Enzo (Jinx Tattoos Book 1) (3 page)

She laughed. “Well, yeah, but so did Peter Jackson. He’s a special kind of sick and twisted, though he hides it well these days. I mean,
Meet the Feebles
?”

“Truth. I’d like to see him do another horror movie.”

“It’ll never happen. He knows where his bread and butter lies,” she said.

“That’s the double edge sword of fame I suppose. When you’re just making a name, you’re not expected to do anything in particular. The world is your playground, and the only limitation is your imagination. Then you get recognition, get labeled, and wind up stuck in a box. He’s still making
Lord of the Ring
films how many years later?”

“I don’t know, he has a cult film following, too, though. That’s something to be proud of. Plus, there was
District 9
. That was a step back toward those movies where he really flexed his creative muscles and stepped ‘outside of the box’,” she said using air quotes.

“Yeah, that’s true. I forgot about that one. I actually liked it a lot.”

“I know. I did, too.” She smiled up at him.

“Well, you do tend to have pretty good taste.”

“Shut up, I’m awesome,” she retorted.

“Yeah, you are. Thanks for hanging with me.”

“Hey, traditions are meant to be kept,” she replied, careful to keep things light.

They returned their attention to the movie, and she allowed herself to enjoy his closeness.

A knock sounded on the door halfway through the movie.

Enzo pressed pause. “Got to be Rhys. No one else gets up this early.”

“I’ll get it,” Aibhlinn said, eager to put some distance between the two of them. It was a little too easy to pretend things between them could be romantic behavior. She peered out the window above the door and grinned at the sight of the blond male with green eyes. The baby of the brothers, he had a lightheartedness about him. She opened the door. “Rhys.”

“Aibhlinn,” Rhys cried, sweeping her up into his arms.

“I told you about treating her like a doll,” Enzo barked from the couch.

Aibhlinn giggled.

“Should we royally piss him off, then?” Rhys asked.

She nodded her head.

“When are you going to let me make an honest woman out of you?” Rhys asked, loud enough for Enzo to hear.

“I don’t know. What do you have to offer?” Aibhlinn asked in a sultry voice.

“Okay, seriously?” Enzo grumbled.

She and Rhys laughed.

“What? I only came here to see Aibhlinn,” Rhys defended.

“No way, man, it’s my day. Get your own girl,” Enzo growled.

Rhys’ eyes widened.

Aibhlinn quickly looked away, ignoring the blood that rushed to her face.

“I am,” Rhys said.

“Pain in my ass,” Enzo stated as his voice drew near. He entered the living room and scowled at his brother who held out a bag.

“Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s from Mom.”

“And she told you to bring it to me at the ass crack of dawn?” Enzo asked.

“She said first thing, and then proceeded to call me to make sure.”

“What is it?” Enzo asked.

“No clue, bro. She gave it to me last night when I was over there for dinner. Happy womb liberation day.”

“Thanks,” Enzo grumbled.

“Well, I’ll let you two do whatever it is you do when you’re together,” Rhys said.

Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you have a crush on my girl for real,” Enzo accused, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“All I’m saying is,
Netflix and Chill
has led to many babies, so please be safe,” Rhys teased.

Enzo stepped forward.

Rhys moved back, laughing. “I’m headed to the gym now. I got an early appointment that’ll take a good chunk of my day up.”

“Where do they want it?” Enzo asked.

“A back piece. Luckily, it’s not their first. I always cringe when first times come in and try to do a back piece in one sitting.” Rhys shook his head.

Enzo snorted. “Call me if you need anything.”

“We won’t, and if we do, I’m calling Noah. It’s your day.” Rhys and Enzo fist bumped. “See you soon, pretty girl,” Rhys said, giving her a hug before he disappeared out the door.

She spun around. “Open the bag.”

He laughed and removed the red tissue paper. “Oh, man, she did good.” He pulled out a bulky box set. “We are watching
Kill Bill
next.”

She leaned in and read the description. It was a gift set featuring Quentin Tarantino’s best and bloodiest. “I love your mom. She’s so cool.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual with your mom. Come on, let’s finish our movie before we’re interrupted again.” Enzo led her back into the living room.

