Key to Hell (Hell Night 4)
However, when it comes to her partner, Vicki, she’s utter mush. They met back in high school when Ella was first struggling with being attracted to other girls. Vicki’s family moved from the other side of the tracks to this side when the local textile plant shut down and her dad lost his job. The minute Ella saw her, she went gaga and her struggle was no longer. She went headfirst into letting Vicki know she was into her, not caring one shit what anyone else thought. She wanted Vicki, and like always, Ella got what she wanted. Luckily, the feeling was mutual. They’ve been together for six years.
“Hey,” I call when she doesn’t acknowledge my words. Her eyes close for a moment before she pulls in a breath, then opens them. “Knock that shit off, Ella,” I scold sternly. “You don’t know anything yet, so don’t think the worst.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. She nods, forcing her shoulders back and becoming the tough woman I know she is. “You’re right.”
She says it, but the doubt is still there. A few weeks ago, a lump was found on one of Vicki’s breasts and today they get the results on what they’re dealing with. It could just be a harmless mass, but the doctors, being cautious, said it could be cancerous.
I push away from the door and walk over to her. Taking the cup from her shaking hands, I set it on the counter, then pull her into my arms. Her weight sags against me like she can’t hold herself up anymore. I rub her back and offer what comfort I can.
With her face buried in my chest, her breath hitches when she says tearfully, “I can’t lose her, Luca. I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to her.”
“You’re not going to lose her, Ella. You know she’s too damn stubborn for anything to happen to her. Besides, you losing her means she loses you, and you know damn good and well she won’t let that happen. The woman it too crazy about you to go anywhere.”
She laughs, and although it’s a tearful one, I’ll take it. “Well, I am a pretty good catch, so I can’t really blame her.”
When she pulls back, I cup her cheeks and wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “Why don’t you take the day off? I’ll call your appointments and reschedule. Jazz will be here in a couple of hours, and it’ll be fine with just the two of us.”
She’s shaking her head before I finish with my suggestion. “No. I need to be here. Vicki’s at work until three and the last thing I need is to be home alone thinking about the possibilities. You were right, I don’t need to assume the worst, and if I’m home, I will. Working will help keep my mind off it.”
I jerk my chin up. “Okay. But the offer stands.”
With a smile, she leans up and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, big brother,” she says in my ear.
I leave her and head toward the front. A glance at my phone says we have thirty minutes before the doors open, and I decide to get things ready for my first client. I grab out some transfer paper and a pen. Sitting at the small table in my station, I get to work on putting the design down on paper. It’s a simple design of an hourglass. Instead of falling sand, it’s dripping blood, representing life and how eventually we all run out of it.
Twenty minutes later, I slip on a pair of gloves and pull out all the materials I need. I hear Ella moving around out front and know she’s getting the register ready for the day. The ding from the front door indicates she’s already unlocked it, and that’s probably my customer.
Tugging off the gloves, I toss them in the trash and walk out of the small room and behind the front counter. Ella’s there handing Kyle a clipboard with our standard safety and permission form that has to be completed before all work is done.
“You ready for me?” Kyle asks when he spots me walk in.
“Yes. Once you get done with that, I’ll have you look over the design, then we’ll get started.”
While he fills out the paperwork, Ella gets a copy of his ID. It only takes him a minute before he’s handing the clipboard back to Ella and he’s stuffing his ID back into his wallet. He follows me down the short hallway into my sectioned-off area, where I hand him the design.
I’ve done several pieces for him, so he knows what I can do. I’m not being arrogant when it comes as no surprise that he whistles low in appreciation. I just know my skills.
“Damn, Luca, this shit is tight!” he remarks, still looking down at the drawing.
“Thanks.” I turn and grab out another pair of gloves. “Wait ‘til you see it once it’s done. The 3D effect I have planned for the blood splashes is going to look amazing.”
“I have no doubt.”
After peeling his shirt over his head, Kyle takes a seat in the chair. Before I take my own seat, I pull up a playlist on my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth stereo on the counter behind me. Linkin Park starts playing, and now I feel I can really get down to work.
I sit on my stool beside Kyle and pull on my gloves. Everything I need is on a small cart beside me. I break open a package of lining needles and insert one through the tube on the tattoo machine, then wrap a couple of rubber bands around the frame and needle to help keep it secure and steady while I work. I set the machine down and grab the disposable razor. Kyle, knowing the drill, lifts his arm, and I run the razor over his ribs where the tattoo will go to rid it of any hairs, then spray the skin with the bottle of green soap solution and thoroughly clean the area.
“Up,” I instruct, and he does so. Grabbing the transfer paper with the design, I press the top of the paper to the top of his ribs and slowly smooth my hand down the center of the sheet. Starting in the middle and working outward, I make sure there’s no wrinkles. I peel the paper away from the skin, leaving behind a blue-lined design, and damn if I don’t get a jolt of adrenaline, knowing I’ll be permanently inking this onto Kyle. This part of him will forever be mine. Each tattoo I do, I get to leave my mark behind. It’s a heady feeling knowing everyone that leaves here with new ink will always carry a piece of me with them.
“How’s that?” I ask Kyle to make sure everything’s up to par with his vision.
He turns and faces a big mirror, lifting his arm higher and inspecting the design. A slow grin forms on his face, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“It looks fucking great!”
He sits back in his seat and we get down to business. As usual, every time I pick up a tattoo machine, my mind blanks of everything else except the design in front of me. I pride myself on my steady hands and the neatness of my lines. How each section of the image flows into the next, like it wasn’t pieces that we put together, but ones that were naturally part of a whole.
An hour passes, and I’ve just finished up the outline and am getting ready to take a short break, when raised voices come from the front. I set the machine down, tug off my gloves, and pause the music.