Cursed Love: Cursed Love (Cursed, #1) (4 page)

Chapter 3

As I walk toward the building, my head snaps up to the huge neon sign above the door flashing Cursed Magic.

I scrunch my brow, not knowing if I forgot to turn off the lights last night or if Daulton actually beat me into the shop today.

Turning the knob, the door opens and I hear the rock music blasting through the surround sound. All the lights are lit around the reception area and I see that the Daulton has been here. I toss my bag down on the counter and gaze around the waiting area.

The walls are painted in a deep red with photos and posters of tattoos hung on every wall. I walk toward the far right of the room and pick up the
Total Ink
magazine that was left on the soft brown leather couch.

I glance over the cover and check out the tatted models on the front. This February issue is sporting the models of Ominous Clothing. The ink on their bodies is amazing and reminds me why I love my job, my shop, and the work I do every day.

This place is my life. It’s where I can relax, let off steam, and do what I do best…create a masterpiece.

I walk down the hallway to see if anyone else has made it in yet. The back door is propped open by a chair and I can only assume Dault is out back for a smoke.

I make my way back to the office and pull out the tall-back leather chair from behind the desk. Clicking on the computer, I rest my arms on top of the oak desk and place my head in my palms.

My head is still pounding from this morning’s sleep deprived headache and I shut my eyes while the computer comes to life.

I can remember my first day here in this shop like it was yesterday, so much has happened in just a few short years.

Moving to Birmingham, Alabama, Daulton and I didn’t have a place to live or jobs. We’d been applying around town and learning pretty damn fast that finding work was more of a pain in the ass than anything else. I had a chunk of money saved up, but I knew it won’t last us long; we had to find work and find it fast.

After a few rejections because of my lack of experience, I finally got a job offer working for Cricket, an old man that owned a local tattoo parlor. I didn’t think twice about taking the job, it was a paycheck that I needed badly.

I felt out of my element at the shop, but the guys that worked for Cricket were cool as shit. They were a little rough around the edges, but once I got to know them I began to fit right in with the rest of the crew.

I’m not quite sure why Cricket hired me. I had no experience and sure as hell knew nothing about how to work in a tattoo shop. He’d started me off by doing odds and ends for him around the exterior of the building. Manual labor wasn’t something I was accustomed to, but it was a valuable learning experience. If nothing else, I learned how to do repairs I never imagined I’d have done in the past.

When the time came for me to start working on the inside of the building, I’d sit back and watch Cricket and the other artists design the most incredible ink on their clients.

Personally I never thought about getting a tattoo, but the more I watched the more intrigued I became.

After a few more weeks working with the guys and watching the art they created, I drew up the courage to ask Cricket if he’d give me my first tattoo.

I mean, come on, it’s only a tattoo. Not like it’s a life altering experience or anything.

Thinking long and hard about the exact piece I wanted, I scanned through hundreds of pages of tattoos. Cricket said that the piece I’d get had to be something important, something that would represent who I am.

Well shit, who I was at the time was a hot fucking mess of issues that I had no clue how to deal with.

While looking through the last book, I came across a drawing of a tiger. It wasn’t just any orange and black striped animal. There was something in the eyes of the creature that showed no fear.

I’d dealt with my issues and hid them from the rest of the world while fighting my own fears. I was cursed from my past and I needed a way to dig through my memories and fight the battle raging inside of me.

The tiger was exactly what I needed to help me remember who I was and the person I wanted to be. I showed Cricket the design and told him where I wanted it placed. There was no option—I needed the ink to stand out in a spot that I would always see and remember the meaning behind it.

I sat in Cricket’s chair and watched as he prepared his station for my first tattoo. I’d seen his instruments a thousand times, but the terror of the unknown pain sent my nerves into a frenzy.

The hairs on the back of my neck started to stand and goose bumps covered my arms and my legs. I looked down to my right forearm as Cricket asked me to place it on the table.

It was happening; I was really going to do it. I swallowed hard as Cricket brought out a wipe and began to clean the skin of my forearm. He pulled out a razor and started to shave away the hairs on my arm.

I watched as he carefully cleaned away the remaining hairs and wiped my arm down, ensuring that there was nothing that would stand in the way of the needle and my bare flesh.

He turned in his chair and reached for the transfer paper that contained the art of the tiger. Bringing it toward me, he placed it onto my forearm in just the right spot.

It all became very real when he removed the paper and in front of me was the creature staring back at me with fearless eyes. I was nervous, excited, and anxious all at the same time. I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.

Cricket reached around the table for the ink and the tattoo gun.

My palms started to sweat and I could feel my heart rate pick up a few beats. I was scared as hell, and I knew the moment the needle hit my skin there would be no turning back.

I bring my head up from the palm of my hands and glance down at the tattoos on my arms. I’ve gotten at least a few dozen more since that day in Cricket's chair.

