Chapter 20
20
NIKKO
T he needle buzzed in my hand as I filled in the cross on my client’s arm. Normally, I would talk to my customers. It helped distract them from the discomfort and it made the day pass more quickly. But my mood was about as pleasant as stepping on a hornet’s nest barefoot. Sunday mornings at the shop were usually slow—just the occasional walk-in looking for something impulsive and regrettable. But we were still playing catch up from cancelled appointments the day we had to clean the shop.
“Dude, do you think I should put a rose at the base?”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at the guy I was working on. “What?”
The guy twisted his arm around, trying to get a better look at the ink. “Here, right at the base. Think it would balance the cross out?”
I eyed the fresh black lines, still raw and slightly raised on his pale skin. “Yeah, a rose could work. Traditional, but it adds a good contrast.” I set the tattoo machine down and rubbed my forehead. The incessant buzzing was starting to grate on my nerves, which was unusual.
“Cool, cool,” he said enthusiastically. “Let’s do it.”
I nodded absently and picked up the machine again, the needle resuming its relentless dance across his skin. I just wanted to be done. The work felt like a chore and I didn’t want to do a fucking rose or thorns or anything else. My mood was rotten but it had nothing to do with this client. The situation with Hannah was twisting me up inside.
Why had I let her get to me? Why did every damn thing she say echo in my head? Even the most inconsequential words meant something. It reminded me of how much I cared despite my best efforts.
As I drew the rose, its petals soft and menacing all at once, I thought of the rose I put on her arm. I thought about the way her lips had hesitated before that kiss. A kiss that shouldn’t have meant anything but somehow changed everything.
For me, anyway.
The guy with the arm grunted a little. “Man, that stings,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” I said automatically, my mind barely there. “Almost done.”
He nodded, gritting his teeth as I continued to fill in the petals. This was always the part I loved about my job—the transformation. Clients came in with a vision or a whisper of an idea, and left carrying a piece of art that was both part of them and apart from them.
The buzz of the needle finally silenced, and I wiped down his arm, revealing the finished design—a black cross crowned with a deep red rose, drops of dew inked painstakingly on each petal to give it life.
“Shit, that looks awesome,” he said. “Way better than I expected.”
“Jess will get your payment,” I said as I wrapped his arm. “She’ll tell you how to keep it clean.”
“Cool. Thanks, man.”
He got out of the chair and walked away. I took a bathroom break. When I returned, the shop was blissfully empty. I started to clean up my station when Jess walked over and handed me a twenty.
“Your tip.”
“Thanks,” I said and stuffed it in my pocket .
“Damn, Nikko, could you scowl any harder? You’re gonna scare the customers away,” Jessie said.
“Yeah,” Diego chimed in from his spot by the rack of binders, flipping through designs no one had asked for in years. “You look like someone crapped in your coffee.”
“Maybe because I’m stuck here with you two morons,” I muttered.
Jessie leaned against my station, her eyes narrowed in concern. “Hannah again?”
Diego snorted and flipped another page. “That girl’s doing a number on you.”
“It’s nothing,” I lied, grabbing a bottle of green soap and beginning to scrub down my area more vigorously than necessary.
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Jessie persisted, folding her arms. “And since when do you put so much detail into a walk-in’s rose? You were zoned out. I thought you were going to end up doing a whole sleeve. I was already thinking about how I was going to convince the guy he had to pay a thousand dollars for the piece he thought he was paying a hundred for.”
“I do good work,” I said. “Obviously, that’s why people request me more than the two of you combined.”
Jessie rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. She knew when I was close to the edge, knew better than to prod too much when I was in this state. “Just don’t go biting anyone’s head off, okay? We need the customers more than they need us.”
Diego laughed, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at me. “Lighten up, man. You should see your face right now—it’s like you’re deciding whether to cry or punch someone.”
Ignoring them both, I grabbed more paper towels and disinfectant and continued cleaning.
“It’s definitely woman trouble,” Diego said.
“Fuck you,” I said.
“He needs to get laid,” Jess said.
“Since when do you guys give a shit about my sex life?”
“Didn’t you go out with Hannah again?” Diego asked.
Jess smiled. “He likes her. ”
“So, you took her out?” Diego pushed.
“We didn’t go out.”
“Aha!” Jess exclaimed. “She stood you up!”
“She didn’t stand me up. We had a… picnic.”
Both Diego and Jess exchanged a look. “You had a picnic ?” Diego asked with surprise.
“Holy shit. That sounds serious.”
“This is why I don’t tell you guys things,” I said, shaking my head.
“Dude, that’s romance territory,” Diego said. “How did it go?”
“Fine.”
“I’m guessing by the sourpuss face, he didn’t get his goodnight kiss,” Jessie teased, shooting me a smirk that made me want to fling my sketchbook at her.
