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I think the only reason my father never punished me for the tattoos was because they made me look more intimidating, like I was someone to be feared. Our fathers all hold us to a high standard and anything that could be portrayed as weakness is highly frowned upon. And according to Lev’s father, art is weak. It didn’t matter he learned his painting techniques from his mother, using it as a way to connect with her after she passed.
I think Lev’s father, Ivan, is the weak one. Not having the ability to see the power art has is a disadvantage. Hell, we steal and trade priceless art in our organization all the time in order to maintain power and influence. Ivan should see what a gift it is that his son can understand it. If Lev wanted to, I bet he could lead the entirety of the stolen goods shipments and make sure we don't get screwed again like we did a few years back. We lost out on eight mil, believing we were getting the real thing. Lev figured it out the second we unboxed the paintings, but by then, it was too late.
I look down as he uses a marker to freehand an outline of the design on my hip. I’m mesmerized as I watch his hands move. Each stroke is so carefully placed to blend over the piece of my past that makes my stomach churn.
I didn't want to show him this one, it had been a while since my father left marks before this. But of course, two years back, good old dad caught me sneaking into his safe after I won a fight. I was pissed he took my winnings from me, and I wanted them back. He came into the office drunk with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The moment he saw me, he chucked the bottle toward my head. I was able to duck and miss the brunt of the hit, but the alcohol splashed onto me as it flew into the fire at my back. The flames burst free when the bottle shattered, curling up my jeans and over my hip. It took me too long to strip them off while my father stood there laughing.
The smell of burnt flesh still reminds me of that day, and considering I’m the enforcer in training for our organization, I burn a lot of bodies. Once it fully healed, I showed it to Lev. He promised he would find something to cover it, but I just needed to give him a little time to find some new techniques. The wait was totally worth it for the masterpiece he’s currently creating. The sound of the tattoo gun buzzing puts my body and mind in a trance, knowing when it turns off, I’ll finally be able to rid myself of the memories my father created and replace them with new ones.
It’s hard to forget your past when it’s written all over your body, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier when you rewrite the story for yourself.
I glance down when I see Lev mixing more colors. A dark skull sits at the center, shaded heavily to hide the edges of the scar. Flames surround it, curling upwards and weaving around the ripples in my deformed skin. They blend beautifully with the red he chose to hide the discoloration from the healed blisters. I can honestly say I doubted Lev on this one. I don’t know why, but I lost hope after the last two attempts he made with a sketch. I need to learn not to overlook his strengths so quickly. He shocked the shit out of me today with that knockout, and now this.
“What inspired you this time?” I ask him, genuinely curious since it’s taken so long.
“Just something Evie made me think of,” he tries to say dismissively as he blends the red and orange of the flames.
“Care to share what that is?”
He dips the shading needle into the red ink and pauses. “This morning, after I won the fight, I went to talk to her briefly. She said something to me that made me see her differently. I saw the fire that came from her, surrounding her but not burning her. It made me think of the flames in this piece.”
Dipping the needle into the orange this time, he gets back to work. “Originally I was trying to find a way to center the skull and have the flames burst from the background, but it wasn't working because the scar couldn't really mold to the skull in a way that hid it. So today when I saw the flames coming from Evie, it was as if they were rising from her like she was what manifested them. That was when I came up with this. The dark skull is you in all your anger when your father tries to strip something from you, making you feel dead inside. The fire comes from you, it strengthens you just as you strengthen it. You let the fire and the anger motivate you to protect others, not destroy them. That’s what separates you from him, it's what makes you stronger.”
He keeps his head down, focused on every little detail and for a moment, I’m speechless. Lev has a way of seeing me that makes me question if I even know myself. He doesn't see someone who's been broken and defeated. He sees someone who’s fought for every freedom that should have been his right in the first place.
When Lev did my first piece, he didn’t question anything. Part of him must have always known about my father, but he stayed silent while he worked. And somehow, sitting in that silence, I no longer felt weak or small. His art and the way he used it to rewrite my story, made me feel powerful. He worked through each piece with me the same way. Helping me to deal with the trauma and move past it.
As he did my chest piece, he was surprised not to have to work around scars. His eyes scanned me in a way that made me feel warm inside. That was the day I started to like him as more than just a friend. I've been with guys as well as girls for a while now, but no one seems to fit the same way he does. No one sees the scars or the tattoos or wants to hear the stories that accompany them. No one sees my struggle for power in order to feel like I have control. No one sees the gentle side of me that doesn’t want to be a monster at all.
Except for Lev. He sees it all.
I've never told him how I felt. This dynamic we have with Alexi would be at risk if things ended up not working out, or if he didn't feel the same way.
“What do you think?” Lev asks, pulling me from my thoughts. Apparently, I had been thinking for a while, the clock showing it’s well past midnight.
I look down and my heart almost aches. You can't see the scar at all, the flames wrap around every inch of marred flesh perfectly. The skull is dark but has just enough detail to make out a sense of power inside of it. I have no words, which is pretty fucking rare. I grab Lev’s hand in mine and squeeze, unable to look away from the final piece I needed.
He seems to understand, because he squeezes back. I look him in the eyes for a moment, feeling like our souls touch. But the second I feel it, he pulls away, looking down as he busies his hands with cleaning up. I get up so I can check it out in the full-length mirror at the end of my bed. I turn this way and that to see if the scar’s noticeable at different angles. It isn't.
“Fuck, Lev. This is incredible.”
I catch him looking at me in the reflection, my pants laying low on my hips to make room for the tattoo. We make eye contact again as he smiles. My heart pounds in my chest when he stands. He walks to stand beside me in the mirror, his eyes roaming over my body in a way that has my dick growing in my pants.
His fingers brush over the top of my pants and the moment his skin meets mine, my fingers ache to touch him, too. Slowly, he removes the cloth he used to protect my joggers from the ink. My jaw clenches as I struggle with control. Every piece of me wants to grab his shoulders and push him up against the wall. I want my tongue sliding between his lips as he moans into my mouth. I want to grind my erection into his stomach to show him just how I feel about him. My breaths get deeper as I breathe him in. His eyes trail up my abs, then to my chest before finally meeting mine again, and for just a moment, the world stands still.
“I think,” he whispers, so close his breath fans across my lips, “I think you’re the best piece of art I’ve ever created.” His fingers brush my abs, forcing me to take in a sharp breath.
He withdraws his hand and takes a step back, breaking the spell he had on me. I laugh off the awkwardness creeping into the air when he notices how painfully hard I am. “Sometimes, I think all I am is the story you’ve written for me.”
His lips tilt in a side smirk that has me tempted to pull him in and damn the consequences, but before I can reach my hand out, he’s turning to walk out the door.
“It’s my favorite story,” he says with a shrug. I watch as he closes the door behind him, while I shut the door to the idea of us.
Chapter 14
I'm sitting in the library that evening with Laney. When I went back to the suite to grab my stuff, still in a post-orgasmic daze, I somehow ended up inviting her to tag along with me. I try to focus on the homework we were given in our poisons class, but my mind keeps wandering back to what Lev can do with his tongue. And don’t get me started on those fingers.
Stop getting distracted E. You don’t have time for men in your life.
