Chapter 13
13
Karma
Evening traffic in LA is no joke. It took me over an hour to reach the fancy, picturesque neighborhood where Isabella told me to meet her. There’s nothing even resembling a tattoo parlor here though, not even a bar. Instead, the street is lined with mansions and beautifully kept lawns that remind me so much of the street I fled down in Charleston, it’s a struggle not to floor it out of here and back to the seedy part of town where I’m just another freak and outcast. As much as I want to leave that life, I feel much safer there.
People are walking their dogs and cats, and even a rabbit in one instance, and I feel every eye on me as I pass them. Even the animals are staring at me. Even they know I don’t belong here. Any moment now, someone’s gonna call 911. And then it won’t matter how or where I want to live because I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life.
I spot Isabella standing on the sidewalk up ahead and I hope to God she’s not just a sick figment of my imagination. Sometimes I see what I want to see. Grim complains about that a lot. Maybe I shouldn’t have left him alone with Scorpio, because I’m sure he sees the suggestion I made that the two of them get together as a challenge. And I know he sometimes reacts violently to challenges he doesn’t want to meet. But he wouldn’t hurt someone I care about… and he wouldn’t just murder Joker’s right-hand man either. So I think Scorpio’s safe.
Isabella wasn’t just a mirage. She’s really standing there, her long, dark brown hair cascading down her back. She’s dressed in a pair of leggings, flip-flops, a tank top and an oversized cardigan. In other words, she looks exactly like every other rich bitch walking their pets down this street.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says and gives me a huge hug as soon as I’m off my bike.
“You live here?” I ask, looking over her shoulder at the mansion obscured by a couple of ancient looking trees. The house looks like something straight out of a fancy architecture magazine, complete with painted glass windows for decoration.
“Temporarily,” she says. “This is my… boyfriend’s, I guess, mom’s house. I’m set up in the apartment over the garage.”
“Sweet place,” I say as she entwines her arm with mine and starts dragging me towards the house.
“It’s a high-class suburban nightmare and it’s giving me all sorts of bad flashbacks from my childhood,” she says. “I can’t wait to get my own place somewhere downtown. But for now, I’m stuck here.”
“Right, you were some sort of mafia heiress,” I say, casting my mind back to all the stuff she told me about herself over the years.
She lets go of my arm once we reach the garage and leads the way up a set of dark brown metal stairs attached to the side of the structure. The two-door garage is not attached to the main house, but was made to look just like it, complete with wooden accents and even has its own small stained-glass window. The last time I was near this kind of display of wealth, the owners wanted to put me in a cage.
“Mafia princess, you mean,” she says. “But that didn’t go very well. And now I’m forced to hide out here until Blade and I figure out exactly how many people don’t want me back here. My father and brothers could be among them.”
“That bad, huh?” I say as we enter the studio apartment. The wide-open living room/kitchen area is bigger than most of the places I’ve stayed in lately. There’s a large sofa, a new TV and the kitchen looks so untouched and clean it makes me want to cook something. The bedroom is behind a partition made of multicolored glass squares and I assume the bathroom is behind the only door apart from the one we entered through. I bet that’s super clean and all new too.
All the furniture in the living room is sort of pushed to the side though, to make room for Isabella’s state-of-the-art tattooing chair and all her needles and inks and such.
“What are you complaining about,” I say. “This place is awesome. I could totally live here.”
She makes a face and it somehow makes her even prettier than she already is. “Blade’s mom is pretty cool, considering everything I put her son through, but this is so not my style.”
She walks to the sofa and taps the space beside her. “Come. I’ve made some sketches based on what you told me you wanted. I know you said we’d go over it again in person, but I was inspired and couldn’t help myself.”
“I like the sound of that,” I say and toss my jacket on the back of the sofa before joining her.
She’s mad talented and my most beautiful tattoos so far resulted from her strokes of inspiration with no additional input from me.
She picks up her sketchbook and opens it, showing me the most beautiful lakeside cabin scene I’ve ever seen.
“This is even more beautiful than it was in real life,” I whisper and take the sketchbook from her hands to get a better look.
