Chapter 11
11
ZARINA
I only had to drive past the tattoo studio to know it was his. Everything about it was his vibe to a tee. I could just feel it. Even as I parked my car, I got that weird feeling in my stomach that told me I was at the right place.
The sun was setting quickly, and the skyscrapers were backlit and outlined in the yellow glow of what was left of the day. I wrapped my jacket tight around my torso against the cool breeze that whipped around me.
I took a moment to admire the artwork that was displayed on the front windows of Graze Ink, and I wondered if they were his. The designs differed so much, but a distinct, individual style seemed to touch each of them, which made me think they had all been done by the same person.
The glass doors had ornate golden handles in the shape of curling snakes, and I ran my fingers over the detailed scales that were carved into each one before pulling the door open.
A very tattooed woman sat behind the front desk, frowning down at her computer and chewing on a piece of gum. She looked up only when a bell chimed as the door squealed shut, and she offered me a wide smile. Her dead straight, slick black hair fell out of her ponytail and framed her face.
She was gorgeous .
Something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach.
Was it jealousy? It definitely felt similar.
I was a girl’s girl through and through. But sometimes I still heard my mother’s voice in the back of my mind.
“Look how pretty she is, Zarina. Be careful of that one.”
“The beautiful ones are always threatened by other beautiful ones.”
“They don’t see you as anything more than competition.”
I quickly shook it off.
“Can I help you, babe?” she asked.
“Uh,” I chuckled, because I didn’t know how to answer. I looked around, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else. Honestly, I felt a little silly already.
“Sorry,” I stuttered, backing towards the door. “Are you closing?”
“Not for a little while,” she smiled. “But I can help if you wanna book an appointment?”
A door at the back of the shop opened and I looked up to see Ashe throwing a cigarette butt into an ashtray before stepping back inside. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face before he looked up, stopping in his tracks as he laid eyes on me.
I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. The girl was still smacking at her chewing gum, now smirking slightly as she looked between Ashe and I, obviously sensing the tension between us.
“Soo,” she dragged out. “An appointment?”
“Uh, yes,” I stuttered. “Yes please.”
She looked down at the appointment book in front of her and Ashe wandered over, nudging her out of the stool she was perched on.
“Go home, Jess.”
“Oh,” she straightened, pressing her lips together to avoid smiling. “Righto.”
Jess looked between us both once more before flinging her black backpack that was covered in different band patches over her shoulder and heading out. Ashe and I watched each other as the door slammed shut behind her, and then it was painfully silent.
I broke our eye contact and took a chance to look around the studio, at all the equipment and artwork. The dark wood panelled floors and black walls were all contrasted by all the gold accents.
There were even a few plants strewn about.
“Much better decorated than your house,” I mentioned.
He shrugged. “The flowers were all Jess.”
I nodded.
“So, she’s your… girlfriend?”
He bit out a laugh. “Apprentice. Needed a job and safe people to be around.”
“Ah,” I nodded slowly.
I noted that the feeling in my stomach was in fact jealousy, because it disappeared after the confirmation from him.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms over himself. The way his arms flexed as he did it made me feel a little feral, but I tried to ignore it.
Jesus, Zar. You do not get flustered by men. Get it together.
I ignored his question, instead making my way over to the frames that housed pages and pages full of designs. The panels were mounted on the wall, and I could easily flip through them like they were pages of a book. Some housed large designs that took up the whole sheet of paper, some of them were small, all grouped together and scattered throughout the displays.
I paused at one particular page, which seemed to have an almost nautical theme.
The bright reds and muted blues took my attention instantly, and I ran my finger over the depiction of a flying bird as I felt his presence behind me.
“Swallow tattoos usually represent freedom,” he explained softly. “Or coming home. A return. They used to be popular among old-school sailors. They were like a badge for the dudes that had sailed over 5000 miles.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
I kept flipping through the pages, taking in every beautiful design.
“Did you draw these?” I asked.
“Some,” he said plainly.
I nodded again.
