1 King
It sure feels good to be free. My boots scuff against the concrete as I eye the bright yellow sign in the shop window. “Redemption Ink.” The name flutters across my lips as I read the words. It actually happened. When I handed over a sizable portion of my savings to the three men I met in prison to open a tattoo shop, it was a risk to say the least. But now, standing before it as a living breathing entity, I can’t deny that it may end up being the best decision of my life.
My hand rests on the metal door handle for a brief moment. It didn’t take long for the four of us to become friends on the inside. Having all been former tattoo artists, we found common ground. When you’re locked up you need all the friends you can get. I’m sure we’ve all saved each other’s hinds more than any of us even know.
I swing the door open, expecting all three of them to greet me. I nearly fall backwards when instead, my gaze lands on the darkest, deepest set of onyx eyes I’ve ever seen. My breath leaves my lungs as I take in the woman’s full lips, round face, and upturned nose. Her hair is dark and short, worn in natural waves that graze her collarbone. Her tank top highlights a series of dainty ink on her inner arm, but they’re not girly designs. A skull, a snake, and a martini glass scroll against her alabaster skin in traditional style.
In a flash, I forget where I am, why I’m here. The woman’s eyes narrow in on mine, scrutinizing me. Her lips twist as she tilts her head. “You’re King.” It’s not a question.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intended. “Who are you?”
She shimmies off of the chair behind the desk and holds out her hand. “I’m Ronnie. Titus hired me to manage the front of the shop.” Her defensive tone doesn’t put me on edge. Instead, it makes me want to scoop her up, press my lips against her baby soft skin and ask her who hurt her.
“Welcome aboard,” I say, trying not to stare. It’s been nearly five years since I’ve even seen a woman in the flesh. For her to be my first is a blessing and a curse, she is, after all, my employee.
Ronnie removes the rope separating the waiting area from the artists’ chairs. A hefty waft of vanilla and lavender assaults my senses. I breathe her in, wishing I could bottle her sweet scent. “The guys are out back.” She runs her tongue across her top teeth as I move past her. “They’re very excited to see you.” I try not to leer, but this woman is built like a brick house, strong yet curvy in all the right places. Her hips sway as she leads me to the backyard. When she opens the door, sunlight blocks my vision. I raise my hand to my forehead and take in the sight before me.
Around the grill stand my three best friends and now, business partners. Phoenix is the first to clasp my hand and pull me in for a hug. When his palm slaps my back, I realize how much I’ve missed my friends. “You look great, man.” He says, and pulls back. He looks exactly the same, but bigger. A pretty boy by nature, with blonde hair and blue eyes—California good looks.
“Thanks. Orange isn’t really my color.” The other two guys are already heading over. Bone, who is bigger than any man I’ve ever seen hulks his way over to me. He throws his arms around me, gives me one solid pat, and let’s go. Even that was a lot of force.
“Good to have you home.” He says in a near growl. A man of few words.
Finally, Titus pulls his sunglasses from his face, and throws his arms wide. “Get over here you jailbird.”
“Look who’s talking.” We exchange a quick hug. The oldest of the bunch, Titus is a seasoned criminal and no one needs a new start more than him. He’s got a little silver in his beard, but it agrees with him. Starting this shop was his idea, so I guess you could say he’s the closest thing to a partner that I have. His idea, plus my down payment brought Redemption Ink to life.
The aroma of cooked meat hangs thick in the air, causing my stomach to growl. Smoke rises from the grill and it occurs to me that it’s been ages since I’ve eaten anything other than prison grub. “Hungry?” Titus asks, turning to face the feast.
“Starving,” I say and head to the cooler for a bottle of water. All four of us, together again. It’s still so surreal. We talked about doing this two years ago, right before Titus got released. Bone followed six months later, and then Phoenix. I, of course, was last. Considering what I did, what I was convicted of, I got off easy.
Before I can think about food, I take another glance around the circle. These guys are my life now. Tattooing is the thing that we’ve all committed to so that we stay on the straight and narrow. I raise my water, even though they say it’s bad luck to toast with it, parole prevents me from drinking anytime soon.
“You guys did it,” I press my lips together into a thin line, emotion suddenly overwhelming me.
“We did it, King. All of us.” Titus raises his Coke. Bone and Phoenix follow suit.
“And we’re already kicking ass.” Phoenix says. “We’re booked like every day.”
“Yep.” Bone agrees.
I couldn’t be happier, and a little afraid. I’ve never owned a business before, but I know with these guys we’ll be good to go. So long as we can all remain straight. “To Redemption Ink.”
“Redemption Ink,” they all echo. Then, the back door cracks open. Ronnie pops her head out, squints at the sudden burst of sunlight.
“Bone, your client’s here.” Her voice is thick and crackling. “I’ll get you set up.” Bone nods his head.
“Wait,” I say as Ronnie turns to leave. Her hair swishes over her shoulder as she flips back around. “I should’ve asked you to stay for the toast.”
“It’s okay.” Her lipgloss glistens like a ray of light, making me thirsty all over again. “I have work to do.” And just like that, she’s gone.
I expected for there to be a learning curve when it came to reacclimating, but watching the sway of Ronnie’s hips as she walks away, I realize it’s going to be much steeper than I thought.
2 Ronnie
I didn’t think King would be so hot. When I think of convicts, former or not, I imagine older men with axes to grind. Men like my daddy. But when King walked into the shop, my heart nearly dropped into my shoes. This is not a good sign. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about bad boys, they’re called bad for a reason, in search of redemption or not.
Working in a tattoo shop is second nature to me, being it’s the family business and all. At least, it used to be. Daddy’s gone away for life so the shop fell to my brothers, who as suspected, ran it straight into the ground. I needed a job, this place was hiring. Considering my background, I didn’t even have to interview. I told them my past and they pulled me in on the spot.
In the last week, King’s already taken his rightful place as shop owner. Most of the time when he’s not tattooing, he’s in the back. But when he is up front, his eyes are always on me. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks I’m doing a good job or a crummy one. Every time I try and sneak a glance at him, I’m met with his intense gaze. Even though he is technically the definition of a bad boy—I read the papers—he’s easy on the eyes. Prison must’ve given him ample time to hit the weights. His rippled muscles pop and flex beneath his dark t-shirt. His golden-green eyes melt into me like molten lava. They glow against his naturally dark skin tone. His torso tapers into a perfect inverted V-shape from his wide shoulders down to his trim waist.