brother. But I really can’t stand him as a person.
Taking a big drink of my black coffee, I get to work opening my shop and cleaning up my station. I like to come in before opening, before anyone else, and make sure the place is as clean and presentable as possible. It’s peaceful. No chatter, no small talk; just me with my coffee in the place I’ve built from the ground up with my best friend. My—our—tattoo shop is, by far, my favorite place.
From The Ashes is a little hole-in-the-wall shop known for quality tattoos, professional artists, and a clean facility. I personally selected two other artists to join me here: Ty, a guy I went to high school with, who’s basically my real brother; and Roxie, a girl who stumbled into our lives when she needed help the most. Together, the three of us take care of this place and they’re my best friends.
I groan, looking at the outline of what Kyle wants tattooed today. It’s going to be an all-day piece. A lion’s head, the size of a dinner plate, on his bicep. It’s not a bad tattoo by any means; he just wants it as realistic as possible, which will mean hours of shading and stippling. All while Kyle—ugh, Kyle —fills my ears with talk about all the new girls he’s going to get with tonight and all the new pussy that’s coming into the college.
He’s always wanted to be on my good side, but how he doesn’t realize talking like that will piss me off, I have no idea.
I check my watch, noticing it’s close to noon, which is when the shop opens and—speak of the devil and he shall fucking appear. And the devil today is an over-inflated ego in a boy who thinks he’s hot shit, standing at the front door and waving at me.
Nodding at him, I take one last sip of coffee—wishing it was whiskey—and pull the keys from the chain attached to my belt. I walk over to the door and usher him in.
“Hey, man! I’m so excited,” Kyle greets, pushing past me and into the room like he owns the place.
“Kyle, hey,” I say politely, and pull out the forms I have to have him sign. All the normal shit that prevents me from being sued, losing my shop, and people coming after us because they made a stupid choice for a tattoo.
I’m not going to try and talk you out of something when you make a dumb decision that’s permanently etched into your skin.
Kyle signs all the forms with a flourish and takes his jacket off, plopping down on my chair. The bell above the door rings. In walks Roxie, with her dark sunglasses covering her face and a coffee the size of her head in her hands.
“Rough night?” I chuckle and she sneers at me.
“Shut up, Lee,” she snaps and gets to her station, dropping her oversized bag at her feet. It does not escape my attention that her hands are red and chapped. Exactly like how it looked after I’d pull athletic tape off my knuckles.
“She’s hot,” Kyle whispers and I roll my eyes, but nod. Objectively, Roxie is hot. She’s attractive in an alternative kind of way with heavy, dark makeup, black hair, piercings and tattoos galore. Roxie dresses very suggestively in leather corsets over her lean torso and miniskirts, showing off her long legs and her ink. She’s attractive, but just not my type. Not only that, but I only see her as a kid sister. She agrees—I’m big brother material only .
Thank fuck.
I wrap the table I’m using to hold my things and set out all my cups, working in silence. It’s nice but temporary; hopefully he brought music or some shit this time to entertain himself instead of trying to talk to me.
“So,” Kyle starts, and I catch myself before I let out a groan of annoyance. “What are your plans tonight?”
Pouring the ink into the cups, I organize them so they’re closer to the edge for my reach. I grab the tape and start wrapping up my tattoo gun, before turning it on and testing it. Buzz, buzz . Music to my ears.
Speaking of music, Roxie turns on the overhead stereo and rock starts playing through the speakers.
After laying the stencil on Kyle’s arm and prepping his skin, we’re ready to tattoo.
“Nothing,” I finally answer. “I’m going to stay here and do the books for the shop.”
“Lame!” Kyle boos but jumps like a bitch when the needle hits his skin for the first time. I pull the gun back quickly so I don’t fuck up his arm and do my best not to glare at him.
“No, it’s responsible,” I reply.
“Come on, man,” he scoffs. “You need to live a little. The fraternity is having its first party of the year. A welcome party of sorts. You should come.”