“You want one?” Ashe asked, his breath warm against my ear and his gravelly voice a low almost-chuckle.
I surprised even myself when I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“That one?” he pointed to the flower I’d been lingering on.
The boldly outlined rose was beautiful, sure. I probably could have said yes and been happy enough with the choice. It was a traditional piece, a safe bet for a first tattoo.But I turned, looking up at Ashe and narrowing my eyes.
His face was trained in nothing more than a curious, slight smile.
“You pick,” I crossed my arms.
His eyebrows shot up.
“You want me … to pick a tattoo for you?”
I nodded.
Why not? I didn’t particularly care what it was, and he was supposed to be the professional, right?
He shook his head, chuckling as he rubbed at his bearded jaw.
My mind began to race, and I assumed his was too as he considered me for a long while.
“Okay,” he smirked for a split second. “I’ve got just the thing. Where do you want it?”
I looked down at my body.
I had no fucking idea.
Only ten minutes ago I was inside my car, nearing a mental breakdown thanks to my mother’s kind reminder that I was going nowhere fast in life. As cruel as the woman could be, I couldn’t say that she was wrong.
My shop barely turned a profit most months.I had no accolades or achievements beside my name.No interesting projects or hobbies.No real friends.
What the fuck was I doing with my life?
“Here,” I rubbed at the spot just below my hip.
Ashe’s eyes flickered down for just a moment before looking back up at me through his heavy lashes.
“Fine,” he turned away. “Take your pants off. I’ll be back.”
I caught him shaking his head a little, scrubbing the back of his neck as he walked away.
Soft music drifted from speakers that were placed throughout the studio, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from my rattling heartbeat. I shimmied out of my jeans, throwing them over the back of a chair and taking in the rest of the decor.
It was luxurious, and not at all what I would have pictured for an MC-owned tattoo shop. Images of dark, grungy, back-alley rooms came to mind—not this.
I’d been to designer brand clothing stores that weren’t as beautiful as this.
I wondered how much of it was part of the facade, part of the front that kept their ties to the Redline Angels a happy little secret.
Ashe was hunched over a tablet, drawing on a bright screen with his head resting in his free hand. His knee bounced along to the music the whole time, and he seemed so sucked into his work, that it was almost as if he’d forgotten I was there.
I watched him from my corner. The way his eyebrows drew together in concentration. The way his steady hand moved so surely.
He hummed to himself quietly as he finished, rolling his chair to the other end of the desk and pulling the freshly printed paper from the machine. The way his eyes flickered back to me and the humming quickly stopped made me think that he probably did forget who was standing in his shop in their underwear.
The enemy.
I nearly snorted with laughter at the thought.
Did I make him nervous? Did he have the same suspicious thoughts about me that I did about him? Did he think that I was some undercover spy for The Family?
He made quick work at hiding the design on the paper from me, tucking it away in a drawer while he sprayed down the black, vinyl bed with disinfectant and wiped it down with a paper towel.
I clasped my hands behind my back, fidgeting and swaying while I waited.
Finally, he sat down on the swivelling stool, turning to face me. His gaze roamed lazily, indulgently, with no shame in his expression while his eyes lingered a little too long on the see-through lace panels of my panties.
With a single finger, he motioned for me to come forward. And like a fucking dog in heat, I obeyed immediately, stepping forward quickly as if it would earn me a sparkly golden sticker that said ‘good girl ’.
Ashe ran his hand down the curve of my hip, his touch feather-light.
“You want it here?” he asked, pressing a cold finger just above my hip bone.
“Lower,” I shook my head.
“Here?” He arched a brow, pressing at the softer bit of flesh.
I nodded.
It was impossible to remain relaxed in that moment, with his rough finger softly tracing lines on my bare skin, so close to where his mouth had been only a few weeks ago.
All I wanted was for him to press his lips there again, to feel the warmth of his mouth on my skin.
“Alright,” he said, snapping me out of my daydream.
The patch of skin felt cold now that his hands were gone.