Besides Daulton, Cricket has been the only other artist to ink my skin. The day we decided to buy the shop from him was the last day he stepped foot into Cursed Magic.

Stupid fucker died four months later of prostate cancer. I didn’t even know he was sick; he kept it all from us ‘til it was too late.

The world lost a good man the day Cricket died.

He was more of a father to me in the short years I knew him that my own bastard of a dad.

He taught me a lot about who I am and the things I really wanted in life. I’ll never forget the things he did for me or the man he helped me to become.

The sound of footsteps grabs my attention as I look across the room to find Daulton standing in the doorway.

He’s leaning against the doorframe with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a can of Red Bull.

Bringing the can to his mouth, he takes a long drink and lets out a loud burp.

I shake my head at him and turn to face the computer screen.

Daulton clears his throat and I can see him walking to the desk out the corner of my eye.

Taking a seat in front of me, he slams the Red Bull can down on the oak top and begins to drum his fingers on the desk.

“When’s the first appointment for the day?” he asks.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I pull up the calendar,” I say with a smirk.

Grabbing for the mouse, I check the schedule and see that we’re pretty much booked.

“We’ve got a ton of clients coming in and I have Cliff on walk-ins. It should make the day go by pretty damn fast. Trenton is coming in to finish his right sleeve, so I’ll be busy most of the afternoon.”

“Sounds good, man,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “I could use a light day today after the night I had. You should’ve come out with us. Those chicks were one hell of a good time.”

“I’m sure they were, and I can guarantee you took care of them just fine all by yourself,” I reply without turning to look in his direction.

“Dude, what the fuck is your problem? You need to pull yourself out of whatever funk you’re in and let loose.”

I stand from my chair and shove it under the desk, causing the can of Red Bull to tip over and spill on Dault’s lap.

“Mother fucker!” he shouts.

“That’s what you get for pissing me off. Go get your shit ready for today and leave me the fuck alone with this shit.”

Storming past him, I walk out toward the reception area as Jo enters the building.

“Hey, Linc baby,” she purrs.

“Afternoon, Jo, we have a tight schedule today so I’ll be back in my room if you need me. Just send Trenton back when he gets here.”

She bats her thick lashes over her bright green eyes and pats me on the back before walking behind the counter.

“No worries, babe. If you need anything you just let me know.”

Nodding my head and throwing her a wink, I turn and walk back down the hallway to my room.

As I pass the office, I see Daulton wiping his jeans off with a towel and mumbling under this breath.

The stupid asshole needs to leave me the hell alone with all this going out and shit. I don’t need to get wasted and fuck random chicks to have a good time.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I think about the last thought that skimmed through my mind. I don’t remember the last time I let myself go and enjoy the company of another woman.

Fuck!

For the last few weeks, I’ve found myself drowning in self pity and jerking myself off to just get a release.

I hate to say it, but maybe I
do
 need to go out and have a good time.  Maybe I need a hot needy cunt to get me out of this bullshit I’m in. 

Not like Daulton knows what’s best for me, but the guy has a good point. Maybe tonight I’ll see what he’s up to and actually go along with the flow.

I mean, what the hell; it couldn’t hurt, right?

Chapter 4

Today flies by with no drama in the shop. I’ve kept to myself in the back room most of the afternoon while filling in the color on Trenton’s sleeve.

I’m thankful for the distraction of today’s client. The last thing I need is for Daulton and the guys to come back and tell me about their
fucks
from last night.

I know I need to get out, have fun, and let go. In order for me to let go, I need to be doing something other than getting wasted with the guys. I need a release that they’re not able to give me.

I pick up the drawings that Trenton left behind and wonder when I’m going to get all these tats done. Just when I think we’re finishing one, he’s brings in a few more he wants done right away. Shit, I can live off of his business alone.

He’s a big-ass dude with arms the size of my legs. This piece is something we’ve been working on for the past few weekends, and I’m hoping to have the finishing touches done by his next visit.

My eyes are burning and my head is still pounding; there’s not enough Red Bull and Tylenol to make this headache go away.

I busy myself around the room and can hear the guys’ loud mouths coming from their rooms while I try to hurry up and get the hell out of here.

As I’m cleaning up my station and getting ready to head out, I hear the sound of Jo’s five-inch heels clicking against the tile floor through the hallway.

I look up just as she swings her petite figure into my room.

She stands before me watching as I clean up, a smile across her face, but not a word is said.

It’s become normal for her and I to be in the same room and not speak. We’ve worked together for years; in fact, she started working for Cricket shortly after I did.  At times we’re so in sync with one another that our expressions and body language can do all the talking for us. 

Her bright red dress catches my eye. I don’t know how I missed it earlier, but she looks amazing. My eyes run from her killer heels up her smooth legs to her perfectly shaped hips. My eyes linger around her waist as I begin to follow her curves to her tits, her neck, and finally letting my eyes set on hers.