“Can you two shut up for five minutes?” I snapped, throwing my towel down. “You’re like two hens clucking.”
Jessie held her hands up, feigning innocence. “Whoa there, big guy. Don’t take your bad date energy out on us.”
“It wasn’t a bad date,” I grumbled.
Diego snorted. “You come in here looking like someone stole your bike, and you expect us to believe that?”
“I don’t give a shit what you believe.”
“Dude, did you fail in the sex department?” Diego joked. “Don’t worry, it happens to all of us. Whiskey dick is real.”
I glared at him. “Maybe I just don’t feel like sharing every detail like it was my first date with a woman.”
Jessie waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe you don’t feel like dealing with the fact that you’re catching feelings. Maybe the problem isn’t that it was a bad date. The problem is it was a good one.”
That did it. “You know what? Screw this. I’m taking a break.”
Diego shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Cool. Bring us back some donuts while you’re at it.”
I flipped him off on my way out the back door, their laughter following me like a bad smell.
The rear parking lot was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic. I lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall, exhaling smoke into the humid air.
I rarely smoked, but I always kept a couple cigarettes on hand for a quick fix. Usually, I just needed a drag or two to smooth out the rough edges. I closed my eyes, thinking about Jess’s words.
Catching feelings. The idea was ridiculous. Hannah was just another woman. But then, why the hell did I plan a picnic for us? Why did I care so much about impressing her with my choice of cheese and wine? I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache starting to form.
I flicked the cigarette butt onto the pavement, watching as it sparked. I stomped it out with my boot. I turned to see Marcus standing a few feet away, his phone pressed to his ear. I opened my mouth to say something, but he held up a finger, signaling he’d be a minute. The look on his face was serious. I waited until he finished his call to find out what was going on now.
“Detective,” he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.
I raised an eyebrow. “Something new about the break-in?”
He nodded, pulling his phone out again and tapping the screen. “Yeah. They’ve got a suspect in custody.”
He turned the phone toward me. “They sent me a picture to see if I recognized him. I don’t know him. Do you?”
I took the phone and shielded the screen from the sun to get a better look. My eyes widened, then squinted as I leaned in.
“You know him?” Marcus asked, watching my reaction.
I stared at the mugshot, my brain working overtime to make sense of it. “Fuck.”
“What?” Marcus asked. “Who is it?”
“That’s the guy Samantha was with when I went to pick up my stuff the other week. Greg. Some juicehead.”
Marcus frowned. “You sure?”
“Positive.” I zoomed up on the picture. “What the hell is he doing breaking into the shop?”
“That’s what the cops are trying to figure out.” Marcus crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Did you pick some jealous fight with him?”
“Hell, no,” I said. “I gave him a little shit, but I made it clear I was done with Sam. They deserve each other.”
Marcus nodded slowly, still studying me with those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through people. “And no other run-ins since then?”
I shook my head. “Not a word. I put that all behind me.”
He was quiet for a second. His hands moved to his hips as he looked down at the pavement.
“Here’s the thing, Nikko. Your personal shit is bleeding into the business again, and that’s a problem.”
I stiffened, handing the phone back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this is strike two,” Marcus said, his tone calm but firm. “Your dad showing up and demanding money that you took from the register was one thing. Now this? If something like this happens again, we’re gonna have to have a serious conversation about whether you staying here is good for the shop. We work as a team here. We have to be able to count on each other. I don’t know if I can right now.”
The words hit me like a gut punch. I knew Marcus had to protect his business—hell, I’d do the same in his shoes—but hearing it still sucked.
“I get it,” I said finally, my voice tight.
“Good.” Marcus nodded, then softened slightly. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but you’ve got to draw a line somewhere, man. This place can’t handle any more drama.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine. When Marcus went back inside, I stayed in the parking lot and pulled out my last spare cigarette. My mood, already bad, had officially hit rock bottom.
I needed to blow off steam.
I jerked open the back door and walked inside, then grabbed my keys and wallet out of my cubby. “I’m out,” I said.
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Diego said .
“Yep.”
Marcus looked at me and nodded once. I said nothing else and walked right back out.
Sliding onto my bike, I revved the engine and took off, the roar of the machine drowning out everything else. The city blurred around me as I rode like the devil was behind me. I was pissed. Furious. Mad at my dad. Myself. Hannah. Circumstances in general.
But along with the anger, I was feeling something else. Something much worse. I felt regret for letting myself open up to Hannah. For wanting something I couldn’t have. Of course she would never want a man like me. We were so different. And she lived halfway across the country.
That led to frustration that my past was still biting at my heels, no matter how hard I tried to leave it behind. And underneath it all, a nagging feeling I couldn’t shake—like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t as done with my old life as I wanted to believe.