But I watched him prepare with a keen curiosity. He washed his hands, put on gloves, shaved the patch of skin, and set out an array of inks and needles on his benchtop, lining everything up with a practiced precision.
“I’m gonna put the stencil on now, okay?” he asked.
Each step of the way his eyes held the same question in them. ‘Are you sure?’ they seemed to ask over and over again.
I nodded.
“No peeking,” he smirked before opening the drawer to retrieve the design.
“Fine,” I sighed, letting my head lull backwards and staring up at the ceiling.
It was hard not to jump at the feeling of him tugging my underwear down a little before he pressed the piece of paper with the stencil on it against my skin. After he smoothed it out, he peeled it off and rolled his stool backwards.
I brought my eyes back down to him then, watching as he assessed the placement from every angle. He tilted his head side to side, drew closer and then leaned back again.
“No,” he shook his head finally.
Reaching back, he snatched up another copy of the stencil, and this time applied it even lower, so the design was sitting at the top-most part of my thigh. He looked far more satisfied as he considered the placement again, a small nod of his head giving away the fact that he was happy with it.
“Perfect,” he looked up at me finally.
A few tense moments passed before he slapped the vinyl material of the bed, motioning with a jut of his head that I should hop on.
“Get comfy,” he instructed. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Again, I did as I was told.
It took a great deal of self-restraint to avoid peeking down at whatever Ashe had picked to permanently put on my body. I trusted him enough to know that maybe it wasn’t a crude drawing of a dick or something, but still, it could be anything.
What if I hated it?
What if it was a fucking butterfly or something?
But I had far too much pride to back out now. I was self-aware enough to know that my stubborn gene was so strong that I would rather wear a scribbled hairy ballsack on my thigh for eternity than admit that I was wrong.
For some reason though, perhaps intuition, perhaps naivety, I trusted Ashe to make this decision.
“Ready?” he asked with a smirk, buzzing the machine in his hand once as if it were a threat.
He was testing me, seeing if I would back out.
I scoffed.
He didn’t know me at all.
“Good to go.” I put my hands behind my head, stretching out and getting comfortable.
“Zar,” Ashe said, a warning type of cut to his voice. I looked down at him with a frown, and his expression was serious, maybe tinged with a little bit of worry. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes, Ashe,” I rolled my eyes, lying back again and focusing my gaze on the TV screen mounted to the wall that played what seemed to be an old-school episode of Rage .
Without another word, he rolled his chair closer and pulled the hem of my underwear up, hitching it higher on my hip so he could easily access the spot.
“Just tell me if you want me to stop, and I will.”
I nodded.
He paused for a few seconds longer, and I could feel his eyes on me.
It was obvious that he thought I was going to back out, or perhaps come to my senses and at least try to sneak a glance at the design he had chosen. But then, the buzz of his machine began again before he touched the tip of it to my skin.
The dragging sensation started. It was like a burning scratch into my flesh as Ashe started to trace the outline of whatever image he was trying to create.
He stopped a few seconds later.
“All good?” he asked softly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shrugged, turning my attention back to the TV.
I was actually surprised by how fine I was.
Tattoos had always been something I was curious about, but I was such an indecisive person that I could never make up my mind about what I wanted. Both of my brothers were covered in tattoos, and I knew just how much time they spent planning out the artwork that they put on their skin.
I’d never quite liked anything enough to feel like I needed it on my skin. So, I figured, this was a good compromise. I didn’t have to think about it. Plus, if it was ugly, it was in an easily hidden place.
“So, do you do shit like this often?” Ashe asked after a little while.
I turned my head to look at him. “Like what?”
“Like letting a stranger pick your tattoo?”
“You’re hardly a stranger.”
He chuckled once at that. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough. I’ve been inside your house.”
“So?”
“So, you can tell a lot about someone by their home, the way they dress, the way they talk. People are pretty simple creatures if you just pay attention.”
“Mmm,” he made a noise that told me he didn’t quite believe me. “So what have you learned about me from the approximate few hours that we’ve known each other?”
