I’d heard him and Mathias mentioning Luna. I wondered if Bishop spent a lot of his free time with her. She’d been so angry that I couldn’t see why anyone would want to. But Bishop had a calming effect on people, it seemed.
Mathias had just the opposite effect on me, and my stomach was a bundle of nerves as I walked through the door and the bells above it jangled, not giving me the quiet entrance I’d hoped for.
Mathias didn’t look up though. His back was to me, and he was tattooing Rebel using sticks and ink in a manner that looked barbaric and prone to infection. Instead of interrupting further, I took the empty seat that allowed me to watch the process.
Neither man spoke. Rebel’s head was down, so I couldn’t see his face, but I winced for him when the sticks drove into his flesh. Mathias wiped away the excess ink mixed with blood, and I’d never considered that before, how the ink and blood would actually mix beneath your skin.
There was something spiritual about that, the bonding that occurred. I’d never look at tattooing the same way again. After an hour, the outline of a cross was apparent—a Celtic cross, one Mathias had inked by hand. He hadn’t been following any kind of pattern, except the one he saw in his mind.
My mother was an artist.
So was he. And he was speaking through his art.
When he finished, he handed Rebel a sugary soda. He put a hand on the back of his neck, indicating for him to stay there, and Rebel nodded and said, “Thanks, man,” in a sleepy voice.
Mathias turned then, didn’t seem surprised in the least to see me, but he didn’t make any attempts at conversation. Instead, he went over to another table and picked up a small knife. As I watched, he cut one of his tattoos, the fleur-de-lis, with a knife and pressed what looked like herbs into it. The herbs mixed with his blood, Mathias hissed, closed his eyes, his mouth moving—a silent prayer or maybe a chant—but he was definitely concentrating on what he was doing. I knew ritual when I saw it.
Politicians had their tricks—a superstitious bunch—but Mathias’s seemed to transcend that. This wasn’t about a moment of luck. Not when the peace passed over his face.
He opened his eyes and mouthed slowly in time with the signs that I attempted to mirror.
Have to...stand for...something.
I smiled at the sentiment, and the fact that he’d wanted me to learn signs. Then he turned from me and helped Rebel up off the table. He handed him a piece of paper and Rebel nodded and said, “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
Rebel gave me a small nod as he left. Once we were alone, I told Mathias, “I want a tattoo.”
After I said it, I realized I’d forgotten about the apology I owed him, because I’d been mesmerized by the entire tattoo process, but he motioned for me to come over. He took my sweatshirt off and appraised my body, touching my bare shoulders, my upper back. And then he tugged the tank top up a little to assess my lower back. Pulled down my jeans a little to look at my hip.
I was blushing as he appraised my body and he gave me a lazy smile when he saw that and made a motion with his hands to indicate small.
Start small. Easier to go bigger later.
“What would you do if I gave you free rein?”
He smiled, like he’d been thinking about that. I knew he had, and I knew where he’d put it, since he loved to run his hands over the bare skin of my back after we made love. He’d been drawing on me with his fingers, planning the space since I’d first been with him, and now, he bent over the paper and quickly sketched something.
But he wouldn’t let me see it, and I didn’t care. Instead, I pulled my tank top off and lay on a towel on the table, my back bared to him, ready to let him mark me again.
This is how we do it, baby
Mathias
I put on fresh gloves as I mentally prepped for this tattoo. Jessa shivered for a second as I brushed her skin with the alcohol wipes. I rarely took these precautions with me or Bish, but I didn’t know how Jessa’s skin would react. I didn’t want to mar it, so much so that I almost backed off and told her I couldn’t do it. But I still believed so firmly in the protective aspects of a charmed tattoo and that’s what kept me moving ahead.
I picked up the sticks with their needlelike ends and I dipped them in the inkwell. Black ink for the outline and then maybe I’d do some color.
“I want it big, Mathias.”
Bet you say that to all the guys, I mouthed jokingly before I could stop myself and she burst out laughing. I didn’t think she was that good at reading lips but apparently she had a natural talent.
“Yeah, but you’re the biggest,” she said in a husky, teasing voice. “And wipe that look off your face. I’m the only naked one here, and that’s for the tattoo.”
I motioned for her to put her head down and to stay still. Part of me wanted to use the gun, because it wouldn’t hurt as much, but doing a tattoo with these sticks meant more than I was able to explain.
At the first break of the skin, I heard her exhale, but she remained still, and she didn’t tell me to stop. Carefully, I worked through the small design of the Celtic knot, something that would look pretty and that would protect her. I put a touch of color—a little splash of blue that made it look like a watercolor painting and some yellow.
It took about an hour and a half and when I was done, I wiped the area with antibiotic ointment and then put a bandage over it. And a blanket over her, because she’d started to shiver.
“Now I understand the soda, and why you made Rebel rest,” she murmured.
Post-tattoo, there was a sudden loss of adrenaline. Most people didn’t realize there was an adrenaline rush during the tattoo process. Anything your body wasn’t sure how to interpret as pain can become pleasure—and getting inked was right along that pleasure/pain continuum—so post-tattoo there was always a giant crash. It was just like a post-orgasm drowsiness.
I let her sleep while I cleaned up. When she woke, I helped her sit up.
“I came here to apologize to you,” she said finally.
I’d figured. I grabbed the alphasmart and typed, Letting me tattoo you...that said everything.
She’d put all her trust in me, and hell, that was better than words could ever be. What she’d said to me had been said in honesty. But now, she seemed to understand why I’d reacted so badly, and I’m sure she’d had a nice long talk with Bish.
Sometimes, it was better that I didn’t know.
You know you got it if it makes you feel good
Jessa
I wouldn’t be able to see the finished product until Mathias took off the bandages. When I finally felt well enough to sit up, I noted he’d locked the shop and put the Closed sign in the window.
The compound really was a mini town, and although I kept comparing Defiance and D.C., it was becoming easier to see why. Tonight, I’d found out that Defiance had Kat’s house, thanks to Bishop who’d pointed it out along the way as he’d walked me here. D.C. still had call girls kept in a private safe house. The similarities between the MC and the political world were numerous enough to make me comfortable here...and enough to make my head spin.
I heard my mother’s voice in my head.
“This isn’t about your happiness, although I’d think you’d be happy to be able to help out your family. To keep the pride. When your father got elected, we all did. The least I could do was appreciate all the hard work.”
Once back inside the guesthouse, I kept the jacket on, my body still pleasantly sleepy from the tattoo. “If my mom could see me now, wrapped in your leather jacket and nothing else, my hair down in the way she didn’t like it, wearing nothing else, she’d ask, ‘What kind of future can you expect to have acting like that?’” I murmured.