22. Rick
22
RICK
Twenty years in the tattoo business teaches you to spot the real collectors. They move differently, study art with hungry eyes, and treat studios like sacred spaces. When Skylar Martinez walks into our gallery at precisely nine AM, I recognize that hunger immediately.
What I don’t expect is the three-person film crew following her, or the way she immediately turns to them, saying, “Cut. Let’s reset. The lighting’s better by the front windows.”
@inkedbysky —2.3 million TikTok followers. The email request had mentioned social media, but somehow, I’d missed the scale of her influence.
“Mr. Cross?” She extends a manicured hand. “Skylar Martinez. Thanks for agreeing to meet.”
Up close, she’s younger than her online presence suggests—maybe twenty-five. But her handshake is firm and professional. The large-scale Japanese pieces visible on her arms speak of serious commitment to the craft.
“Rick’s fine.” I guide her to my office while her crew sets up. “Your work with Horiyoshi III was impressive.”
Her eyes light up. “You follow traditional Japanese tattooing?”
“Try to stay informed.” I don’t mention that Chase spent three hours last night studying her documented tattoo journey across four continents. “Though we’re more known for American traditional and neo-traditional styles here.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here.” She pulls out an iPad, showing detailed sketches. “I’ve been following Chase’s color work for months. The way he builds dimension through layering is incredible.”
As if summoned, my brother appears in the doorway. His eyes go straight to Skylar’s sleeve.
“Horiyoshi’s work?” he asks, moving closer to study the piece.
“Good eye.” She grins. “Want to see the full layout?”
They immediately dive deep into technical discussions while I handle the business side with her manager. Film permissions, scheduling, social media rights—the usual paperwork made more complex by her platform’s reach.
Through my office window, I watch the normal flow of gallery life. Evie greeting regular clients, Zane finishing a consultation, and the steady hum of machines from other artists’ stations.
A flash of movement catches my eye—motorcycles passing slowly. Not ours.
“Everything okay?” Skylar’s manager asks.
“Fine.” I force myself to relax. “Just thinking about scheduling. This kind of piece needs multiple sessions.”
“Sky’s flexible. She’s renting a place in Wolf Pike for the next month.”
That gets my attention. “Month-long rental? Most clients just book hotels.”
“She likes immersing herself in local culture. Getting to know the artists and their community.”
If she only knew what kind of community she was walking into.
The day progresses with regular clients blending in with Skylar’s filming schedule. Chase spends hours refining designs while her crew captures his process.
“This could be huge for us,” Evie says during a quiet moment. “Her last studio feature got over ten million views.”
“Yeah.” But all I can think about is Death’s Head watching our gallery and taking photos. More eyes on us means more vulnerability.
Around lunch, Skylar joins Evie at the front desk. They fall into easy conversation about tattoo aftercare products. I catch phrases like “sustainable ingredients” and “natural healing.”
“Your wife really knows her stuff,” Skylar tells me later.
I don’t correct her assumption.
“First session next week?” I confirm, pushing aside worries about exposure.
“Perfect.” She studies Chase’s final design, a massive piece incorporating elements from her travels. “I can’t wait to show my followers real artistry.”
After she leaves, the gallery feels both emptier and lighter. Chase disappears into his studio, already refining details. Zane handles the afternoon appointments while I catch up on paperwork.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Evie perches on my desk, coffee in hand.
“Just business.” I pull her closer. “Big client, big exposure.”
“Big worries?” Her fingers find the tension in my shoulders. “Death’s Head drove by four times today.”
Sometimes I forget how observant she is. “You counted, huh?”
“I did. Couldn’t help myself.” She studies my face. “You think Skylar’s presence will complicate things?”
“Everything complicates things lately.”
She kisses me softly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out together…”
By closing time, Chase has three different versions of Skylar’s design spread across his station. The level of detail makes my artist’s soul ache with appreciation.
“She’s going to document every session,” he tells me. “Full behind-the-scenes access.”
“Just be careful what ends up on camera.” I tap the wall we share with The Den.
He sobers slightly. “Already discussed boundaries with her team. They’ll submit all footage for approval before posting.”
At least someone’s thinking clearly. I’ve been too caught up in potential dangers to see opportunities.
The drive home feels longer than usual. There are more bikes on the road, and not all of them are friendly. But then we pull up to Evie’s house, where warmth lies.
Inside, domestic life drowns out business concerns. Violet shows me her latest art project while Daisy reads aloud from her new book. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the kitchen where Evie cooks.
“Taste this.” She offers a spoon, and for a moment, I forget about Death’s Head and social media exposure and all the threads threatening to unravel.
“Perfect,” I tell her, meaning more than just the sauce.
Later, after the girls are asleep, we gather in the living room. Chase sketches more details for Skylar’s piece while Zane and Evie argue playfully about motorcycle maintenance.
My phone buzzes with an update from Clay this time—more Death’s Head activity at local bars. But looking at everyone in a good mood, I can’t bring myself to share the news.
I think about the gallery’s growing reputation, Chase’s artistic evolution, Zane finding purpose in teaching our girls, and this woman who’s turned our world upside down in the best ways.
Chase’s voice pulls me from dark thoughts. “Should we tell Skylar about the other locations, for her to film?”
Right. In my worry about Death’s Head, I’d almost forgotten. Skylar wants to document Wolf Pike’s tattoo culture—including the bike meets where local artists show their work.
“No. Those meets aren’t public knowledge.”
“She’s going to ask questions,” Zane points out. “About why a small town has such a strong tattoo presence.”
He’s right. Wolf Pike’s reputation in the tattoo world has always straddled the line between legitimate art culture and MC connections.
“We stick to the gallery,” I decide. “Keep her focused on Chase’s work. Nothing else.”
“And if she starts digging?” Zane asks.
I meet his gaze, my voice cold. “Then we end the contract.”