The starry sky and moon are reflected perfectly in the calm waters of the lake, a faint orange light illuminates the cabin’s windows and the whole scene is surrounded by tall trees. How she was able to evoke such feelings of safety, belonging and security with this simple picture, I’ll never know. But here I am, smelling the lake water and feeling Scorpio’s arms around me, wishing we were still there.
“I was thinking we’d put it under your left breast,” she says. “There’s still some space there, right?”
I run my hand over the drawing, needing to be closer to the scene. “Everything is still exactly how you left it. I don’t let anyone else draw on me.”
She smiles. “I really appreciate that vote of confidence. So, do you want to add anything?”
“Maybe we could work in a sunset somehow,” I say. “That was always the most magical time at the cabin.”
“Your wish is my command,” she says and takes the sketchbook from me, reaching for a pencil case.
A few strokes later, she’s made it perfect by adding just a touch of dusky purple and orange to the edges.
“That’s it,” I tell her as she shows it to me. “I think he’d love it too.”
“Your new guy?” she asks. “The one you spent time at the cabin?”
I nod. “I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten a tattoo to honor him before. He seemed to really dig the idea when I explained it to him. But it’s all still so new… “
I want to stay excited about getting this gorgeous tattoo, but is it gonna just make me really sad every time I see it? What if Grim can’t learn to share me? What if Scorpio really does die in this war they’re gearing up to enter? What if he grows tired of me?
But all those questions won’t stop me. I’m getting this tattoo to celebrate my own awakening too. I’m getting it as a reminder that life and love does go on, even when your heart has been ripped out, burned to ash and scattered all over the country.
“And for the other tattoo you wanted…” she says and turns the page in her sketchbook. The sight of it makes my throat close up painfully.
There’s Reaper’s name, the chunky letters filled with all the greatest milestones of our life together—the bike he taught me how to ride, his strong hand in mine, as he holds both the lost, bloodied, scared girl and the one he turned into a warrior that’s not afraid of anything. Along with a bunch of other details that made my life with him perfect.
“Do you like it?” she asks, because I’m not saying anything.
I clear my throat. “I love it.”
And that’s all I can say. Any more and I will burst into tears.
“Should we start with this one then?” she asks.
I nod. “Right over my heart.”
That’s where Reaper belongs and I will carry him there forever. But it will be nice to have the cabin too, right below it, reminding me that not everything is lost. That there’s always light, even after the blackest darkness.
I take off my shirt and bra and lay down on the table, watching her prepare all she needs. She hums softly while she places all her needles and inks just so, sterilizing as she goes. A peace seems to settle over the room and I’m pretty sure it’s originating from her and how totally in her element she is. Because my heart’s still racing and the memories depicted in the tattoo she’s about to draw over my heart are playing on a loop inside my head, all draped in black sadness.
“Ready?” she asks, holding the needle over my skin. I nod, because unshed tears are once again closing up my throat so I can’t speak.
“You sure?” she asks, clearly picking up on it.
“Grief fucking sucks,” I say. “Maybe you can write that somewhere on my skin too.”
She nods, her eyes unfocusing. “Losing someone is a bitch.”
“At least this way, I’ll remember him forever,” I say. “Go on. I’m ready.”
She nods and the needle buzzes to life. The first prick is always excruciating and I welcome the pain. It makes me angry, as always, and anger is the very best remedy for sadness.
The pain fades as she freestyles Reaper’s name and all the pretty memories onto my breast. She only checks the drawing occasionally and I’m sure I’ll be surprised by several additions that will wow me even more than the concept drawing did. Her drawn designs are out of this world amazing, but the actual tattoos she creates from them are even better.
“So this Blade guy, he’s the one you left behind when you moved to the East Coast?” I ask once the pain fades to a dull throbbing which I hope is what will one day happen to the actual pain I still feel over Reaper’s death.
“Yeah,” she says. “I broke his heart, but he still came back for me. Even in my wildest dreams I didn’t dare imagine he still loved me, you know?”
“True love is forever.”
I always believed that. And I believe it even more acutely now as I’m getting my dead lover’s name inked into my chest.
“Sure, but loving someone forever and being together and making it work are two very different things,” she says tonelessly. She’s so engrossed in her work, I wonder if she even fully knows that she’s speaking.
But she’s not wrong.