Once again, she was lost to her thoughts of what if. Enzo was the sun. She had no choice but to keep circling him.

is mind had been on Aibhlinn all day. Their relationship was shifting, and he couldn’t put his finger on the catalyst. Last night, he’d noticed how well she fit into his side, and how full and firm her breasts were. It made him nervous. He’d placed her in a box and tried not to think about it for a reason. He finished up the color for the full serpent sleeve he was working on and wiped it down. He and Snake, a local biker, had been trying to complete the piece for the past few months.

“I think we got it, brother,” Enzo said, pushing away from the chair.

“Yeah?”

Pride filled him. The green was bright and the lines were crisp and sharp. The serpent slithered its way around his arm. The head rested at his shoulder, jaws open and ready to strike. He filled in the negative space with black and small references to his motorcycle club. Sometimes, the rougher crowd came in. He didn’t mind. As long as he gave respect, they returned it and their money flow was constant. He’d built up this shop on the money of bikers.

“Damn, man. I can’t wait to see it completed.” Snake unfolded his six foot plus frame from the chair and walked over to the mirror. He twisted his way to the left and right, examining it with shrewd narrowed eyes. “It looks fucking excellent. You always do good work. The boys appreciate it.”

“I appreciate you guys. You gave me a shot when no one knew my name, and kept food on my table.”

“No one else we’d trust more,” Snake said.

Enzo nodded his head, thinking of the times he’d gone to the club to do a tattoo party, or mark one of their women with the club’s emblem. It was a different world, for sure. “I know you know the drill. Take the bandage off in three to four hours, and apply a light layer of Bacitracin, three to four times a day. Keep your hands clean when you’re handling it, and if you have any issues, let me know.”

“Will do, Enzo. How much do I owe you?”

“Three hundred.”

“Well worth it,” Snake replied as he peeled off four hundreds, giving him a hefty tip.

“I appreciate it,” Enzo said. He smoothed a layer of Bacitracin onto the tattoo, wrapped it up, and sent Snake on his way.

Cheered by the money made, and the tattoo finished, his black mood lifted. He whistled to himself as he cleaned up his area and prepped for his next piece.

“Well good morning, sunshine,” Noah greeted.

“Morning?” Enzo responded, wondering why the man was greeting him hours after they’d started their work day.

“You finally look fit for small talk,” Noah noted by way of explanation. “How was the movie marathon?” he asked as they shot the shit between customers.

“Good, man. We threw some
Kill Bill
into the mix. I hadn’t seen that in a while.”

“Tarantino is a sick bastard, but a brilliant genius at the same time.”

“Right? Makes you wonder what the hell goes on in his brain if that’s what he puts down,” Enzo said.

“How’s my Irish sweetheart doing? I haven’t seen her around in a while,” Noah said.

As his former master, the older man knew Enzo—and those closest to him—well. The stars had aligned when Noah agreed to go in on a shop with him. He’d spent a lot of time freelancing, doing conventions, shows, and operating his own shop, Inked. This was a side-gig, he truly didn’t need. But they worked well together, and as a mostly silent partner who showed up one or two days a week, Noah earned a decent profit with little work.

“Doing good. She was holed up finishing off a deadline.”

“She works too hard,” Noah said.

“Yeah, try telling her that.”

Noah snickered. “Well, you can’t. That’d be the pot calling the kettle black. She still single?”

“Why? Are you looking to rock a cradle, old man? I already had Rhys sniffing around her,” Enzo grumbled.

Noah laughed. His mustache curved up and he shook his head, sending his dark brown ponytail swaying. “No, but if I did, it’d serve you right. I never could figure out why you ain’t scooped that girl up yet. Not only is she cool as hell and hot, but she truly loves your punk ass.”

“You know how love and relationships screw everything up. Sex makes things messy and not in a good way. I get my itch scratched, and I avoid the bitching, moaning, and deception.”

“You think she’d do you dirty?” Noah asked.

“No way. But I could never be what she needed. Like I said, best not to mess with what works.” Enzo shrugged.

“And when someone else does?”

“Why are you riding me so hard?”

