Savior: A Tattered Club Story (Tattered Social Club Series Book 1) (2 page)

Holy mother the guy was covered with twists and turns of bright colors, shadows of grey, and scrolling letters. The detailed curves and stark lines bled into one another, leaving no naked skin untouched. The living landscape was painted from his fingers to the thick column of his neck.

The silent air separating their bodies felt like it vibrated with tiny sparks zinging back and forth. The short hairs on his forearms prickled. Ethan opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then tried again. “I’m—I’m Ethan Cohen.”

The black strands on top of the man’s head seemed confused as to where to lie. The soft, short faux hawk spiked while the silky sides lay haphazardly above his ears. Ethan wished he’d worn something nice from his closet instead of grabbing the first thing he could find in the dresser.

“Something full of color?”

Ethan blinked. “Huh?”

“Seeing as your bright-blue skinny jeans go so well with that hot pink shirt, I assume you like colors...even if they have no business being matched up.”

Ethan looked down his torso. The jeans had cost a hundred and fifty dollars. Well, cost Charles a hundred and fifty bucks. Besides, he didn’t have anyone to impress. And he liked his clothes, even if a straight asshole thought he looked ridiculous. The jerk was likely judging his pink Converses, too. See, he could match colors.

Niko tilted his head toward the back of the lobby. “Come on, stud. Even the pretty boys need some ink.”

Ethan didn’t flinch. He’d gotten used to being called names during the nineteen years he’d been on the planet. Insinuating he was gay was probably kinder than the faggot and dick sucker comments slung in his direction.

They walked into a room with three colorless walls and one covered in framed, vibrant artwork. Ethan started walking along the striking wall, soaking in the strokes on one of the canvases. Whoever painted them wasn’t the only one who liked to mismatch colors.

“Have a seat, Ethan.” Niko grabbed a notepad from the counter against the brick wall. “So”— he pulled the rolling chair up to the small round table—“I suggest you get your ass in the chair instead of gawking at the wall. You’ve got half an hour. Let’s figure this out.”

Niko’s rude attitude made Ethan want to hightail it out the door, but someone with Niko’s talent could be an asshole to anyone. He pulled out the hard plastic chair and slid down. “Before you waste your time, I probably can’t afford one of your original designs. I was thinking that the phoen—”

“I set the price. I’ll decide if you can afford it or not. Scarlet will handle the initial fee before you leave.”

Before Ethan could suggest the phoenix from the wall, Niko was already sliding a drawing pencil over a piece of white paper. Ethan looked around the room. A black monster, a barber chair looking like it waited for Sweeny Todd to place a victim in its seat, stood in the middle of the room. A massage table lined one wall while a rolling short metal table was parked next to a short stool on wheels.

“How old are you?”

Ethan dipped his head, studying the tight fabric covering his thighs. The fresh wounds still stung when he shifted in the seat. “Nineteen.”

“You look barely seventeen.” Niko never raised his head from the scratching pencil.

“People always say I look young. I have my college ID and driver’s license. I can prove my age.”

Niko tucked the white piece of paper behind the drawing pad and started to sketch on the new sheet. “Don’t panic. I believe you.” More glides and quick strokes. “Why are you so nervous? Just like that moment before you know someone is going to crank you over the head or you’re going to knock them out. Just breathe and keep calm. The other guy’s going down first. Nothing to get worried about. I’m not going to crack your skull, so you can chill.”

Ethan kept his hands under the table. How in the hell did someone live without anxiety—and how in the hell did someone not freak out about getting into a fight? Apparently his new tattoo artist knew the secret.

“So, colors. What are your favorites? You obviously like blues.” Niko peeked up, steeling a moment to study the blue stone Ethan wore on the ring slipped over his left index finger. Evan glimpsed the twin emerald irises before Niko looked down, writing blue and green at the bottom of a new sheet of paper. “And... Pink? I guess pink goes with that blond hair.”

Was that meant to be another gay insult? Ethan had been complimented more than once on the color of his hair. Usually, it was from women being jealous or men trying to flirt, neither a fag jab.

“Yeah, blue is my favorite color and I do like pink. I like yellow and green, too.”

Niko jotted down the colors Ethan listed. “What do you want?”