I wonder if what Scorpio and I started will fall on the not making it work side of this truism. But I don’t want to think about that. I want to believe that better, happier times lie ahead. Just like the gorgeous lake side cabin at sunset tattoo will follow the RIP one she’s inking into my skin now.
“How come you have to hide out here?” I ask.
“Long and convoluted story,” she says. “But in a nutshell… my dad doesn’t want me back here, the guy I was supposed to marry might still want to go through with the marriage my dad arranged, and my friends are all still pissed off that I ran out on them ten years ago. We were all going through this terrible thing that happened. Plus, my family wanted me gone after I dishonored them. And I was a hopeless addict. I just couldn’t deal. I’ve never stopped being sorry. But I don’t know if they’ll be as forgiving as Blade is.”
“I’m sure they’ll forgive you,” I say. “That’s what friends and family do.”
Will Grim forgive me for jumping into bed with another guy so soon after we lost the love of our lives? Is he more mad about it than he let on earlier?
These are questions I should’ve been asking before I let the cabin and all that happened there become a part of my soul.
“I’m hoping,” she says. “I’ve missed them all so much.”
“What about Zane?” I ask. “Is he mad at you too? Seeing as he was something of a pariah too?”
She chuckles. “Nope. Zane and I have the whole running away and betraying everyone in common. And he seems to be getting his forgiveness lately.”
“Yeah? With the guys who help right wrongs and give people a new chance at life?”
That’s how she had described the MC Zane had once belonged to. It’s what gave me the idea of asking her to introduce us.
“Yeah, him and Rogue, the president of Rogue Angels MC used to be best friends once upon a time. Before Zane became Unholy, that is,” she says. “But they seem to be patching things up lately.”
“You think you could put us in touch?” I ask.
She stops tattooing and gives me a questioning look. “Sure. Why?”
“I’ve been thinking I want to stop living the nomad life and put down roots somewhere,” I tell her. “I heard that Rogue Angels can make that happen.”
“But you’re a fugitive, right?”
I hate that word more than anything. She starts drawing on my skin again, speaking like what she said is just a by the way sort of thing. Not the bane of my entire existence.
“More like a wanted person, since they never caught me so I could run and become an actual fugitive. But yeah, basically.”
“Rogue Angels could help prove your innocence,” she says. “That’s what they do.”
I barely manage not to snort. “Problem is, I’m guilty as sin. But so’s Zane and they’re making it possible for him to live a normal life, right?”
Some of this she told me, some of it I heard from others on the streets. It all culminated in my grand plan to try and give all us Forsaken Outlaws new, legit identities that would make it possible for us to settle down somewhere. If we wanted to. Which I very much do.
“Zane did kill a priest, after all. And was convicted of it, right?” I add. “Now he’s living in LA under the protection of Rogue Angels MC.”
She turns off the needle again and gives me a very deep, sad and searching look. “I don’t know, Karma. As far as I know, Rogue and them are in the business of catching criminals, not shielding them. But I can set up a meet for you. Once they accept me.”
“Or I could just find Zane and ask him. We used to ride together for a while.”
I try to sound non-fazed by it. A difficult feat, because here’s another of my heart’s dreams turning to ash, getting picked up by the wind, flying into my eyes and making them sting and water.
“He might be able to help you, sure. A friendless life on the run is no fun,” she says and starts working again. “I’m sure Zane knows this very well. I know I do.”
“I have friends,” I mutter and then let the silence drag.
Sometime later, she announces she’s done and lets me have a look at her creation. As I expected, it’s even more breathtaking than the drawing. And I have no hope of stopping the tears from rolling down my cheeks as I relive all the greatest moments I spent with Reaper, which are now forever etched into my skin. Never to be real again.
“We can start the cabin one tomorrow,” she says.
“Let’s do it now,” I whisper hoarsely. “Unless you’re too tired.”
“I’m not,” she says, smiling at me. “I just thought you might be wiped out.”
“I’m not.”
She grins at me then starts prepping again. I lay back, staring directly at the bright light she has trained on my stomach, willing it to burn away my tears.
I need the good image of the cabin to chase away the black grief brought by the one she just finished. And I need to accept that I might never have a life where I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder and live in fear that I’ll lose the ones I love the most.
Dreaming and wishing is for the ones who are truly free. Not for us who only pretend to be.