Tattoo Heartist (Broken Dolls: A Sister Duet #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Tristian

Iwiped down my station one last time, the smell of antiseptic cutting through the stale air of the shop, before throwing the wet paper towel in the trash.

The door opened, letting in a gust of cold night air. I didn’t look up.

“Tristian!” called Kane. “Customer wants a touch-up.”

Customer.

He probably had a name.

I never cared enough to learn it. That was more Kane’s thing, remembering names for bigger tips.

I suppressed a sigh, grabbing my black gloves and heading for the chair.

The guy peeled back a sleeve to reveal a compass on his forearm, one I’d put there myself.

I gave it a look over. Lines were still solid.

A few spots needed tightening now that it was fully healed, but a few spots weren’t quite right.

Wasn’t an artist error, just a thing that happened, something to do with the way the body accepted the ink; most tattoos needed a touch-up once they were healed, and it was a part of the job I’d come to accept.

I set to work, needle buzzing.

He tried to chat a few times. I wasn’t in the mood.

I rarely was.

It was past eight when he left. Darkness had fully settled over the city of Chicago.

I looked in the mirror, pushing my hair back from my face. The guy had peeled his sleeve back, proud to display the ink on his skin. I kept my sleeves long, hiding the ink that mapped out my own history. I wasn’t like the guys who flaunted it. My tattoos weren’t a billboard.

For me, the art was personal… parts of me no one else got to see.

I grabbed the empty supply tray and walked to the back to restock.

Kane looked up as I approached. “Good work today.”

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing a fresh box of gloves. “Tried to work through them a bit quicker—you know, put that whole ‘tortured perfectionist artist’ thing to one side.”

Kane snorted, about to fire something back, when the door swung open again. Another blast of cold air swept in—and with it, high-pitched giggles.

Great.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Amber and May, regulars who came in for “tattoos” but mostly for attention… interested more in the artists than the art.

“You can have them,” I muttered, patting Kane’s back.

“Hey, Tristie, hey, Kane,” Amber smirked, her voice dripping with a seduction that rolled right off me.

Kane stepped forward, hands open in a show of welcome, already turning on the charm. “Evening, ladies. What are you here for today?”

“We both want a new belly ring and matching tattoos on our wrists… For our friend too,” May said.

I was about to ask who they dragged along when a small, trembling voice cut through the heavy atmosphere of the shop.

“I-I can’t get a tattoo.”

I peered in the direction of the voice, soft but nervous, with a faintly Spanish accent.

That was when the air in the room seemed to shift.

Standing behind Amber and May was a girl who looked like she’d taken a wrong turn into a wolf’s den. She looked petrified, clutching the hem of her sweater like it was the only thing keeping her above water. She didn’t belong on this side of town, that much was obvious even at a glance.

Her eyes, fearful, flitted about as if seeking a lifeline. Her friends didn’t provide one—they looked more like sharks circling prey—and Kane wasn’t much of a help either. Last, the girl’s gaze fell to mine.

She stared at me with big, brown doe eyes that seemed too innocent for a place like this.

Her cheeks were dusted with freckles, and her lips were full, pink, and soft.

Her long, dark brown hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to the harsh lights of the studio.

She was dressed in an oversized light blue sweater that swallowed her frame, black tights, and white Old School Vans.

She was all soft edges in a room full of sharp needles.

May rolled her eyes. “Ingrid! Are you seriously going to spend your whole life doing whatever your parents say? It’s just a tiny tattoo.”

“Yeah,” smirked Amber. “Come on. Do something against their wishes for once. Live a little.”

Ingrid stammered, “I-I left the house today. That was against their wishes.”

“Ooh, what a big girl you are,” sniggered May.

Amber added, “You only did that because they’re out of town.”

Ingrid’s mouth worked up and down. Again, her gaze swept the room, looking for help. None came from the others. She looked to me again, my eyes catching hers, but then she looked away just as fast.

I couldn’t blame her for that. I knew I wasn’t exactly approachable. But I couldn’t stop watching her.

“C-can I use your restroom, please?” Ingrid squeaked to Kane.

“Sure, it’s in the back to the left,” he answered.

She hurried toward the hall and away, not daring to look at me as she passed.

Kane said to me, “Can you go check to see if there are any blank canvases in the back?”

I nodded, grateful for the distraction from Amber and May and the poor girl they’d dragged out here, and headed toward the storage closet.

The shelves were empty.

Just as I was turning to head back, a blur of blue wool and soft curves collided with me.

Instinct took over. I shot my hands out to steady her, fingers gripping her arms. I looked down, and my breath hitched.

Ingrid stared up at me, her eyes wide with shock.

She had to be five feet tall at most; she barely reached my chest. I was a tall guy, sure, but I’d never considered my six-foot-two frame to be overly large until this very moment, standing so close to someone so delicate. She felt fragile in my hands.

She pulled back quickly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I-I’m sorry… I-I didn’t mean to bump into you or a-anything; I just—“

“It’s OK,” I said, my voice coming out lower than intended. Her legs quaked, and I softened my tone. “No harm done.”

Trembling subsiding, she looked up, surprised by the lack of anger in my voice.

“You all right?” I asked, fighting the urge to reach out and steady her again.

