Page 81 of The Vows We Keep

“Must have been part of theold ladyupgrade package he just installed.” King says.

“I’m serious,” I say. “We shouldn’t have done that shit to Rae.”

“Not sure you and King were doing the same shit to Rae,” Halo says.

Spark laughs.

I turn to Saint. “Anyway, you have my apology, for what it’s worth.”

Saint offers me his hand. “And I’m sorry for the shit I left you, personally, in after I blew my cover. Let’s call it all water under the bridge, yeah?”

“We’re going to be hugging next,” Clutch mutters under his breath.

“Seeing I’m solo, can I talk you into going to the studio and doing some ink for me?” King asks.

I feel guilty. I haven’t been in much recently. King trusts me to manage it, but the truth is, I found a brilliant studio manager, Carlos, who keeps everything running smoothly. And I rarely take appointments. I just post on the studio’s social media when I’m going to be in, and it’s first come, first served for my time.

“Sure. How big a piece of work is it?”

“Text on my chest. The size of my pec.”

“Couple of hours then. We all meeting back here after?”

“I’m game,” Spark says. “I was just planning on tuning up my bike in the shop.”

“Want a hand?” Clutch asks.

“Sure,” Spark says. “Saint, you wanna come hang?”

Saint shakes his head. “There’s a shit ton of flooring waiting for me to lay it. Might see how much I can get done in a couple of hours and then meet you back here.”

Halo checks his watch. “I’ll come give you a hand.”

With a few more logistics exchanged, King and I make the brief ride to the tattoo studio. I’m guessing Chubs is responsible for the music today, because we’re back in a seventies rock vibe. My chair is a masterpiece. Can recline into a bed, sit people upright. It’s got places for arms and legs. Fucking love it and makes tattooing easier on the back, especially if it’s a long session like a back piece.

“What are we doing?” I ask as King takes his shirt off, lays it over the seat, and leans back.

“I want text to fill my left pec, over my heart. Want it to saynone is left to protest.”

I grab a piece of paper and place it over his pec, tracing a loose outline of where the text would fit. “You want cursive or something simpler?”

“Cursive. With flourishes, you know, like scroll things.”

“I’m assuming black ink.” Everything on King’s chest is black and gray. He likes the simple aesthetic.

“No. Purple.”

I look up at him. “Purple?”

“That’s what I said.”

I start to divide up the space, count the letters in what he wants. It comes together quickly in my head, but not the cursive King initially asked for. Once I’m satisfied, I show King. “I think calligraphy is going to work better than cursive. How about this? I can change it to cursive if you like it better.”

He studies it for a moment. “Perfect.”

I create the transfer and place it on King’s pec carefully. When I remove it, it looks exactly as I had in mind. “Go take a quick look and check you’re happy with the placement.”

King does as I suggest, and I see him grin. I gather all the supplies I’m gonna need. Within minutes, I’m underway, outlining the lettering. “I thought this was a threat. Like you’d kill anyone who went against you. Guessing the purple means it’s for Rae.”