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“Change(InTheHouseOfFlies)”—Deftones
“Holy fucking shit!” I said as the tattoo gun seemed to be scraping off my skin. Initially, I thought it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t long before the back of my neck was burning and I was gritting my teeth. “Did it feel like this with all of your tattoos?” I gasped as my eyes found Ogun through the hole of the massage chair I sat on.
Chains chuckled from behind me, and Ogun gave a wry smile. “Pretty much.”
“Jesus! What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked with bugging eyes. My hands clutched the edge of the armrests, and I bit down on my lip.
Both men laughed again. When I’d found out who Ogun’s tattoo artist was, I’d almost refused. Because I was embarrassed as hell. I was so thankful that neither of them had mentioned the first night I’d met Chains.
“We’re almost done, babe,” Chains said in his slightly gravelly voice. His large inked hands were surprisingly gentle, except for the torture device he was wielding against my poor skin. I’d found myself wondering if the man had ink everywhere but his dick. Because after the show I’d caught at the party, I knew there was nothing on it. My face flamed at the memory.
“It doesn’t look stupid, does it? You’re not putting something people are going to laugh at, are you?” I asked for about the twentieth time since we’d started. In all honesty, I was shocked that I’d agreed to get a tattoo essentially sight unseen. My first one, at that.
“I promise,” he murmured. I could tell by the way Ogun looked at him that they were staring at each other in a silent conversation. An uneasy feeling blossomed in my chest.
“Ogun?” My voice had risen an octave by the end of his name. He was leaning against the wall as he watched over Chains as he worked. I glared at him petulantly.
“You’ll see it when he’s done. It’s turning out pretty sick. Chains does good work, don’t worry.”
Chains again chuckled. A huffing growl escaped me as he wiped my skin for the seven thousandth time.
After an undeterminable time passed, he wiped the area at the base of my neck for possibly the fifty thousandth time. “You wanna see it before I cover it up?”
“Yes!” exploded from my bruised lips.
I hopped up off the chair, and he handed me a mirror. I used it and the one on the wall to look at the first tattoo I’d ever received. Once I realized what it said, I shouted, “Voodoo! What the fuck?”
“Chill, babe. It’s beautiful,” he said with an unrepentant smile. My jaw was on the floor as I looked into the mirror again.
Yeah, it really was beautiful, but holy fucking shit! There was a delicate Mardi Gras mask brilliantly colored in red and black. Above it were the words “Property of” while below it was “Voodoo.” It was truly a work of art, but the words nearly had me hyperventilating.
“Cover it,” I said in a muted voice as I dropped the mirror to the counter.
“What do you think?” asked Chains, and I whirled on him with narrowed eyes, because I was sure I heard laughter in his question. He obviously thought this was funny, but his expression was nothing but expectant as he waited for my answer.
“You do good work. It’s beautiful,” I said tightly, because it was the truth. It really was. Then my eyes flashed to Voodoo. He had a smug look on his handsome face, but his ass was mine as soon as we got home.
Home.
Holy shit, I hadn’t been at his house one night and I was thinking of it as home. Then it dawned on me; we hadn’t discussed what our living arrangements would be, or what me being “his” entailed as far as accommodations.
Chains carefully dressed the new tattoo.
My nostrils flared, and my teeth were grinding as I watched my “keeper” hand Chains a wad of bills.
“Brother, you don’t owe me anything,” Chains said as he tried to hand the money back.
“Bullshit. This is your job, and if you won’t take it as payment, then it’s a tip for a job exceptionally well done.”
Chains rolled his eyes, but obviously realized he’d be fighting a losing battle if he didn’t take it. “Thanks, brother. You gonna come in so we can start on that sleeve?”
Voodoo grinned. “Soon,” he said. In my mind, I was referring to him as Voodoo because I was pissed as fuck at him.
Chains gave me an after-care instructions sheet and explained everything to me. He gave me a small tin of whatever it was he’d said to put on it. Honestly, everything he said was a dull murmur over the incessant buzzing I still heard in my head. Maybe that was my fuming anger.
Without saying a word, I headed out to wait for Voodoo by the door. My arms were crossed angrily in front of me, and I tapped one foot impatiently.
I had to braid my hair to the side so it wouldn’t be across the covered but tender area of my neck. I pulled the helmet on in a huff and got on behind him. He had the nerve to chuckle as he started the bike. The vibrations of his laughter gave him away as I pressed my chest to his back and wrapped my arms around his leather vest.
