Chapter 6
The buzz of the bell has me pausing and putting down the ink gun. “Have a breather, I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, patting my client’s shoulder and pulling off the black nitrile gloves, throwing them in the bin under the work surface.
“Yeah, thanks. I was hitting my limit.”
As I step out of my screened off workstation, I can see the shape of someone at the door.
It’s a small body, but I can’t decide the gender.
When I click the lock and pull the door open, the visitor jumps in surprise and lets out a cute squeak.
I look at the young man and drink him in.
Small frame, dirty blond hair that’s styled to look messy, but it’s the bright electric blue eyes that stand out the most. Although on further inspection, his high cheekbones and plump, pink lips fit the heart-shaped face.
He’s beautiful, but young, he doesn’t even look eighteen.
But there’s confidence in his stance and expression, and I’m intrigued.
“Hi,” I say, holding back the smirk that wants to break free. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yes. I’m wondering if you’re looking for another tattooist?”
I look him up and down, then notice the black artist portfolio folder propped against his leg. It’s half the size of him. I’m not sure how he’s managed to carry it.
“Maybe, perhaps. You’d better come in.” I step back to give him space. I breathe in as he passes me, and the scent that floods my nose and over my taste buds makes my mouth water. “I’ve got a client in the chair. Can you wait? I shouldn’t be too long.”
He nods, looking around the room. His eyes settle on one of the leather chairs and walks over to it. Is the sway of his hips on purpose or is he naturally sexy as fuck.
“There’s a coffee machine in the corner and a fridge beneath it if you fancy a cold drink.”
“Thank you,” he says and smiles for the first time, and fuck me, he’s stunning.
I get back into my chair and pull on a new pair of gloves. “Ready, Kris?” I ask my client.
“Yep, I want this finished.”
It’s a full back intricate image of a devil and angel.
They face each other with their legs entwined and wings spread behind them.
The two naked males are close enough to kiss, they could either be leaning in or pulling away.
It has taken two sessions already, and this is the last. Kris has been in the chair for three hours already, but I’m less than thirty minutes away from finishing.
“You looking at taking on someone else then, Saint?” he asks from his prone position.
“I wasn’t, not really, but I probably could do with another artist. I’m overrun with requests. I’m doing sixty-hour weeks, I can’t keep up with the demand.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re the best, mate. No one in two hundred miles can match your skill.”
“Thanks, man.” We’re quiet now, Kris in his zone and me concentrating on the final shading.
As I finish, I’m aware of someone behind me. The kid is standing watching me. I turn my head to look at him. He’s staring at the piece, his eyes wide. “That’s incredible.” His words are barely a hushed whisper, but it’s as if I can feel his breath on my neck.
I put down the gun and wipe over the skin one last time. “That’s it, mate. You’re done. Do you want to look before I wrap it?”
“Hell yeah, I do. Let me get my phone. I want you to take a pic.” He stands up slowly, letting the blood start flowing through his head.
He turns his back to the full-length mirror and stares.
I watch as he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“Fucking hell, Saint. I…I don’t know what to say. ”
“You don’t need to say anything. I’ve only done what you asked.
” But I know there’s more to this. This is Kris’s way of celebrating the evils he’s battled, and after five years clean and sober, he’s embraced the devil and the angel that live inside him.
Then the six-foot, muscled-up biker pulls me into a hug.
His huge hands pound on my back as he thanks me again.
“Get off me, you big oaf. You’re killing both of our street cred.
” We’re both laughing by the time he releases me.
I wrap up his back and go through the care routine, which he knows that as well as I do. But I fulfil my duty of care. He hands me an envelope that’s got way more cash than he owes me. “If you don’t want it, pay it forward. I respect the shit out of you, man. You deserve it.”
He knows I’ll be putting it in the kids’ fund at the gym, giving my dad a hand reaching his target. I owe him everything, he saved me from a life of cruelty and probably prison, so what’s a couple of hundred quid.
