The Ink slinger (House of Ink #1)

Chapter One

Into The Weirdness

H ailey

“I think I’m lost,” I say to my friend Marcy over the speakerphone connected to the stereo in my car. “How the hell did I get lost in a town that doesn’t even have five thousand people?”

Marcy laughs loudly on the other end. “Girl, you could get lost in the checkout line of a convenience store.”

“Fuck off.” I chuckle. I love Marcy. She is my best friend and my voice of reason. She also knows all of my faults and flows. “Wait, there it is. I’ll talk to you later.”

Leaving her behind hurt, but I knew I had to do it. Once I find a place to settle down, I will invite her to visit me. Until then, thank God for cell phones.

I quickly end the call while maneuvering my blue muscle car into the only available spot in front of the tattoo parlor. I stare at the red brick building on Main Street in Franklinton.

House of Ink.

I have been following the guys who own this place for a while, and their online presence has simply exploded. There are some talented artists inside that nondescript shop. It’s one of the reasons I drove over three hundred miles from Birmingham. I needed some new ink and a change of scenery.

After my last horrible breakup, I just wanted to be away from everything that reminded me of that entire fiasco. So, I packed my bags, jumped in my car, and drove a couple of hundred miles to this little town on the outskirts of New Orleans. It’s basically in the middle of nowhere and the chance that I will know anyone here is slim. That is exactly how I want it.

Stepping out of my car, I adjust my distressed denim miniskirt before letting my stilettos carry me across the cracked pavement and into the store. Pushing open the glass door, I can’t help but smile.

The shop is stunning. They have large pieces of graffiti painted on the walls, framed drawings, and canvas photos of pieces they have done. It showcases their work and gives a sense of wonder. The black leather couches are just the perfect touch to this edgy environment.

The woman behind the counter is short and curvy as fuck with raven black hair. She smiles widely when she sees me.

“Welcome to House of Ink. How can I help you?” she asks.

“Hey.” I smile back. “I don’t have an appointment or anything, but I’m hoping to get some work done.”

Her gaze tracks across the multitude of tattoos I already have on display. “Are you sure there’s any space left?” She laughs.

“There are still a few spots. Wanna see?” I joke and she actually blushes.

“Uh,” she stammers, and I laugh.

“Sorry. I don’t have a filter, and I tend to make people uncomfortable,” I explain. “I was joking.”

She gives me another bright smile before turning back to the old-school appointment book. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those. Most people have gone fully digital.

“Laine has an hour open today. Maybe you guys could just figure out what you want, and I will book you for Friday?”

“That’s perfect!” I clap my hands in excitement.

I am what is referred to as OTT. For those that don’t know, that means Over. The. Top. My hair is too red, my tattoos are too many, and I am too loud and too brash. I am just ... too ... for some people. Not that I give a shit.

This girl, though, doesn’t miss a damn beat. She starts clapping excitedly with me. A mountain of a man rolls out of a booth in one of those wheeled office chairs, staring at us.

“What are you doing, Skye?” he asks in a deep baritone, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

His hair is shorn short against his scalp and his blue eyes are full of laughter as he stares at the curvy pixie.

“No idea!” She laughs loudly. “I got excited.” She smiles at me again.

The large man rolls his eyes before wheeling his chair back into his station. Strange people. He didn’t seem to mind that his receptionist went nuts, he was more curious as to why.

“Laine should be here in about five minutes,” the woman I now know as Skye says. “You can just take a seat.”

“Maybe you can give me some advice while I wait,” I say instead. “I’m here in town on a whim. Where is the nearest decent motel?”

“Oh, no,” she says with a comical gesture. “You do not want to stay there.” She shudders just thinking about it. “How long are you staying in town?”

“No idea. I needed to get away from life, so I just grabbed my shit and left.”

She rises from her seat behind the counter, walking around to stand beside me. She assesses me with keen eyes before nodding.

“Ali, are you almost done?” she yells to the back.

Someone chuckles and another curses. There is a clatter as things are put down before the big man from before comes out of his booth with another equally large but gorgeous man.

“Woman, I told you not to call me that,” he grumbles as the other man waves at us before leaving the shop. “Now I’m going to have to kick Michael’s ass the next time he sees me.”

“Why?” I ask as he looks down at the much smaller woman.

His gaze shoots up to me like he is seeing me for the first time.

“Because my name is Alistair. Not Ali.”

“Whatever.” Skye waves her hand in the air. “I’m going to show—” She stops abruptly looking at me. “What’s your name?”

“Hailey.”

“I’m going to show Hailey my house. She is going to be renting it while she stays in town.”

“Skye...” Alistair starts but she shuts him up with a smack to the shoulder.

“We’ll be back in five minutes. She has an appointment with Laine.”

Everything happens so fast, I don’t have a chance to stop her or ask questions as she grabs my hand and drags me out the door.

“Which car is yours?” she asks. I point to my car, and she makes a beeline for it. “Come on!”

“Are you a serial killer? Looking to chop me up and feed me to the neighbors?” I ask once I am in the car.

“Nope. You’ll get used to it, though. Everyone in Franklinton is overly friendly and in each other’s business. By the end of the day, you’ll be the talk of the town. It took me forever to get back into the swing of things after being in New York for a couple of years.”

She talks nonstop, telling me about the town and the people while using hand gestures to direct me. Four blocks from the shop we pull up to a middle-sized brick house. It is stunning. A big tree in the yard, a beautifully manicured lawn, and blooming flowers as far as the eye can see. The wraparound porch and white shutters actually have me swooning a bit.

“Why don’t you live here?” I ask, confused. This is basically my dream house.

“It’s too big. I can’t live here alone I feel like a ghost walking the halls. It was my mom’s place and it feels empty without her,” she says softly. “It’s only been empty a couple of weeks. I can have it cleaned before you move in.”

“No, that’s fine. If you’re looking to rent it out on a weekly basis, I’ll take it.”

“Awesome,” she says with a bright smile, handing me a set of keys. “Let’s get back to the shop.”

This place is bound to do my head in. I’m used to people being standoffish and distrustful. Neither of those words describe this woman.