Page 28

Bella

I’ve almost dialed my brother’s number and then changed my mind so many times in the last week that it’s become like some sort of ritual.

Before I do anything else, I’ll do that first. Look up his number in my phone, hover my finger over it, and have my mind flood with all the shit my family’s put me through, how they abandoned me, parked me out east and did their best to forget me.

All that’s also interspersed with the love I still feel for them, the love I can’t do anything about because it comes with blood.

That whirlwind of emotions and memories always ends with the brutal beating they gave Blade.

That’s when I shut off my phone and toss it somewhere far away from me.

Until the ritual begins again.

I’m so sick of myself for doing it. But I can’t stop. And it’s never gonna stop, not until I give in and call Matteo. I know that about myself. It was the same with the drugs and every other thing I was ever obsessed with.

I’d try to stay away, try to deny myself the thing I wanted, then get stuck in this cycle of wanting to and not letting myself have it. Until I drove myself nuts and finally gave in. Each and every time.

I have a client coming today. It’s Karma, one of my first and most loyal clients. She’s the only one from back east who has made the trip out here to get ink from me so far, though a bunch have promised.

I already have everything set up and sterilized.

I even took an Uber to get some better lights, because the work Karma likes to get done is never simple or quick.

She’s also, hands down, my most pain-resistant client and I’ve legit done her whole back one time in an all-night session.

I’m kind of hoping tonight will be one of those kinds of sessions.

She’s due any minute. I’ll be busy all night, most likely.

So I won’t be able to keep messing with my phone and my brother’s phone number.

But I’ll keep thinking about it. I know I will.

And I want to give Karma the best tattoos of her life, not sub-par work because my mind’s looping around crazy town, trying to keep me away from doing something I’m gonna eventually do anyway.

Because I will eventually call my brother. I already know that. It’s just a question of when at this point.

So instead of going through the ritual of almost calling, I send him a text. Don’t think, just type.

I’m in LA. I want to see you. Call me tomorrow morning. ~Bella

I do it fast, press send without thinking. Then I shove the phone into the bottom of one of the kitchen drawers, my hands shaking really badly and feeling like I might be sick.

But it’s done. Finally. And the relief I feel is the same as always when I finally give in to my compulsions. Overwhelmingly amazing. Like I’m walking on clouds. Like I am clouds, weightless and soft, perfect and free.

My hands are no longer shaking by the time I’m standing out in the street waiting for Karma.

I came out here because I was afraid she might think she’s in the wrong place if she can’t see me waiting for her.

She’s a real outlaw and the most badass biker chick I’ve ever met.

And this is one of the fanciest and normalest neighborhoods in all of LA.

The look of fearful awe as she parks her bike next to the curb and takes off her helmet tells me I was right to wait for her street-side.

I lead her to the apartment over the garage, chatting away about this and that, mainly just happy that I have someone from my old life here, someone who knew me when I was drifting and alone, far away from home.

She had recently lost Reaper, the love of her life, and maybe I’m so chatty because I don’t know how to confront that.

My nature is to just plow and burn right over any difficult feelings.

Most people think that’s a lack of empathy and self-centeredness.

But it’s self-preservation, because I get so lost in their sadness I can’t find a way out.

“I made some sketches based on what you told me you wanted,” I say, hoping she’ll like them. I put everything, all the feelings I can’t show or talk about into my art. Always have.

We sit on the sofa and I show her the lakeside cabin scene she wanted first, thinking that’s the safer of the two. She just stares at it for a few seconds, her long blonde hair falling over her face so I can’t read what she’s thinking.

I’m just about to suggest I can come up with something different if she doesn’t like it when she says, “This is even more beautiful than it was in real life.”

She takes the sketchbook to get a better look at the starry sky reflecting on the peaceful waters of a lake at sunset she asked for. I’m so glad she likes it, because I so like drawing stars. Maybe this time it’ll turn out exactly as perfect as the starry sky is in my head.

“I was thinking we’d put it under your left breast,” I say. “There’s still some space there, right?”

She runs her hand over the drawing, caressing it. “Everything is still exactly how you left it. I don’t let anyone else draw on me.”

That makes me smile widely and we work in some other details, like a late sunset that will go perfectly with the stars.

“That’s it,” she says as I show her the corrections I made. “I think he’ll love it too.”

“Your new guy? The one you spent time with at the cabin?”

If she has a new guy, then maybe the pain of getting the other tattoo she asked for won’t be as harsh.

She nods. “I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten a tattoo to honor him before. He seemed to really dig the idea when I explained it to him. But it’s all still so new…”

Now she seems sad again and I don’t know what to say. So I retreat to the only place that has never disappointed me—my art—and show her the sketch I made for the other tattoo. This one is to commemorate her man that died.