“We’ve gotta factor in all the time you’ve spent stalking me, too.”
“That hardly counts. You don’t even know I’m there most of the time.”
I barked a laugh. “Most of the time, I don’t let you know that I know you’re there.”
He rolled his eyes.
I turned my attention back to the ceiling, thinking back to all the things I’d noticed about Ashe so far.
“You live alone, but I was pretty quickly able to notice that a woman must have lived with you at one point. Maybe not too recently, maybe a few years ago. You had white linen sheets and a duvet instead of a comforter. They seemed really worn in too, which is why they were so soft. Plus, you said that Jess was the reason the studio was decorated so nicely. So, I can only assume that the decor at your home wasn’t picked by you.”
I looked down at him again to see if I was on the right path, and by the small smile that he was trying to conceal, I had a feeling that I was right.
“I know that you’re tidy, but you also like efficiency.”
“Oh?” he chuckled, pausing to dab at my skin with a cool, wet towel.
“Well, your clothes were all thrown in the drawers, instead of folded. So you care enough to put them away, but not enough to waste your time folding them.”
“Wait, you went through my drawers?”
“I needed a shirt!” I snapped. “You ripped my fucking dress, remember?”
“Mmm,” he made that affirmative sound again, returning to etching my skin with a smirk.
“You still owe me a dress, by the way. You said you’d buy me a new one.”
“Fine, we’ll go shopping. But I would like the rest of my psych eval first, please.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed, laying back down once more.
“I’d say that you've probably got some kind of identity crisis going on, too. You don’t mind me calling you Ashe, but you don’t like when others do it. Probably because of how you have to separate the two sides of yourself, or whatever.”
He let out a long, agitated breath through his nose.
“Anything else, Dr. Phil?”
“Yeah, actually. I’d probably bet money on my guess that you were raised by a single mother.”
“And how the fuck would you know that, Zarina?”
“First of all, watch your tone.” I snapped, and he chuckled again. “But, you seem to enjoy the company of older men, like father figures, or whatever. Every other member of the MC I’ve seen you with has been like, much older than you. Plus, I feel like you’ve got a bit of a soft spot for vulnerable women. Like Jess,” I nodded with my head towards her empty desk.
“Jess is a talented artist,” he shrugged. “She’s had a rough go at life. All she needed was someone to take a chance on her.”
“Mmhm. So was I right about the single mother slash absent father situation?”
Ashe ignored my question and continued to work on my hip, suddenly needing to concentrate very hard. I quickly gave up on expecting an answer out of him, and went back to staring at the ceiling.
Maybe I had gone too far.
I always let far too many words out of my mouth than necessary.
“Done,” he sighed a few moments later, spraying my skin with a cool liquid and then rubbing it down again.
“Already?”
He nodded once as I sat up, gesturing to the mirror on the wall with a tilt of his head. “Have a look.”
With a quiet squeal of excitement, I hopped off the bed and rushed to the mirror, moving in close so I could see.
“A shark?” I asked as Ashe came up behind me.
“Sharks are constantly moving. Observing their surroundings and then adapting.” He reached around and brushed a finger across my hip. “They’re not intimidated by anything or anyone. They’re arguably the most perfectly constructed creature in nature.”
I looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“This is how you see me?”
“I may not have your…” he paused, smiling, “ keen powers of observation. But from what I’ve seen so far, yes.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to pretend like this wasn’t the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.
Most of the compliments I’d ever received were strictly aimed at my looks, my wardrobe, my hair. This was something so new to me, that I didn’t realise how much it affected me until I had to stifle a sob at the most basic of kind words.
“Thank you, Ashe.”
“Sharks also have paranormally good eyesight,” he said teasingly. “Which I think describes you to a tee.”
“Actually, I wear contacts.”
He chuckled and I turned to smile up at him.
I was beginning to like the sound of it.
“You know what I mean,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Mmm,” I agreed, watching him watch me.
His jaw tightened, and I watched his cheek flex.
“What?”