She nodded, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

The movement released a faint scent of vanilla and rain.

“Y-yeah. I need to get home soon. My abuelita wanted me home by eight thirty, but the girls are dragging their heels. W-we were just supposed to see a movie, but they wanted to come here afterward, and I didn’t have the strength to argue with them, and…

“ She’d been speaking quicker and quicker, all one breathless rush, but now she caught herself. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

I tamped back a smirk. “How about I remind them to get you back?”

A flush crept up her cheeks. “Yes please.”

I headed back into the shop, Ingrid’s small shadow trailing behind me.

“Are you girls going to be a lot longer?” I asked. “It’s about time Ingrid got home…”

May sighed, not looking up. “We’re going to be here another thirty minutes or so. Can’t you sit up front or something?”

“B-but I told my abuelita…“ Ingrid whispered.

Kane looked at me, a wicked glint in his eye. “Aren’t you going home in a bit, Tristian?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah, I am…”

“You could drop her off. Not like you got anything better to do.”

I bit my lip, glancing down at Ingrid. She looked torn between fear and desperation.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea…” I said slowly, trying to give her an out. “She might not be comfortable with someone she just met.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t have to leave early; we’re about to leave soon anyway.”

“You can scratch that,” Kane interrupted. “I’m thinking you ladies are going to be here for a lot longer.” A lewd grin split his features.

I rolled my eyes and turned away. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Alone with Amber and May, two girls practically offering themselves to him on a platter… He wasn’t letting that walk out the door.

I looked down at Ingrid. She was so damn small.

“Do you want me to take you home?” I asked quietly.

She hesitated, then shrugged, looking at her shoes. “Only if you want to… I don’t want to be a bother.”

I sighed, watching her rock back and forth on her heels. “Give me five minutes.”

I grabbed my jacket, wallet, and keys, ignoring the stupid smirk on Kane’s face. When I returned, Ingrid was waiting by the door, hands clasped, sweater sleeves covering half her fingers. I held it open for her, and she brushed past me, close enough that I caught that vanilla-and-rain scent again.

She walked close to my side as I led the way to my black Mercedes.

I opened the passenger door, and she thanked me softly, climbing in.

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Oakswood County.”

I nodded, bringing the engine to life before I brought the car into a steady, easy drive against the darkness and blur of city lights.

The engine purred, but the silence in the car was heavy, yet charged. Her scent was stronger here, in this enclosed space. Almost overpowering. I wanted to drink it in.

I tried to keep my eyes on the road.

At the first red light, I glanced her way. She was rigid, clutching her sweater hem so tight she was at risk of wearing ten finger-and-thumb-shaped holes through it. The fabric pulled just enough across her curves that I looked away faster than I should have.

Oakswood was old money and manicured lawns past the edges of city. It explained why Ingrid looked at my world like it was a different planet. It was a thirty-minute drive from the heart of Chicago, but looking at her bouncing knee, I decided I’d make it in fifteen, and pressed on the accelerator.

Finally, Ingrid broke the silence. “Y-your name is Tristian?”

I gave her a side-eye. She was staring directly at me now, curiosity overcoming her fear.

“Yeah… and your name is Ingrid?”

She nodded. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Twenty… What about you?” Then she closed her eyes, mouth clamping shut. “…I asked that already.”

A faint smile tugged at my mouth. It was an awkward start… but something about her awkwardness was almost… cute.

Ingrid rubbed at her arms.

“Are you cold?”

She nodded, but after a pause, as if admitting it was an inconvenience somehow.

I cranked the heat up, but after a few minutes, she was still shivering. At the next stoplight, I reached into the back seat, twisting around to grab my hoodie.

That’s when I heard it, a tiny, involuntary inhale as I got closer to her unintentionally. Sitting back in my seat, I handed her the hoodie, clearing my throat.

She took it cautiously, her fingers brushing mine—a spark of static electricity that I felt all the way up my arm.

She wrapped it around herself. The fabric swallowed her whole.

“Thank you,” she murmured, snuggling into the fabric.

Seeing her in my clothes did something to my body that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. So I simply nodded in reply, and fixed my attention back on the road.

Ten minutes later, I slowed the car as we entered the gated community Ingrid had been directing me toward these past few minutes.

“It’s at the end,” she said, pointing.

A mini-mansion dominated the end of the block. Massive, pristine… cold. I pulled up at the head of the drive, and let the engine idle.

For some reason, I didn’t want her to get out.

For some reason, she didn’t seem to be moving either.

But then she did. One hand reached for the door handle. She opened her mouth—to thank me, I was sure—

Impulsively, I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the glove compartment. I scrawled my name and number on it.

I handed it to her. “…In case you need something…”

She bit her lip, her eyes meeting mine. She took the paper, fingers brushing mine again, lighting another spark of electricity.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

She stepped out of the car, leaving my hoodie on the seat. Cold air rushed in to replace her warmth. I watched her walk to the door, her silhouette framed by the porch light. She looked back at me for a single, long second before slipping inside.

I drove off, the scent of vanilla still lingering in the car. I told myself I probably wouldn’t see her again, but the tightening in my gut told me otherwise as my mind filed away her scent.

I was in trouble.