“Just want to see you happy, boy. You’ve been off lately. She’s always kept you level-headed,” Noah replied with a shrug.

Enzo turned Noah’s words over in his mind. He’d been thinking deep thoughts about where he was in life and where he wanted to be. It made a man take a long, hard look inward. The true thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t like what he’d seen. The bevy of girls in and out of his bed added nothing. They were an empty act with no intimacy. The pleasure it brought him was fleeting, and more trouble than they were worth. He was doing things out of habit. It felt stale and ill-fitting, like a skin he’d outgrown. “You know how it is around my birthday.”

“Umm,” Noah hummed, clearly not buying what he was trying to sell. He had a sixth sense for bullshit that way.

The bell chimed signaling a customer.
Saved by the bell
. Enzo walked over to greet his ten o’clock with thoughts of Aibhlinn dancing in his head. “Hey, Fiona, how are you today?” he greeted the thick girl with olive skin and dark wavy hair.
Damn, I can’t even get away from Irish names today
. He led her to the chair.

“Good. I stopped breastfeeding Avalon about a month ago, so according to the doctor, we’re good to go,” she said, grinning.

The proud first-time mother had been dying to get her baby’s footprints tatted on her back since she gave birth. He’d wanted to ensure it wouldn’t put her or her baby girl at risk, so they opted to wait until she finished breastfeeding. He took his craft seriously. It was about more than getting as many people in and out as fast as he could. He wanted his work to be a living piece of art they wore with pride. It should tell a story and be a conversation piece. He pushed himself to make each tattoo better than the one previous and completely customized to his canvas’ specs. “Right on. We still going with the original design?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m in love with that one.”

He smiled. He always suggested people sit on bigger designs before they came in to have them placed. “Good deal, let me pull it out of my file and get it onto transfer paper, and we’ll work on finding that perfect placement.” He patted her shoulder and moved back to the office to pull her manila folder. He’d done all the work for her husband, Mason, so when it was her turn for ink, they said coming to him was a no brainer. For that reason alone, he wanted to do her justice. He pulled the design and took a moment to refresh himself with the sketch. He turned the tiny footprints into the wings of a butterfly with Avalon’s name forming the body. Pleased, he began the preparation and focused his attention on the task at hand.

The hum of the needle and the warmth of the canvas through his gloved hands put him in the white zone where nothing else mattered.

Fiona was taking her ink like a champ, remaining still and staying Zen as she focused on the music coming out of the headphones she’d popped on just before he got started.

He wiped down the tattoo and surveyed the color. Darkening a few more spots, he wiped it down once more. “We’re done, Fiona.”

She lifted her head from the chair with a grin. “Can I see?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shut down his gun, pushed away from her chair, and grabbed a hand mirror. “Here you go.”

She stood, walked over to the full-length mirror, and turned this way and that, holding up the hand mirror. The teal colors contrasted well with her skin tone. It was a good-sized, solid first tattoo. “It’s amazing, Enzo,” she whispered.

“You like it?”

“I love i-it.” Her voice quavered. “It’s so her. You know, her middle name is Teal.”

He smiled. “I did know that.” Seeing parents in love with their children did funny things to him. There was no greater gift you could give than unconditional love. The type that’ll have you out all hours of the night to bring home a wayward teen. The kind that had you working hard to provide, but making time to spend one-on-one. His parents showed him first hand that bond between parent and child was more than a fairytale. It was a slow, painful process, but eventually they’d come out on the other side.
Thank God, they didn’t give up on my ass
. Adoptions that late in life don’t happen every day. “Parenthood looks good on you and Mace.”

“Thank you. I won’t say it’s not a lot of work, but that little girl is worth it.”

He thought about what it would be like to procreate. To have a tiny part of you and someone you loved blended into a tiny being completely dependent on you for everything. He would never do shit half assed with a kid. It would be love, marriage, and then baby. He saw how fucked up things were when you did those things out of sequence. If he ever trusted a woman enough to want to have children, he would need the deep commitment of marriage. The very thought made him uncomfortable. That kind of vulnerability led to ruin. Therefore, he knew he would never be a father.
Uncle is a second best, and that’s fine for me
.