Ashe’s eyes were dark as he thought, a stark contrast to the playful expression he had worn only moments ago. He didn’t answer me straight away, instead busied his hands by wrapping my fresh tattoo in cling wrap and fastening it with some tape.
There was a conflict on his face, and I could already predict what was going through his mind.
“You want me to leave?” I arched an eyebrow.
He scoffed, sounding a little amused. “You should never have come.”
I returned his scoff with a louder scoff, leaning back to look at him and folding my arms across myself.
“You’re afraid,” I smirked.
“Yes,” he nodded, mimicking my stance by leaning backwards and folding his arms.
My eyebrows shot up at his confession and he rolled his eyes.
“No, Zar. It’s not about your fucking brothers and their cronies.”
“Then what?”
What could this man possibly be afraid of?
If the stories were true about him, then I’d be the first to assume he wasn’t afraid of anything. His chest rose as he took a deep breath and let it out with a huff.
“You wouldn’t get it,” he shook his head, busying himself again with tidying his area.
I rolled my eyes, snatching my pants from where they hung on the back of his chair and shoving my legs into them as quickly as I could without tumbling over. I made quick work with the button and threw my bag over my shoulder before I headed for the door.
Ashe didn’t move.
He just watched me from where he was.
“I’m not a fucking moron, Ashe,” I snapped with my hand on the serpentine handle of the door. “All my life I’ve been told over and over again that I wouldn’t understand. ‘Don’t worry, Zar’. ‘You wouldn’t get it, Zar’. ” I mimicked the voice of my mother, my brothers, my friends. “I’m not just some dumb, blonde, heiress that doesn’t understand anything other than shopping.”
“Zarina—”
“I know more than you think I do. I know more than everyone thinks I do. But I’ll be fucked before I stand here and let yet another person treat me like an idiot.”
The door slammed behind me as I stepped out onto the street. I didn’t even chance a look over my shoulder to see if Ashe had followed me, or if he had reacted at all.
The sun had all but disappeared now, and the city was cold. I wiped away the stray few frustrated tears that had escaped before pulling my jacket in closer around my torso.
I clenched my jaw and willed myself not to break down into a full sob. But the heat from the anger was building in my chest, and I shook out my hands to rid my body of at least a little of the red, hot energy that bubbled inside me.
My mind spun with a highlight reel of all the off-handed remarks from people who were supposed to love me, playing on repeat in my mind with no pause or stop button. Every eye roll that people thought I didn’t see. Every condescending smile at an innocent question. Every bark of laughter in my face at a misplaced comment.
I dug through my handbag and quickly found my phone, scrolling until I found the number I was looking for.
“Riss?” she answered on the first ring.
“Yeah, what?”
“Let’s go out.”
A groan from the other end of the phone.
“Do you want to or not?”
“It’s fucking Sunday, Zarina. I have work tomorrow and my boss can be a bit of a bitch.”
A small smile crept onto my face and I let loose a chuckle. Some of the tension fell away, but it was still there, waiting for me to have a moment of silence, a pause in activity, anything.
I couldn’t stop.
I had to keep going, keep moving, keep doing .
Maybe I was a bit like a shark.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Look, I’ll come if you desperately want,” she said, a rare tinge of worry to her voice. “I don’t want you going out alone.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go home.”
A beat of silence.
“You promise?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered. “Yes.”
“Okay…” Larissa said slowly, not believing me at all.
“I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yeah, course.”
“Love ya, bye,” I sang.
A chuckle. “Love ya, bye.”
I hung up the phone and scrolled through my contacts list, looking for somebody, anybody , who would be up for a big night out.
After two more phone calls, I was still alone.
Only a few years ago, all my friends were up for a night out any day of the week. It didn’t even matter if we had work the next day.
But now, we were fully-fledged grown ups.
Some of them had important jobs. Some had wives or husbands. Some even had kids.
It felt like everyone else was moving forward, and I was still here, standing in the middle of a random street in Melbourne, looking for the closest place that would sell me a strong drink.