Chapter 7
Another day at the shop. I stand staring out of the big window, looking across the street, smiling at the dreary day. The bright lights of the shop are a stark contrast to the miserable weather outside.
I’m setting up for my next client, a new one to me, so I always take extra care to get everything perfect.
The door clicks open as the bell rings. I look over my shoulder and smile, ready to greet my new client.
The smile freezes on my face, disdain spreads through me, but I hold it all in.
As I spin on my stool, it’s the dick who was with Scott at the fight.
And here he is, Scott, smiling at his side, one arm wrapped tightly, protectively around Scott’s shoulder.
“Morning,” I manage to grit out. “What are you doing here, Scott?”
The guy looks between us and then back at Scott. “You two know each other?”
The grin slips from his face, a possessive snarl curls his lip, and the slight tone change in his voice is a warning.
One that says, “he’s mine.” I stand slowly, and his eyes follow me as I rise to my full height, all six foot four of me.
Clearly, he doesn’t recognise me from the warehouse.
I smirk as I see a waver of confidence. A ripple spreads through him, and I take a step closer.
“So, you’re here for a tattoo?” I question.
He curls his lip. “Obviously,” he snarks. Scott’s body tenses slightly, but I smile.
I nod. “I’m Killian. Well, let’s get this started then.”
He tenses and stares at Scott, his mind putting the pieces together.
Yeah, that Killian. Scott goes to walk over to the sofa, but the guy drags him closer, pulling him in for an aggressive kiss.
Scott’s eyes widen as their bodies crash together before they flutter closed, and he melts into him.
But the guy never takes his eyes off me.
I frown. Chill the fuck out, dude. I knew I didn’t like this guy, but he clearly didn’t recognise me.
Now he does, so he’s pissing on his territory.
Good luck with that. But I’ll happily take his money.
He finally lets Scott go. I turn and grab the paperwork.
I thrust it in front of him, and he signs it, but the glare tells me he thinks he’s won.
He must think there was once something between Scott and me.
I chuckle and shake my head. I pick up the stencil.
Scott wanders into the kitchen, making himself at home, like he normally does.
“I have printed two stencils out, a larger one or a smaller one. Just to make sure we get the right size for the area.” I hold them up, stepping towards him and hovering them over his thigh. “So, what are you thinking: bigger or smaller?”
“Erm, bigger obviously.” He glances towards Scott before turning and scowling at me.
“Okay, Daniel, let’s get you inked.” I give him my best fuck-you smile.
“It’s Derren,” he deadpans.
“Right, right.” I nod again. I clean and shave his leg, positioning the stencil. He checks it out in the mirror, turning his thigh. “Yeah, it’s… okay.”
“Okay, you sure? It’s a big piece,” I say in a slightly patronising tone. “I want you to be sure you can handle this, Darren,” I smirk.
“It’s Derren. And yeah, I can handle it. Let’s do this.”
He climbs onto the chair; he’s about the same height as Scott, looks like he’s done some time in prison if his janky-ass face and neck tatts are anything to go by. They look cheap as fuck. One even looks like it’s been drawn by a fucking toddler. But the guy has nothing on my stature.
I slide on my stool next to him and pull on my gloves. Scott walks in with two drinks. My gaze flicks to his. He sets the mug at the back of my table and smiles at me.
“Thanks, Nerd.” I wink. His grin widens, and he wraps his hands around his mug and takes a sip, sighing.
“Where the fuck’s mine?” Dickhead snaps. And Scott flinches but passes his own mug to him. He takes a sip. “Eww, what the fuck’s this?”
“I erm… I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee.”
“Black, three sugars,” he barks. Scott snatches the mug back and scurries into the kitchen.
I wait until he’s out of earshot, gripping Derren’s thigh tight, before growling. “Don’t fucking speak to him like that. Especially not in front of me. Are we gonna have a problem?”
He leans forward, “Who the fuck are you to him?”
“Me? I’m the one who can end it all. Now, treat him fucking better, or I’ll step in.”
He scowls but turns away from me and watches for Scott.
I take a breath and start tattooing. I should tell him to fuck off, but I want to keep him here as long as possible, where I can see him and keep an eye on Scott.
I don’t like this guy one bit. I know guys like him who love-bomb you and then backhand you.
I will not let Scott settle into a relationship like that; he deserves better.
He deserves the world. Scott steps out with a new drink for Dickhead and hands it over.
He takes the drink but grabs Scott’s wrist.
“Thanks, baby,” he whispers. Scott smiles and blushes, but I want to puke.
“Keep still, please.” I grimace as I carry on.
Scott walks over to the filing cabinet and opens the top drawer, pulling out his blanket and book, and goes and curls up on the sofa in his usual position.
He’s practically grown up here, spending hours just sitting and watching me, waiting for me to take him home when he lived with us.
Even now, he calls in for me to take him back to his place more often than not.
So, I got him a few comforts to pass the hours.
I glance over as he settles in, then look back at Dickhead.
He’s glaring at me. His mug’s halfway to his lips.
Smirking, I wipe his leg. He hisses out, and I internally grin.
I know I shouldn’t. I’ll be professional from now on, but fuck, I want to stab him harder than I should.
We settle into an uncomfortable silence, the dim sound of the radio, the flutter of pages as Scott reads in the corner, and the glares from Dickhead pass the hours. Once I’ve done, I wipe him down. Take a few photos and wrap the tattoo for him.
“Holy shit, Killian.” Scott comes to stand beside me. “That’s so fucking cool.”
I reach around his shoulder and pull him in, ruffling up his hair as I always do, and he laughs, batting me away. I grin down at him.
“You good.” He nods and pulls me into a side hug.
He stares up at me the same way he always does, that look of admiration spread across his handsome features.
Dickhead grits his teeth, seething at the contact between us, so I hold him a little longer and grin a little harder at Scott.
Derren tugs the leg of his shorts down and pulls out a wad of cash, tossing it onto the table.
I smirk. “Count that for us, kiddo, will ya? While I finish up.”
I smile over Scott’s head as he scoops up the cash and heads to the counter.
Dickhead scowls, puffing his pigeon chest out at me. I cross my arms over mine. I stand straighter and flex, putting an end to his pissing contest because, dude, you suck.
Scott tucks the cash into the till for me and turns.
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, Nerd. I’ll see you there.”
Dickhead snatches at Scott’s wrist and drags him out of the shop.
Scott half-turns, gritting his teeth, and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he goes.
When they get outside to the beat-up car, Scott rubs his wrist, and dickhead snarls at him before he snatches the car door open and climbs in.
Scott turns to look at the shop, and I know he can’t see me from where he is, but I can see him.
I will kill that fucker if he hurts him.
Scott hangs his head and climbs into the passenger side.
Dickhead squeals out of the parking spot and down the road.
I resist the urge to toss everything in the shop over, while punching every single wall.
I just grit my teeth instead and scrub my knuckles into my eyes, praying Scott sees him for what he really is, sooner rather than later.
I wipe down everywhere before my next client comes in, but my mind wanders to Scott. I hope he’s safe. Because if he’s not, heads will fucking roll. I will throw everything I have away to protect him.
The day drags on, and I can’t wait to get out of here. The artwork is stunning. I always make sure I don’t let outside distractions affect my work. But it’s been a long day of my mind festering on the situation. I really didn’t like what I saw.