I’ve never gotten a tattoo. Until now.
Gage removes my helmet, sliding his arm around me before we walk inside. He walks right up to the big, burly guy at the counter. “We’ve got an appointment with Fizz.”
The guy nods. He gestures for us to go on. “He’s waiting.”
I don’t have time to look at all the colorful art on the walls that showcases the skill of the artists who work here. Gage urges me on with his hand on my lower spine.
“Hey, Fizz.”
“Blaze, how the fuck are ya?”
“Good. Brought my ol’ lady.”
Fizz is tall with a shaved head, big black gauges in his ears, a long black goatee, and a runner’s physique. He’s not thin, but athletic. Not bulky at all. “Hey, Letty. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Really? “Hi.”
“Blaze came by and already picked out your designs. Do you want to see them?”
I think it over and shake my head. “Nope. I trust him.”
Gage grins widely. “Told you, Fizz.”
“Fuck. I need to find a woman this beautiful and loyal.”
I smile because it’s sweet. I think.
Fizz directs us both to lie down. We lay back on leather chairs that are only about a foot apart. Gage holds out his hand, already knowing what I need.
I lock our fingers together and hope he doesn’t feel the slight tremor. I’m nervous. Excited. Unsure how bad this will hurt.
“Just breathe,” he says, and I close my eyes.
The first prick of the needle in my arm doesn’t hurt. It’s later, when Fizz has to add more ink to the design and trace over the skin he’s already dug the needle into, that hurts. But I can handle it. I stay still and keep breathing.
I do, however, squeeze the shit out of his hand.
Gage grunts once but doesn’t say anything.
After I’m done, he instructs me to stay still while he gets his tattoo. Unlike mine, Gage gets his ink on his chest. That has to hurt more than the spot on my upper arm.
I doze a little and wake up to Gage brushing his hand over my face. “Letty, baby. Open your eyes.”
I blink and sit up with his help. Fizz is cleaning up.
There’s a thin layer of ointment on my arm, the same as Gage. I stare at his new ink. Tears fill my eyes. I can’t help it.
‘Letty, Little Heathen’is written over a red heart. There are devil horns above the heart.
“Wow, Gage,” I blubber, dashing the tears from under my eyes.
“Babe. Look at yours.”
I get up and move to the full-length mirror. A gasp leaves my mouth. I sniffle because I’m going to cry again.
My tattoo is just like my helmet. Little Heathen, a pair of angel wings, and red devil horns. Beneath it, in bold script, is‘Property of Blaze’.
“They’re perfect.”
