Clutching the brown paper bag, I storm across the street and yank the front door open to see if Mina so much as flinches. But no, her pretty eyes stay shut, lips parted with her soft breaths.
Music pumps through the otherwise empty studio, and a soccer game plays on TV just as loudly. Flash cutouts andframed prints decorate the spray-painted walls. Several stations are scattered throughout the room, positioned between mirrors, potted plants, and cupboard spaces.
Mina’s artist looks up at me, lifting the gun from her smooth ribs. His aggravating face pulls into a frown. He’s fucking lucky I’m not shoving the gun into his eye for touching her. The only reason I’m not walking in here wearing a balaclava to send him to an early retirement is because Mina looks so delicate when she sleeps, and I’d rather shoot myself in the foot than wake her up right now.
“We don’t have space for walk-ins today. If you want to book an appointment?—”
I tip the contents of the paper bag onto a nearby table. Stacks of cash flop onto the surface, and one teeters near the edge before flipping onto the floor.
“There’s five grand. Fuck off for ten minutes.” I look pointedly at Mina, so the idiot knows precisely what I’m meaning.
His eyes widen at the cash. “I don’t?—”
Another thousand falls from the bag onto the pile. “For you to shut the fuck up.”
He looks between me, Mina, the cash, back to Mina, up at me, then the cash, apparently warring with his paper-thin morals. His throat bobs as he rises to his feet, setting the machine and his gloves on the bench.
Just to make himself feel better, he points an accusatory finger at me as he ambles over to the pile of cash. “If I hear shit, Iwillcall the cops.”
I’ve never claimed to be a reasonable person. I want him to fuck off, but he still failed the test. What if someone other than me made him the same offer? He’s shown that he can be paid to look away and put my Mina’s safety at risk.
I nod, saying nothing. I’ll be back for him.
He mutters something beneath his breath, shoving the money into the bag while he sends me nasty glances as if taking six grand is such a chore.
If he recognizes who I am, he doesn’t let on. Some people have zero interest in my sport. It suits me just fine.
I shake my head when he starts to pack away some of his gear.
“Leave it.”
The asshole manages to look torn for a nanosecond before snatching the fallen stack off the floor and making himself scarce, leaving me behind with a ready-to-use tattoo machine and my sleeping stalker.
His departing huff is long forgotten as I set the full weight of my attention on Mina. Even with the blaring music, I can hear her soft breaths. I’ve been around her long enough to know when she’s deep in sleep, and when she’s snoozing.
Right now, she’s the latter. How? Who fucking knows, but I’m not surprised in the slightest that she’s able to nap while getting tattooed.
I haven’t spent much time in her company when she’s in this type of sleep. It’s slightly daunting and rather unfortunate that I have to ensure she doesn’t wake. I quietly settle on the rolling stool and study her newest piece.
An eye? Interesting choice.
There’s so much skin to choose from. Her stomach, back, around her mouth-watering tits. I paid for the tattoo. I get to pick what it is and where it goes.
It can’t be somewhere obvious—she doesn’t need to know yet—but not somewhere she’ll never see.
My hand skirts over her hip, and then pauses on a blank space of skin amidst the dark ink of her cybersigilism tattoo on her stomach and ribs. She won’t notice something there unless she’s specifically looking.
It’ll do.
I help myself to the artist’s station, putting on a fresh pair of gloves to shave and clean the area, then use a marker to initial my name into the small space. When it’s exactly how I want it, I rub on some Vaseline, then test out the foot pedal of the tattoo machine before leaning in for the kill.
Do I know what I’m doing? No.
How hard can it be?
The moment the needle penetrates her skin, I learn my answer:very.
The only thing I’ve handwritten in the past five years is my signature, and this is nothing like a fucking pen.
