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A bell chimes overhead, a delicate sound which jars against my anger, as I fling the door open and stomp into the shop. I slam my bag down on the counter, glaring at the girl behind the desk. She looks about fifteen despite her shaved head, many piercings, and numerous tattoos. Which only annoys me more. Why is there a literal child working the front?!
“Get me Johnny. Right now!” I snap at her as my heart races with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I know it’s not her fault that my artist called in sick, effectively canceling my appointment at the last possible second, when I’ve waited a year and a half for it, but I don’t handle disappointment well. I can’t help but take my anger out on her, even though I feel like a dick the second the words spill from my lips. Oh well, too late to take it back now. She’ll think I’m a bitch whether or not I apologize. I straighten my posture and attempt to smile at the trembling pixie, but end up looking more like what I suspect is a rabid raccoon, judging by the escalating fear in her eyes.
I run my fingers through my waist length chestnut hair in a lame attempt to self-soothe and look slightly less threatening, but even the soft jangle of my many metal bangles can’t calm this storm brewing inside me. I sigh as she scurries away, looking terrified, and vow to be less of a bitch when she returns.
Not to Johnny, though. That fucker will be on the receiving end of my full wrath.
“Pumpkin! Honey! Jelly bean! It’s been too long!” Johnny comes at me, arms stretched wide, shit-eating grin stretched even wider, acting as if I’m going to be happy to see him.
“What the fuck, Johnny?” I scowl at him, arms crossed over my chest, unimpressed.
“What’s wrong, babycakes?” I fucking hate Johnny and his stupid nicknames for women. It’s his way of never having to remember their actual names, even though he knows my name perfectly well. They’re all interchangeable cumdumpsters to him. What a grade A cockwombling twatwaffle. I fix him with my most withering stare, but he pretends to be oblivious.
“What’s wrong?” I pause, giving him a look I hope expresses just how stupid I think he is. “What’s. Wrong?” I ask again, this time more slowly. I have to take a deep breath to calm myself before I reach across this desk, wrap my hands around his neck, and strangle the shit-eating grin right off his smug face.
I can feel my face turning purple, and I’m sure the customers in the back rooms can hear my voice rising. The sounds of the machines buzzing and the heavy rock music thumping through the overhead speakers have nothing on my anger and only serve to further fuel my ire. Everyone here should know what a fucking knobjockey this guy is.
“Listen to me, you dick weasel. I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” I say, pointing at his face. “I’ve waited eighteen fucking months for an appointment with Anya; I’ve flown across the country to be here today, for a week in fact, and you think it’s okay to text me less than an hour before my time slot to cancel! That’s what’s fucking wrong!”
Johnny—knobhead that he is—doesn’t even have the sense to look contrite. But I guess that’s family for you. He’s such a shithead.
“Woah, Sis, calm down.” He holds his hands up like he’s placating a wild animal, and I sneer at him until he drops his arms down by his sides. “If you’d listened to my voicemail, you’d know I’ve arranged an alternative for you.” He says this like I’m the slow one.
I have to resist the urge to throat punch him. He’s such a bullshitter; there is no voicemail. No, typical Johnny thought he could text me mid-flight to cancel, and I’d just…what? Hop on the next flight back home again? No harm done? Fuckhead. Fuck him.
I don’t think so, and he damn well knows me better than that! I’m not about to take this lying down, especially with the four hundred dollar deposit I put down for this spot, the time off work, and the plane ticket. No, this is Johnny trying to cover his own ass to avoid the bad publicity that me screaming in his shop is causing.
“I can’t help it if my staff are sick, Belle.” He crosses his arms over his chest. I narrow my eyes at him. The blood in my veins is boiling, and I want to bury him in a shallow grave. I’m this fucking close. I suck in a deep breath and hold in my angry retort.
“Tell me about this alternative,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
The child receptionist is back behind her desk, cowering and staring at the two of us with wide eyes. I guess the family resemblance, even though we’re half siblings, isn’t so hard to miss now that we’re standing face to face. We both have thick chestnut hair and big brown eyes framed by long, dark lashes. High cheekbones, an English Rose complexion, and thick pouty lips. But maybe it’s the matching, stubborn set of our jaws that really gives us away. It could also be the fact that his charm and good looks have no effect on me, and he isn’t trying to hit on me to get out of this.
“Sure thing, Sis. As soon as Anya canceled on me today, I contacted all of her clients to reschedule them. But I knew you’d already be on your flight out here, so I called my best guys in, and they’re going to work on you tonight.”
“Tonight?” My brow crinkles in confusion.
“We have full schedules today. Weekends are our busiest time, you know that. They’ve agreed to come back later after we close to take care of you.” He makes it sound like he’s doing me a favor, not covering his own ass, but I know better. I knowmy brother.
“Why do you keep saying ‘they’ and ‘guys’, as in plural?” I huff, hands on hips.
“Belle, the piece you want isn’t getting done in one sitting. Come on. Anya wouldn’t have managed it, which is why you’re here for the week and booked in for multiple sessions.” He pauses, emphasizing his point. “And because I don’t know when she’ll be back at work for your sessions later in the week, the guys have offered to work on you, collectively, after hours this week,” he says, like he’s some kind of miracle worker and his artists are saints. “For the same price too, of course.” Ah. There it is, there’s the douche I know and loathe. Bottom line? He doesn’t want to miss out on his cut.
I pull a face, not liking the idea of multiple artists working on me all at once. Won’t their differences in styles be obvious in the final piece? As if he can see what I’m thinking, he hurriedly adds, “Trust me. I have my best guys lined up to work on you. They do all my ink. I wouldn’t have anyone else touch me.”
I waver, close to giving in. There’s no denying that Johnny’s tattoos are shit hot. And I really want this art. But I haven’t even seen their portfolios. I’ve waited so long for it. It’s just my luck to have Anya cancel at the last minute, but I don’t want to wait any longer. Johnny might be a womanizing, dick biscuit, but if my big brother tells me they’re good, then I know I’ll be in safe hands. He wouldn’t steer me wrong, at least, I really hope not.
“Fine,” I sigh. “What time do you all get off? You’re taking me for dinner with these mates of yours before I let any of them near my skin,” I snap, arms crossed, matching his defensive posture. He knows I won’t give in unless he meets my demands.
“Fair enough,” he concedes. “We close at six tonight, but we have to clean up, so book a table somewhere for eight, for the five of us. Text me and we’ll join you there. Do you need a place to stay?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just digs into his pocket, pulls out his house keys, and tosses them my way. I catch them mid-air and nod my thanks.
“I’ll text you the address.” He smirks. “It’s a real beauty. Try not to be too jealous.”
“Right, I’m gonna go get settled. I’ll see you, and these guys of yours, later then.” Most of my anger has subsided now that he’s given me a solution. I suppose he isn’t a complete turdsucker all the time.
“Yep, and Belle?” I turn back to him. “It’s nice to see you again.” He looks at me with big, brown eyes so much like my own that it’s hard to tell if he’s being sincere or not.
I give him a half smile but don’t respond, turning out of the shop and heading toward Johnny’s nearby flat. I’ve not been before — not since he moved to a much bigger place a few months ago — but he texted me the address like he promised, and I have Google Maps.