Ethan studied the grey and white octopus design, its tentacles swaying and turning when Niko moved his forearm. Each stroke of the pencil made the creature roll into a different shape. “I’m sorry?” Ethan looked up to find Niko’s dark lashes framing those shining green orbs. They were long, almost curled at the ends, softening his expression.

“What do you want?”

“I like the phoenix on the wall.” Ethan felt like a specimen looking back through a microscope. Niko’s expression faded. The thin line of his lips tightened.

“No phoenix. What do you want? Answer the question. Don’t think, just answer.”

The cramp in Ethan’s gut tightened. “To be free.”

Niko flipped back to the drawing on the first page and added more lines and smudges to the shapes already on the paper. Ethan tried to peer over to decipher the image, but as soon as he scanned the scratches, Niko closed the notebook cover.

“I’ve got everything I need. When are you wanting to get this done?”

Ethan knew the guy was talented, but wasn’t he going to have a say in the tattoo? The damn thing was permanent. “Do I get to see the design? I like the blue and green phoenix. Maybe we should go with that one.”

Niko pushed the chair back and stood. “That one’s not right for you.”

Ethan swallowed, panicked that the design Niko envisioned would cost three weeks of paychecks from the coffee shop. The envelope in his dresser was filled with bills saved to get the hell out of Charles’s house and sparing more than he’d budgeted wasn’t an option.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to draw—”

Niko walked over to the door and ran his colorful hand over his face as he obviously waited for Ethan’s exit. “See Scarlet on your way out. I’ll give her a price. Two weeks. Work me in on that Thursday around one.”

Ethan shuffled his schedule through his head. He closed on Thursday evenings, so taking the afternoon to get the tattoo done shouldn’t be a problem. And his freshman English comp class was over by ten.

“I can do that.” Ethan stalled as Niko took two steps to slide into the doorway. Was he supposed to try to pass him? Ethan looked down at his sneakers. With a fluttering stomach, he took a step.

Niko didn’t move. Heat flushed Ethan’s face. Being pale sucked when every emotion shouted in various shades of red. Niko’s tight body wasn’t huge like so many men who spent time in the gym, but, God, the peaks and valleys of muscle were cut. Ethan, with his skinny arms and thin waist, wasn’t jealous. He was simply admiring a stunning act of nature in Niko Melikov.

The doorway wasn’t overly small, but with Ethan’s slender body sliding by, heat seeped from one chest to the other, two sets of abs with a sliver of space between them.

Ethan hid his gaze, concentrating on the pattern of tile on the floor. His body tugged on the imaginary force field drawing him toward the heat of Niko’s broad chest. One push, an invitation, and their covered cocks would rub together.

Ethan watched the relaxed expression on Niko’s face disappear as those beautiful elegant lashes flickered. The mask went up, and Ethan immediately regretted pausing in the doorway. He’d totally misread the sexual electricity lingering in the crowded space.

Niko broke his gaze, the flash of two tight fists hanging close to his side caught Ethan’s attention. “Who was the guy in the car?” Not waiting for the answer, he headed into the hall.

What? Ethan scanned the wide hallway as he followed. “Are you asking me?” “There’s no one else in the hallway, so, yeah, I’m asking you.”

This wasn’t the first time Ethan was embarrassed by how low he’d sunk to make ends meet. “He’s um...he’s a friend.” When had he saw Charles?

Niko gave a curt nod. Before Ethan could stutter through an explanation—lie—the hallway opened to the lobby.

“Scarlet will take care of you. See you in a couple of weeks. Wear a loose shirt.”

“I was thinking maybe we could put it on my—”

Niko turned to head back to his studio. “I got this, Ethan.”

Weirdest. Experience. Ever. Ethan stood speechless, watching Niko’s tight ass move beneath a pair of worn jeans before he disappeared into another room. The rumble in Ethan’s stomach echoed. Hoping no one heard the growl, he walked to the counter and unfolded two twenties.

The phone on the desk rang. Scarlet answered. “Hey...are you sure...okay...he’s right here...okay...got it.”

She hung up and clicked the computer keys. “Forty dollars.”

Ethan thought his eyes were going to have to be picked up off the hardwood floor. “Forty? Are you sure? My friend told me his consultation was a hundred.”

“I’m just the messenger. Forty it is.”

Ethan handed over two worn twenties figuring he’d get hit with the big bill after the next appointment.