It’s just his name—Reaper—but in big chunky letters that are filled with pieces of the life they lived together.

There’s a bike, because she once told me he’s the one who taught her how to ride.

There’s the two of them holding hands, because she loved to do that.

And finally there’s her—the scared girl he found and the warrior she became.

I already tattooed those two on her arms a long time ago, and I think they belong in this tattoo too.

But she’s just gazing at it and not saying anything

“Do you like it?” I ask.

She clears her throat. “I love it.”

I lay the sketchbook down and stand up.

“Should we start with this one then?”

She nods. “Right over my heart.”

I lead her to my brand-new chair, turn on all the lights and get to work. I’m always amazed at her seeming immunity to pain, but it’s even more pronounced today. I go as gently as I can to honor that.

But just as the silence begins to grow heavy, and I think I hear my phone going off constantly, the whole drawer buzzing, she asks about Blade.

I love telling her about how we reconnected, but not about the rest of my not-so-great homecoming. I also don’t tell her that most of my family is dead and that I only have the one brother left. There’s already too much sorrow and regret in this room tonight.

But I do tell her that Blade’s MC is not too happy to see me back.

“I’m sure they’ll forgive you,” she says. “That’s what friends and family do.”

It’s what Blade tells me too. But my own family never forgave me, so why should my friends? It’s a question I don’t like to dwell on.

“What about Zane?” she asks. “Is he mad at you too? Seeing as he was something of a pariah too?”

I laugh while adding more ink. “Nope. Zane and I have the whole running away and betraying everyone in common. And he seems to be getting his forgiveness from the MC lately.”

“Yeah? Makes sense, since these are the guys who help right wrongs and give people a new chance at life, right?”

That’s pretty much what Rogue Angels MC does, and how I’ve described it to her the last time we spoke. But something in the way she asked makes it sound like it’s way more personal than just wanting to chat.

“Rogue, the president of Rogue Angels MC, and Zane used to be best friends once upon a time. Before Zane became Unholy, that is,” I say. “But they seem to be patching things up lately.”

“You think you could put us in touch?” she asks.

I stop tattooing and look at her. “Sure. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking I want to stop living the nomad life and put down roots somewhere. I heard that Rogue Angels can make that happen.”

“But you’re a fugitive, right?”

She cringes at hearing the word, but regains composure a second later. I don’t know a whole lot about her past, but I do know she’s wanted for murder and that the rest of the members of her MC, Forsaken Outlaws, are all in one way or another actively running from the law.

“I’m more like a wanted person, since they never caught me so I could run and become an actual fugitive. But yeah, basically.”

“Rogue Angels could help prove your innocence,” I say. “That’s what they do.”

“Problem is, I’m guilty as sin,” she says. “But so’s Zane and they’re making it possible for him to live a normal life, right?”

Normal might be stretching it. And Blade is not a huge fan of Zane and how his presence in the MC has jeopardized the good work they’ve been doing.

Harboring him has made them outlaws, while before, they’d always worked closely with authorities, only breaking the laws they couldn’t avoid breaking.

I tell her as much, but do promise to put her in touch with Zane the first chance I get.

She thanks me, but says I don’t need to go out of my way, since she knows him and can look him up herself.

She sounds like she had high hopes for meeting Rogue and I’ve just dashed them, but also like she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.

So we don’t talk until it’s time for the reveal of the tattoo. That makes the air in the room heavy again. She just stands there at the bathroom mirror, gazing at her new tattoo and I’m trying very hard not to imagine having to get a similar one for Blade sometime soon, because he’s at war.

As soon as that thought sounds in my head, everything else falls dead silent.

I rush to my get my phone, needing to contact him, needing to know my fear is just my fear, and nothing real.

And if I didn’t already have a text from him waiting, I’m not sure how the rest of this tattooing session would go. I might’ve just curled up back into the darkness that’s pretty much been the last ten years for me.

But there is a text. The best kind. He says he’s on his way home and should be here by the morning.

I text back that I’ll be waiting and feel like the sun has already come up, even though it’s not even midnight yet.

There’s no reply from my brother which is for the best. It was probably a mistake contacting him in the first place.

So I just shove the phone back in the drawer and get back to Karma.

There’s no heaviness left in the air and my thoughts are all happy and loud and full of anticipation.

So it’s great Karma wants the other tattoo tonight too.

Because I probably wouldn’t sleep anyway and because I’m in exactly the perfect mood to make the happy tattoo she wants a thing of timeless beauty.

And one day, I’ll make one exactly like this for myself too. One of Blade and me, doing what we do best. Being together. Loving each other. The scene doesn’t even matter, anywhere will do. But it’ll probably be under a starry night sky.