Page 66 of Scars of Silk

Numerous heads raise from stations.

I know how much tattoos cost.

Dan's eyes narrow. “A word please.” He grabs my hand. “What are you doing?” He hisses as he wheels me into what must be a break-out area.

“I’ve come for a tattoo. Are you going to be the one to give it to me?”

He bites on the inside of his mouth. “I told you; you are perfect the way you are. You don’t need ink.”

“But I want it.”

“Why?”

“Because it will be the one thing my father can’t control.”

His gaze flickers with annoyance, but I know I’ve got him on this one. He won’t say no now.

“Fine. In the chair.” He leads me back out into the parlour and guides me to what I guess is the chair someone has given him. I smile as I settle back until he lowers closer to my face, his lips brushing my earlobe. “Believe me, you’ll know about this later.” His words are only meant for me to hear but if he thinks I’m going to be sorry I can assure him, I won’t. His whispered promise scorches me alight and I know for one I won’t be able to wait for him to get home. “What do you want? Do you have any idea?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Something that will remind me to fight for the things I love.” I stare at him and for a long moment we watch one another.

“Happy for me to go free hand?”

I nod and lay back in the chair. One thing I know is that I trust him like no other. Now I just need to fight for him.

Seventeen

Dan

I buzz on her door. Although I only finished her ink an hour ago, I needed to stay behind and clear up. Mainly, I wanted to make sure I gave a good impression. I could be here a while.

It’s a comedown being an employee as opposed to the owner, but in a way it’s refreshing. Throughout the whole day I felt lighter, free. All I have is my head down and work, taking one job at a time. No need to worry about the books, the bills, setting the alarm, all of it. I could just stroll out and head home.

Not home.

Her.

She opens the door, a sheepish expression on her face.

“I hope that fucking hurt.” I growl.

Pink tinges her cheeks but she lifts her chin. “Nowhere near as much as I thought it would.”

I’m cross I’ve marred her skin of silk for life. That’s it. She’ll have that on her until the day she dies, will always have something I’ve done marked on her skin until she draws her last breath.

I never realised that before today. All the many, many tattoos I’ve done, and not until today has the impact of my job ever sunk in.

“Show me.” My voice is tight and deep. I want her. Now. But I need to know I’ve not fucked-up first.

She turns and drops the silk shirt she’s replaced her jumper with down at the shoulder. It’s fine; actually I’d say it’s one of my best works. On her left shoulder is a Celtic cross emblazoned in a shield of flowers.

A warrior desperate for freedom.

Her words in the salon reminded me of that movie that always made Faith cry. William Wallace and his cry of, “For freedom.”

She turns back towards me. “Happy?”

“No.”