Careful attention was required today. Both tattoos we were working on today were complex with a lot of intricate shading. Complete focus was required for the quality of work we'd become known for.
It was the reason we were able to afford our tattoo shop and the loft we lived in above it. After doing a sleeve and chest work for the President of the Grimm Motorcycle Club a year ago, word had spread quickly, and bikers from several states made appointments for custom artwork.
I'd always loved to draw. My first job after we'd fled was with a local tattoo parlor. With an ID in hand that said I was eighteen, I certainly hadn't looked it, not with the fresh face and innocence of my true fifteen-year-old self at the time. The owner had been suspicious, but after some trial sketches, he liked my work enough to hire me anyway. I smiled at the irony-I wasn't legally old enough to get a tattoo, but there I was, madly writing in permanent ink on the flesh of every type of client under the sun.
Of course, it hadn't been long before I wanted beautiful artwork on my body. Wherever I could reach, I did the work myself, but for those places, I couldn't access, I didn't trust anyone other than Lucky. During those early years, Lucky's work preference was mechanical and motorcycle body shop, but he was a damn good artist as well, and frequently filled in whenever another staff member called out or didn't show.
We hadn't stayed in that location very long. Actually, for the first two years, we moved every two to four months, never putting down roots, never establishing a pattern of behavior. We'd simply throw a dart at a map and evaluate the location, making sure we were never close to any pack. It was grueling. Just when we'd gotten settled, the time would fly by, and we'd have to pack up and start all over again. Until a year ago. The dart landed on the quaint small-town of Juniper, Nevada, about an hour north of Las Vegas near the mountains. We fell in love with everything the little town had to offer, and for the first time, we both felt we could stay in one place a little longer.
"Fine," I relented, staring at Lucky's puppy dog pleading expression, and went back to my room to change my top. I stripped off the singlet and found a crimson T-shirt. It was almost the exact same shade as my red hair. I'd been coloring my naturally strawberry-blonde hair, various shades of dark red, for the last three years. Not only did it help with disguising my identity, but with heavier kohl makeup, the combination helped me look older at least old enough for my job. I examined my reflection in the mirror. The T-shirt was still tight, hugging my figure, but didn't show as much cleavage. And it looked good with the black cargo pants that hung low on my hips.
I left my bedroom and found Lucky waiting for me in the living room. He held a bottle of beer in his hand and stood, staring at a painting of a chocolate brown wolf with tawny highlights, on the brick wall. The Wolf had a beautiful blue leafy swirl from the top of its eye curled around its ear to the base of its snout-the same cerulean blue, so much like another Wolf's eyes that I couldn't seem to get out of my head.
"This one's new," he murmured, taking a sip of his drink, still admiring the painting. There was appreciation in his eyes, but I saw a familiar sadness that mirrored my own-a longing to be a part of a Pack. Wolves were social creatures, and we'd been on our own for too long. Just our little family of two. It was shocking to think I hadn't seen another Wolf in over three years.