Page 13 of Bound By Ink

He pushes past me, heading for the back door. “You’re not my brother, Killian. You can’t tell me what to do and who to like.” He storms out of the flat and onto the steps. He freezes. His shoulders shoot up to his ears as he shudders.

“Shoes, dickhead.” I chuckle at his unfortunate mishap.

He scurries back inside, pushes past me, and stuffs his hand into the washing machine, dragging his clothes and shoes out. He retches as he clutches them to hischest. The cold, damp fabric fills his arms, and he turns and storms back out again.

“Carry your puke-infested shit home, you mardy fucker,” I yell out of the open door as the wind whips around him. I wait until he strides across the courtyard to the back gate.

He tries to slam his hand against the button, but drops everything. He curses, kicking the wet pile of clothes. His shoes are still in there, too. He winces and jumps a little, lifting his now-injured foot as he kicks his bare toes into one of his shoes, snatching them up, then standing awkwardly while the gate starts to slowly open.

Because I’m a wanker, I click the button again to close the gate, then chuckle when he glares at the flat before turning and slamming his hand against the button. The gate groans and then starts to open again.

I turn back to my bacon, pull out a plate, throw it all on, grab the loaf and ketchup, and slide onto the sofa. Fuck him and his tantrum. I stuff slice after slice of bacon onto a piece of bread and flick the motorbike racing on. I know I could have handled that better, but something about the whole situation irks me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.

Killian

Chapter 7

Another day at the shop. I stand staring out of the big window, looking across the street, smiling at the dreary day. The bright lights of the shop are a stark contrast to the miserable weather outside.

I’m setting up for my next client, a new one to me, so I always take extra care to get everything perfect.

The door clicks open as the bell rings. I look over my shoulder and smile, ready to greet my new client. The smile freezes on my face, disdain spreads through me, but I hold it all in. As I spin on my stool, it’s the dick who was with Scott at the fight. And here he is, Scott, smiling at his side, one arm wrapped tightly, protectively around Scott’s shoulder.

“Morning,” I manage to grit out. “What are you doing here, Scott?”

The guy looks between us and then back at Scott. “You two know each other?”

The grin slips from his face, a possessive snarl curls his lip, and the slight tone change in his voice is a warning. One that says, “he’s mine.” I stand slowly, and his eyes follow me as I rise to my full height, all six foot four of me.Clearly, he doesn’t recognise me from the warehouse. I smirk as I see a waver of confidence. A ripple spreads through him, and I take a step closer.

“So, you’re here for a tattoo?” I question.

He curls his lip. “Obviously,” he snarks. Scott’s body tenses slightly, but I smile.

I nod. “I’m Killian. Well, let’s get this started then.”

He tenses and stares at Scott, his mind putting the pieces together.Yeah, that Killian.Scott goes to walk over to the sofa, but the guy drags him closer, pulling him in for an aggressive kiss. Scott’s eyes widen as their bodies crash together before they flutter closed, and he melts into him. But the guy never takes his eyes off me. I frown.Chill the fuck out, dude. I knew I didn’t like this guy, but he clearly didn’t recognise me. Now he does, so he’s pissing on his territory.Good luck with that. But I’ll happily take his money.

He finally lets Scott go. I turn and grab the paperwork. I thrust it in front of him, and he signs it, but the glare tells me he thinks he’s won. He must think there was once something between Scott and me. I chuckle and shake my head. I pick up the stencil. Scott wanders into the kitchen, making himself at home, like he normally does.

“I have printed two stencils out, a larger one or a smaller one. Just to make sure we get the right size for the area.” I hold them up, stepping towards him and hovering them over his thigh. “So, what are you thinking: bigger or smaller?”

“Erm, bigger obviously.” He glances towards Scott before turning and scowling at me.

“Okay, Daniel, let’s get you inked.” I give him my best fuck-you smile.

“It’s Derren,” he deadpans.

“Right, right.” I nod again. I clean and shave his leg, positioning the stencil. He checks it out in the mirror, turning his thigh. “Yeah, it’s… okay.”

“Okay, you sure? It’s a big piece,” I say in a slightly patronising tone. “I want you to be sure you can handle this, Darren,” I smirk.

“It’s Derren. And yeah, I can handle it. Let’s do this.”

He climbs onto the chair; he’s about the same height as Scott, looks like he’s done some time in prison if his janky-ass face and neck tatts are anything to go by. They look cheap as fuck. One even looks like it’s been drawn by a fucking toddler. But the guy has nothing on my stature.

I slide on my stool next to him and pull on my gloves. Scott walks in with two drinks. My gaze flicks to his. He sets the mug at the back of my table and smiles at me.

“Thanks, Nerd.” I wink. His grin widens, and he wraps his hands around his mug and takes a sip, sighing.