Page 4 of Leave a Mark
“Maybe you might see your way clear to givin’ ole Curtis a buck or two? So I can maybe have a lil’ somethin’ later on?”
Wren sighed. If she said it every time, maybe he’d listen once. “Bullshit, Curtis. You know I’m not doing that. In fact, you know exactly what I’ll say.”
He gave her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Maybe I like hearing you say it every Thursday.”
Her heart tugged, but Wren knew that she couldn’t put much stock into his words. She’d grown up hearing the same thing from Laurie.
“Then I’ll say it again. There’s a free treatment center right down the street.” She pointed west, trying not to get angry. It didn’t help to get angry, but she never took her eyes off his. “In the time it would take you to eat this breakfast, you could walk down there and get some help. You could start living a different life today, Curtis.”
Curtis reached out his hands and took the box from her. “Thank you for the breakfast, Song Bird. Maybe I’ll see you next week.”
“HOLD STILL, YOUbig baby, or I’ll mess up the ink.” Wren Blanchard yanked her liner machine away from Bear’s shoulder. She’d barely started on her touch-up of the chain outline when her two-hundred-fifty-pound client flinched.
“I am holding still,” Bear argued. “You’re the jumpy one.”
Wren swiveled around on her stool to glare at him. “John Allen Darcy, did you just call me jumpy?” Wren asked, her voice pitching low — as low as it could go on someone just over five feet tall. “I don’t care how big you are. I’ll take you down.”
Laughter rumbled through Studio Ink.
The biker at Wren’s station narrowed his eyes at her. His straw-colored eyebrows and beard seemed to bristle.
“I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t just call me by that name. It’s Bear, and you well know it.”
“That’s not what your credit card says,” Wren mumbled, repositioning her liner.
Two Fists and Brother, fellow members of the Acadiana Chapter of Bikers Against Child Abuse, laughed again. Wren took this as a sign that she’d won the pissing contest against the biker who was twice her age and almost three times her size.
Still, it wasn’t much of a win. Everyone knew Bear was a softy. That is, until it came to his membership in this particular group. Like all of the members of BACA, Bear could turn on the scary when a little kid needed him.
A lot of Wren’s clients were bikers, but her favorites were the ones who were members of BACA. The riders would station themselves at night around the homes of abused children or escort them to and from court to testify against their attackers. They were the closest things to superheroes Wren could imagine.
She respected them so much she’d tat the BACA symbol for free — touch-ups included. Wren started that little tradition after her apprenticeship ended six months ago, and she’d never regretted it. Instead of costing her money, it had gained her a solid base of loyal customers.
“Speaking of credit cards, what are you getting Ariel for your anniversary?” Two Fists asked.
Bear just beamed. “I’m taking her to Toledo Bend,” he boasted. Wren smiled, too. She’d worked on Mrs. Gayle Darcy — Ariel — more than once, and she loved the woman’s spunk just as much as she loved her ink choices. Under her clothes lived a mermaid’s world. Two mermaid sisters ran down the sides of her body. The one on the left had cascading blue hair adorned with scallop shells and sea anemones. The other wore tresses of gold and seemed to kneel against Ariel’s right thigh, her tail fin fanning over the woman’s ample hip. The colors and textures of each were nothing less than hypnotic. Working on Ariel was a tattooist’s dream.
Wren swapped out her black liner for the white shader. She rolled her right shoulder before diving in again. “How many years?”
“Twenty-five,” Bear gloated proudly, puffing his chest.
“Keep still!” Wren scolded.
The biker deflated. “Oops. Sorry.”
Twenty-five years. Wren couldn’t imagine it. That was as long as she’d been alive. Miller, her last boyfriend, hadn’t even made it three months before she’d kicked his ass to the curb. They’d gotten along just fine while she was apprenticing. Back then, she’d spend mornings at the studio watching Rocky and working on practice skins before waiting tables every night. Her free time had been pretty limited. But as soon as Rocky hired her and she quit serving, things had changed.
She wondered how long it had taken Miller to figure out that she made a lot more money in ink. Had he known before they hooked up? Or after she’d gone full-time?
He’d started coming over to her place more often — like every night. Miller would order pizza and then duck out onto her back stairs for a smoke when the delivery guy came. It seemed like she was always the one paying. And he was constantly making some comment about how the money he made hanging drywall wasn’t worth his time. When he’d suggested moving in with her a month after she went pro, Wren’d had enough.
She pulled her machine back and rolled her shoulder again. The clock by the door said it was only 6:15 p.m. She’d come in at noon and would stay until they closed at ten o’clock. She worked Thursdays through Sundays, and it was way too early to start feeling stiff, especially since she just switched to the heavier shader. But she couldn’t ignore the dull ache that now lengthened down her back. And that twinge in her side had returned. It was weird.
“What’s wrong, Wren? That gun’s not too big for you, is it?” Brother teased. Wren shot him a glare, but she didn’t have to say a word.
“You know better than that,” Rocky warned from the table beside hers. Her boss spoke without looking up from the wings he was giving Angel Delacroix. Angel was a local middle-weight boxer just starting out. The tattoo was a masterpiece they’d been working on every Thursday night for three weeks, and it wasn’t even half done. When the tattoo was finally finished, it would look like the pair of wings could flare open and lift Angel into the air. He hadn’t been in a fight since Rocky started on them, and Wren was sure the new ink would help the young boxer get noticed.
Rocky Perrodin was the best tattoo artist in Lafayette, and Wren had been lucky to apprentice with him. She was even luckier that he showed her obvious respect in front of their clients.