I give him a pointed look, clearly saying ‘nice try,’ and get back to the repetitive nature of outlining the lion, wiping his skin, and outlining again.
God, no. Nothing sounds worse than hanging out with a bunch of underage kids, playing games to get drunk, when I could be doing something productive.
“Free beer,” Kyle says in a sing-song tone, and I tip my lips down.
“Keg?” I ask, sitting back.
“On ice.”
Sighing loudly, I dip the needle in ink before moving to sit closer to him again. Maybe one night out with free drinks would be okay. I don’t need to see my brother. It’s just about getting out and relaxing a little; having a few beers and leaving.
“Sure, what time?” I ask, and Kyle’s eyes widen in surprise.
* * *
That night…
The house was busy. Like really fucking busy. I was worried that I would obviously be the oldest one here. At twenty-five years old, I didn’t expect to see some of the people I went to high school with at a frat party. There are definitely underage girls and guys here too, but it isn’t my business. The college school year is starting soon, so this isn’t abnormal. But again, none of my business .
I’m not an asshole that will end their party, but I’ll definitely keep an eye out for some of the bullshit I’ve heard goes on here.
I push my way through the house, sliding past scantily clad college girls and guys that are already so drunk, they’re spilling their drinks. Towering above most of them, I can clearly see the kitchen and the promised keg on ice. With my prize clearly in view, I push forward.
“Hey handsome.” A girl slides up to me, pushing her whole body against my chest. Her nails are way too long and witchy looking as she scratches my chest above the hem of my V-neck. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Forward, much?” I ask, pulling her hands off me. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m okay.”
“Fuck you,” she snaps and stomps off, likely on to her next conquest. She disappears into the crowd of people and I chuckle.
Oh, to be college-aged again, with no responsibilities other than to make it home before you passed out and try to remember to get to class. Or at least, that’s what I always thought college would be like. I spent the years I would’ve been in college working my ass off to help support my mom and little brother.
He gets to go to college and is carefree, but that wasn’t my path. It’s interesting to see how it could’ve been.
I grab a cup and fill it with the foamy liquid, happy that it’s cold as promised. There’s shit everywhere—empty cans and bottles on the counters, opened soda and juice bottles for mixers, shot glasses discarded all over. The bass is thumping so loudly I’m surprised the cops haven’t been called yet, since this house looks to be in a residential neighborhood. Then again, we do live in a college town, so maybe they’re just used to it.
“Asher, bro! It’s been too long, how the hell are you?” I turn to see a guy I knew from school but haven’t seen in a long time. Harry and I were acquaintances and played on a rec baseball team together.
I shake his hand and cheers his cup. “I’m good, how are you?”
“Good, good. Just enjoying a Friday night out,” he chuckles, gesturing around the room.
“Same.” I rub the back of my head, then push back down my brown tresses. I like to keep my hair long enough to run my fingers through, but the waves tend to fall over my forehead and into my eyes. I bring the cup to my lips and drink my beer, doing my best to keep from chuckling as I see Harry’s eyes widening while he scans all the tattoos I have. They cover my hand, my fingers, my forearms; there are pieces poking out from under my shirt and climbing up my neck. I definitely don’t look like I did in high school. I’ve put on at least fifty pounds of muscle to boot.
“So, what do you do?” he asks with an easy smile.
“I co-own a tattoo shop, From The Ashes , down on 3 rd .”
“That’s incredible,” he replies excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Maybe I’ll stop by and you can set me up.”
“Yeah, man. For sure,” I nod, pulling a card out of my back pocket and handing it to him. “I’m always there.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone who looks like my brother turning the corner. He has a sick smile on his face that tells me he’s up to no good. He hi-fives a guy standing by the wall, and that’s when I see it’s fucking Kyle.
My brother rolls his eyes and gestures for Kyle to follow him, then I watch as they walk out the front door. A girl in cowboy boots and blonde curly hair follows them reluctantly.