“Thank you. I have you in for two weeks from Thursday on the nineteenth at one o’clock. Here’s an appointment card. Please come fifteen minutes early to fill out the paperwork and you’ll need to bring a form of valid ID. Any questions?”

The wooden cigar clock on the wall behind the counter read half-past six. Charles would be waiting outside. How had an hour passed so quickly? Not only had Niko given him a break on the fee, he’d taken twice as long as scheduled for the consultation.

“None right now. Thank you.” He shoved the glossy card into his wallet and stuffed it in the front pocket of, yes, his bright-blue skinny jeans. Heading toward the door, he knew the fantasy of the guy he’d seen in the magazine was no comparison to seeing the real deal sitting across that table. Niko may be straight, be he was any man’s wet dream.

He paused and smiled. The antique rectangular sign hanging on the wall advertised the Tattered Gentleman’s Club, est. 1926, members only.

As expected, Charles was waiting by the curb in the shadow grey Jag that probably cost more than three years of paychecks at the coffee shop. Ethan tried to hide his sigh and opened the car door.

“Hey, beautiful, how did it go?”

Being called beautiful sounded disgusting coming from Charles’s mouth. “Okay, I go back on the nineteenth.”

“No skull and crossbones or naked ladies I hope. Wait, you’re not into the ladies. How about no naked sailors?”

Ethan found no humor in the joke. Hell, he couldn’t find any humor in anything anymore. Well, except Niko’s comment about the Chinese tattoo. “No naked sailors.” He latched the seat belt.

“How about Christoph’s for dinner? I already made reservations.”

Then why fucking ask?
He rubbed his flat stomach, trying to ease the rumble. “I have a lot of homework. I’d rather stay in.”

When Charles ran his pudgy fingers along Ethan’s thigh, he fought the urge to crawl under the seat. How had it come to this? “My beautiful Ethan wants to stay in? Ah...I think a play session might be in order.”

The tender area on his hip still sent a throb down his leg when Charles touched it. There was no way he was going to be able to get it up. Last time his cock wouldn’t perform, Charles slapped his face. The thought made him shiver.

“I have a lot of homework. Maybe tomorrow night.”

Charles pulled the car away from the curb. Pouting his fat bottom lip like a scolded child, he mumbled, “Tomorrow night it is, then.”

Two more months. He could hold on for two more months, pawn the necklaces and bracelets Charles had given him and make the deposit on an efficiency.

That was if he didn’t cut himself into a mess before then.

*****

Niko followed his last client to the front desk. Scarlet, with her swelled belly, waddled from behind the counter and chit chatted with the man until he walked out the door and she could lock it behind him.

“You’re running pretty late.”

“Yeah,” Niko turned to walk back to his studio. “You need to get home. I’ll finish up here.”

“Niko?” He heard the click of her flat shoes cross the floor. “Forty dollars. The kid held onto several twenties like his life depended on it. That was really nice of you. I know you’d prefer not to be talked up, but, in my opinion, you can’t help being a nice guy.”

Niko didn’t let her see his smirk. Hell if he was a nice guy. “Your opinion.” He didn’t wait around in case she decided to go in for a hug, instead he left to gather some supplies and turn off the lights. Scarlet had been at the shop a hell of a lot longer than he had. Being The Professor’s daughter, she’d grown up in the club.

After twenty minutes of cleaning and organizing his space, he grabbed the black bag from the table and filled it with a box of charcoal pencils and two drawing notebooks. He had six custom tats to get started and one...well, one in particular driving him crazy to get done.

The three commissions he had been hired to do were done and ready to beautify the restoration project of South Chicago. Sure, the neighborhoods needed work, but the new buildings going up and houses being torn down didn’t set right in his gut. Still, he had to make a decent living. The cops had already run off some of the riffraff...except one. He still felt like he didn’t belong among the redesigned facades and trendy shops springing up. Flashbacks of running through the alleys with cans of spray paint in a backpack skipped through his mind.

Niko rubbed the back of his neck and popped his head from side to side. He waited for the sound of the back door closing then, starting with the lobby, shut lights off as he made his way through the shop. All six of the other artists had already cleared their studios, so he only had the cigar lounge left to check. The large humidor against the wall was closed and the lights turned off.