After Kris leaves, I turn my attention to the young man. “If you don’t mind me talking whilst I clean up, we can start.”
“No, no that’s fine. I’m just thrilled to be here. I’ve been following your work for years.” He nods and smiles enthusiastically.
“How about you tell me a bit about you.” I throw away the ink cups and peel the wrap from the chair.
“Okay, my name’s Noah, and I’m twenty-one. I know I don’t look it, but I have my passport with me. I’ve been tattooing now for five years, and I’m looking to continue to improve my skills.”
I finish spraying the area and wiping it down and gesture for him to go back to the seating area. “Who taught you? Because if you’ve been doing this for five years, that makes you sixteen when you started. Not even old enough to get your own.”
He blushes a little, the toe of his trainers scraping over the floor. “I tattooed my friends, a lot.”
I snort. “You must have been popular with their parents.”
“Wouldn’t know. I grew up in a children’s home. No one cared what we did, so I had plenty of opportunity to practice. Would you like to see my work?” He replied so nonchalantly that I’m left speechless. So basically, he could be me, if Dad hadn’t rescued me.
I wait while he undoes the huge black folder, and when he pulls out some of the photographs and his sketches, I’m even more shocked. His work is incredible: clean, precise, and intricate. It’s almost too good to believe.
“Can you draw something for me now?” I reach over to the counter and pull my sketch book from the glass top.
“Sure, anything in particular?” He pulls out a Ziplock bag full of pencils.
I look through the sketch book he passes me. “Draw what you consider your weak point.”
By the look of his drawings, it will be hard to find a weak point. There are some errors, some details missed, and a couple that are slightly distorted. But looking at the dates, this was his earlier work. I watch him as he leans over the paper I gave him.
If I saw him at the club, I would be all over him, he’s just my type.
I can imagine him in a pair of skin-tight leather trousers and a collar, kneeling before me.
My dick seems to like that idea, too, which is a shame, because if his art is this good, I’ll be taking him on.
And mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea.
It’s only a few minutes later that he puts down the pencils and lets out a breath. “Here.” He hands it to me. “I’m sorry it’s not my best. I’m nervous.”
I look at the Koi and can see some errors, but it’s still good. Better than some I’ve seen on skin. “It’s still pretty good, Noah. Where have you been working?” His accent isn’t a local one.
“In Leeds, I worked through my apprenticeship in a studio there. I’ve got references if you want them.”
“Okay, I can see you’re talented, Noah. I can give you a trial if you’re interested. But I want commitment. If this is you just passing through, then you’re not what I need.”
“No, I was always heading to you. You’re one of the best in the country. I want to be that too.”
“Then be here tomorrow at 10 o’clock.” I hand him back his own work and keep the sketch of the Koi.
“Really?” His bright blue eyes sparkle, glistening as if tears are forming.
“Yep, we can go seventy/thirty on the jobs you do.”
His happiness disappears like I’d switched off a light.
“I can’t afford to only have thirty percent.”
“Noah, you get the seventy. But while you’re using my inks and my clients, then I will take thirty percent. When you have your own client list and your own supplies, we can discuss how we do this.”
His smile widens, making the skin around his eyes crinkle, and his high cheeks pink up again. “I can’t believe this. It’s incredible.” He shakes his head. “Will you be able to teach me stuff too? I want to learn.”
“Of course. But I’m not labelling you as an apprentice, you’re too good for that. I’m going to make some calls and bring in some of the people on the waiting list in. I won’t cram your day. I don’t know your speed, but you’ll have work tomorrow.”
With that, he stands up, wobbles a little, and pales.
Has he eaten? Where is he staying? All my protective instincts take over.
I learnt it all from my dads as they fostered and cared for me and my three brothers, plus the slew of short fostering jobs.
We knew to look out for anyone vulnerable. And Noah has suddenly fit that bill.