Something’s off.
Harry’s talking, and I nod along. “Yeah, just call that number and set up an appointment. I’d love to chat with you more about it,” I say absently.
“Sweet.” He puts the card in his back pocket. “It was good to see you, Asher.”
“You too.” I smile and raise my cup, turning and walking to where I saw my brother turn the corner.
There is a whole other level downstairs, with people making out on a beat-up couch right as you enter. Averting my eyes, I check the rooms. There are a few couples sleeping on the beds and the floor, and there’s also a few solo guests; guys and girls, sleeping or doing other things, in the different rooms. In the main room, there’s a game of what looks like poker going on. All the players are beyond drunk, so they’re loud and slurring.
My brother could’ve been fucking around with any of the people down here. He also could very well have just been playing poker. I shake my head and turn back to the stairs when I hear a weak moan.
I pause before heading toward the one room I didn’t really check because I saw the laundry machine peeking out.
A second moan sounds. It’s definitely coming from the laundry room.
“Hello?” I call out softly. “Is there someone here?”
Another breathy moan.
It’s dark and dusty in here, but as I push into the room further, I see someone huddled in the corner. Arms wrapped very loosely around themselves protectively, but completely still.
It’s a girl. She can’t be more than twenty, and she’s naked from the waist down, her shorts around her ankles. Her shirt is dark and pushed up, but her arms block a view of her bare breasts.
“Are you okay?” I ask, walking towards her slowly, hesitantly. The girl moans again but doesn’t move. Fuck, this is bad. Someone obviously raped this poor girl and left her. Rage fills my entire being to the point where I’m sure flames could shoot out of my eyes.
I fucking hate people. I really fucking hate people.
Men who do this kind of shit are not men. They’re barely people. But even they can be killed.
I shake the anger from my fingers, trying to bring myself back to center and not frighten this girl any more than she already is. If she can even see me. “Miss?” I try again.
Nothing. I press two fingers against her pulse point and find a weak, but there, pulse.
“Can you hear me?” I ask, a little louder this time. She doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, but her breathing is steady.
I can’t leave her here. Pulling up her shorts so she’s covered, I tug her shirt down, too. There are only nasty clothes needing to be washed in here, but I spot what looks like a folded sheet on top of the washer. I waste absolutely no time wrapping her up in it and picking her up in my arms. She’s light, even dead-weight, and I prop her head against my shoulder so it doesn’t flop back and hurt her more.
Making quick work of leaving the basement and getting the fuck out of this house, I push past all the partygoers with an unconscious girl in my arms. Not one of them looks at me with concern. No wonder this girl was taken and hurt—no one fucking watches out for others here.
“Where am I taking you?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.
“That’s Jade,” a voice calls. Turning to the sound, I find that blonde girl I saw leave with my brother and Kyle. She’s sitting on the front lawn, smoking what smells like a joint. My fingers tighten on the girl—around Jade —in my arms.
“Who are you?”
“The girl that came with her.” She blows a puff of smoke into the air and coughs. “I didn’t want her to come. And I don’t want to see her again.”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I snap, exhausted already with this fucking bitch that’s talking.
“She caught the eye of the guy I was into and slept with him. When she wakes up, tell her to find her own way home.” The girl with the boots stands and kicks a bag in my direction. “It’s her shit. I took her cash for gas and emotional damages.”
“You’re a piece of work,” I scoff and bend down to pick up the bag.
“Good luck–she’s a bitch.” She walks off, gets into a car and starts it before flipping me the bird and driving off.
What the hell is going on?
“Okay.” Think, Asher, think. “Okay, well I guess you’re coming home with me.”
I don’t know what else to do. I can’t leave her here; she’s hurt and unconscious, and the person she came with just abandoned her. She must not be from around here if she has an overnight bag packed.
“What else could possibly happen?” I sigh and make my way to my truck.