11. Sienna
Chapter 11
Sienna
J R stands for Jolly Roger’s Tattoo Studio.
Apparently what Breaker's Isle appreciates more than custom bikes is ink done by steady hands.
“See anything you like?”
Theo calls from his station, glancing up from where he's wiping down a chair with antiseptic.
“Still looking.”
I flip through a battered portfolio of his custom pieces, running my fingers over the glossy plastic sleeves. My eyes land on a classic vintage MOM tattoo inked across a bleeding red heart stabbed through with a dagger.
I whisper under my breath, “What would you choose, Amalie Riley?”
Theo’s ears are sharp.
“Did you say something?”
I glance over at him, heat creeping up my neck.
"Just thinking."
Trying to cover it, I ask, “What made you get into tattoos?”
He leans against the counter, tossing the cleaning rag into a bin.
“The guys at the shop, mostly. My dad’s shop.”
“SKC?”
He nods.
“They all had these incredible pieces. Each one told a story without ever saying a word. When I was little, I used to sit on the curb outside the bay and just… watch. Wonder why someone would choose that symbol. That name. What moment made them want to carry it forever.”
There’s a reverence in his voice that pulls me in.
“I never thought of it that way,” I say softly.
He shrugs, pulling open a drawer and organizing his inks by color.
“I figured... if something mattered enough to be inked into someone’s skin, it deserved to be done right. Better than any fancy gallery or hanging your art on a wall. People are walking billboards.”
I grin and drag one of the rolling stools over to sit across from him.
“That’s pretty special.”
I glance down at the tattoos wrapping Theo’s arms and legs. They’re chaotic, layered, and emotional. Like chapters in a story only he knows how to read.
“So your tattoos,” I ask carefully. “They tell your story?”
He glances down at himself, the easy grin slipping away. His jaw tenses before he looks back up at me.
“They say something, alright,” he mutters, voice tight. Then he straightens, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Anyway, I’ve got a client coming in soon.”
Dismissed.
The mention of his own tattoos clearly hit a nerve.
I push up from the stool, suddenly awkward.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"You didn’t," he says quickly. "I’m just... still figuring out how to talk about some of it.”
I nod, respecting the boundary.
I’m about to leave when he glances at my bare arms, my blank canvas of skin, and says impulsively, “You ever think about getting one?”
I hesitate.
“Yeah. Actually. I’ve been dreaming about getting something for my mom.”
His face softens immediately.
“You got an idea?”
I chew my lip.
“She loved motorcycles. And peonies. I was thinking... maybe something small. Delicate. Personal. Nothing too flashy.”
Theo’s whole posture shifts. Suddenly he’s all in.
"I'll do it," he says. "Free of charge."
I blink.
“Seriously?”
He grins.
“Seriously. It’d be an honor.”
Something warm blooms in my chest.
He gestures to the chair he just finished cleaning.
“C’mon, Red. Let’s pop your tattoo cherry.”
I laugh at the new nickname and slip onto the padded chair while Theo grabs a sketchbook, already flipping to a blank page.
“Give me a sec,” he says, pencil flying.
While he sketches, I blurt out, “By the way… if I survive the lighthouse dare, I’m totally getting another tattoo to celebrate.”
Theo freezes mid-sketch, lifting his eyes to mine.
“You’re still actually planning to do that?”
I nod, grinning.
“You’re insane,” he says, shaking his head. HIs hair falls into his face a little, and he shakes it back. “That place is a death trap. No sane person would spend the night there.”
“Guess that makes me the perfect candidate.”
He chuckles under his breath.
“When?”
“Next weekend,” I say casually.
He groans.
“You’re gonna drag me into this, aren’t you?”
“You already volunteered,” I remind him sweetly.
He mutters something about needing hazard pay but goes back to his sketch, a little smile pulling at his lips.
In less than five minutes, he shows me the design. A delicate outline of a single peony bloom morphing into the curves of a vintage motorcycle wheel. Soft, feminine… but strong too.
It’s perfect .
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
“Where do you want it?” he asks, already prepping his station.
I tap my hipbone, right where it dips below my waistline. I want it somewhere only I can see.
His ears flush pink when I tug my skirt down slightly, baring the skin.
Professional or not, he’s still a guy.
He clears his throat, carefully smoothing the stencil onto my skin.
The cool pressure of his fingers sends goosebumps chasing up my spine.
“This’ll only hurt a little,” he teases.
“Story of my life,” I mutter under my breath.
He huffs a laugh but doesn’t say anything else, just works with a focused gentleness.
And when he presses the machine to my skin for the first time, I grit my teeth and breathe through the sting. It’s not as bad as I thought. In fact, it’s kind of beautiful.
Pain and art all tangled up together.
He finishes faster than I expect, wiping down the new ink with practiced hands.
“All done,” he says, smiling wide.
I sit up, careful, and glance at the mirror he hands me.
It’s beautiful. Elegant. And all mine.
I run my fingers carefully around it, heart swelling.
Theo clears his throat again, handing me a small packet of aftercare instructions.
“Just take good care of it, okay? Wouldn’t want you getting an infection before your able to prove your guts with the keeper.”
He grins.
Before I can thank him properly, the door swings open. A guy with short, dark hair and porcelain skin steps inside. His next appointment, I’m guessing.
Theo flashes him a professional smile.
“You must be Jun Yu. C’mon in.”
I squeeze past them, helmet tucked under my arm.
As I reach the door, I glance back once.
“Thanks, Theo,” I say, voice thick with more gratitude than I can explain.
He meets my eyes and grins, that boyish, mischievous smile.
“Anytime, Red.”