Full Contact (Redemption #3)(49)
“I’m not doing it,” I say to Slim. “Duncan’s an amazing artist. I’m sure Torment will be happy with whatever he comes up with.”
“He said it had to be you.” Slim puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Sia. We’re making a killing here. The next coupla weeks could cover us for the clients we’ve lost since the shop was closed.”
“I don’t care if we have to leave or if we have to work in a shop with a car race on the wall. And it’s totally unfair of you to put this on me. I won’t do it. I won’t even consider it. I don’t paint anymore. So leave me alone.”
A shocked Slim puts up his hands in a warding gesture. “Hey. Chill. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”
“It is.” Nausea curls in my belly, and I head to the staff room, painfully aware of Ray following behind me. He closes the door and I can’t bring myself to turn around. Usually this room is an oasis, furnished with soft, caramel sofas, a plush beige area rug, and dark wooden tables. Torment spared no expense and fitted it out with a fridge, sink, hot plate, and a coffee maker so complicated we all go to the café for our caffeine fix.
“What’s going on?” Ray’s voice echoes in the quiet space.
“What’s going on? How can you even ask that question?” I turn to face him, my body shaking with anger. “When I painted the other night…it was supposed to be just between us. I thought you understood that. I wasn’t opening a door that I closed years ago. This is who I am now. Ink is what I do.” My hands tremble and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Just because I let you see that side of me doesn’t mean that’s who I am anymore. You saw what happens to me when I open that door. I felt exposed out there. Vulnerable. I promised myself a long time ago I would never feel that way again.”
He studies me for so long, I look away. Finally, he folds his arms and leans against the doorjamb. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does letting people know you can paint make you feel vulnerable? Everyone in the shop knows you’re an artist. They see your work every day. Is it such a stretch to let them know you paint too?”
“You don’t understand.” My voice rises in pitch. “You don’t know me or why I stopped painting. I can’t go back. I have to keep moving forward. You can’t just railroad through my life and decide I should paint again. Just like you can’t go behind my back to find out what happened to me. It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t understand because you won’t talk to me.” Ray lets out a breath and turns to the door. “The problem isn’t that I don’t know you, but that you don’t trust yourself enough to let me in.”
*
The shop is inundated with fighters for the rest of the week. We are so busy that Christos cancels his gig, Rose divides her time between reception and sterilizing equipment in the autoclave, and I am partially distracted from the fact Ray hasn’t called, but then, coward that I am, I haven’t called him either.
Doctor Death comes in for his arm cover, and I ink my best broken heart ever into his skin while he tells me that relationships are not worth the heartache and it is easier and safer to just sleep around. When I tell him I think he just may be right, he squeezes my hand and tells me we can have a more intimate conversation about it next week when we’re alone in the treatment room and I’m doing his ass.
Friday morning, we get a new walk-in off the street, Yuri, who makes even Rampage seem small. The massively muscled, tall, blond Dolph Lundgren look-alike watches Rose and I from the client sofas while we rejig the morning schedule to fit him in, his ice-blue eyes so piercing I shiver. Rose whispers that his gold bracelets, blockhead haircut, and the multiple gold rings on this left hand, coupled with his dark, fine wool suit, scream Russian mafia. She thinks he is more terrifying than attractive and not worth the effort of her making a play. I whisper back that she has made a wise decision. She has enough men to juggle, and Yuri doesn’t seem the juggling type.
Although I have a slot free, when he pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, I foist him off on Duncan. I get enough nonverbal aggressive communication from Tag and Ray. I don’t need any more.
Turns out Yuri is a talker. While he waits for Duncan to finish with his client, he tells us he’s been in the U.S. for five years and is very interested in MMA fighting. He asks lots of questions about the club and some of the fighters. He even knows of the Predator, which is curious, since Ray only fights on the underground circuit and not for the club. But if he’s interested in fighting, it makes sense that he’d know about the underground fights.
Slim returns that afternoon, after spending the week trying to speed up the renos at the old shop. I catch him in the staff room and apologize again for not being able to do the mural and forcing the team out of our new digs. He tells me it isn’t my fault, and this wasn’t his first altercation with Torment. They’ve been butting heads over the division between managing and owning the shop, but mostly over me.
“Me?” I pause on the threshold of the doorway and look back over my shoulder. “What do I have to do with it?”
“He wants you to run this shop. He’s been angling to poach you away from day one.”
“You’re crazy.” I gesture vaguely around the tattoo parlor. “Look at this place. It’s every artist’s dream shop. He could get anyone. He could pull in some big names, make it one of the top shops in the city.”