Page 2 of Ink
“I’m Xiomara. I start work here today.”
“Ah. The new secretary.” She gave a firm nod and a small hint of a smile broke out on her lips. It changed her fearsome, pierced expression and almost made her pretty. “Good thing you’re here. I’m tired of doing this bullshit. It’s below my pay grade.”
“You tattoo?”
“I do.” She beamed with pride then lifted her arms onto the surface of the desk, showing off the array of tattoos that decorated her skin. Everything from roses, to skulls, to naked women.
“Nice,” I complimented.
She nodded at the tattoo visible on my arm. Nowhere near as extensive as hers, but the Virgen De Guadalupe on my skin was the only one I allowed myself because of my mamá and her aversion.
When I’d gone home with this one, all brave and bold against my body, she’d slapped the freshly painted art in anger and had gone to pray over my soul.
The experience had left me scared to get a new one. That had been a few years ago, and if I was honest, the urge had never really diminished. Maybe she’d feel differently now than she had then.
Or maybe she’d take a belt to me this time.
Anyway, tattoos were expensive as fuck in this economy, so getting one was out of the question right now considering I was a broke bitch.
“That all you got?”
“For now.”
Her hands slapped on the desk. “Stick around; we’ll get you filled up in no time.”
I could only hope.
“Fer, stop being chismosa with the clients and get your ass to work!” a voice called out from the back area. The deep, husky sound curled through my stomach and dragged my attention up.
A man appeared then, a glare on his face aimed in the woman’s–Fer’s–direction, right before he snapped it my way.
My breath caught at the piercing, gray gaze that held me captive. A strong, angry expression settled over startling features. The man wasn’t attractive. Not really. Not by societal standards, anyway. His nose was just a bit too big and crooked, his stubbled jaw just a bit too squared, lips too full. If the angry, stern face didn’t make him attractive in the eyes of society, then the tattoos certainly didn’t either.
They covered him up to his neck, sliding and twining over every inch of visible skin. On his arms, his collarbone, disappearing into the material of his tight t-shirt and leather cut.
There was something about his overall vibe, though, that did it for me.
Dangerous had always been my type.
Buenos para nada, my mamá called them.
And fuck, if he wasn’t just the type of bad, no-good that could make a good girl worship the horned devil that lived on the front of his leather vest.
Los Diablos MC.
Ink.
“I don’t take walk-ins,” he said, snapping me out of my stupor. His glare was piercing, cutting, and a total turn-on.
“Not a walk-in, Ink,” Fer said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “This is our new secretary.”
He assessed me all over again, the slow perusal of his gaze over my body nearly making me shiver. When his rare, gray eyes finally flicked back up to me, he wore an expression of disinterest.
“Hm,” he grunted. “Beatriz’s cousin?”
“Xiomara,” I supplied.
He ignored me and turned to Fer. “Show her the ropes. I want her to be trained by the end of the day.” Then he turned back to me. “You get one chance. I was told you fuck up every job you have, so I’m only taking you on as a favor to your cousin. Fuck uphereand you’re out on your fucking ass, got that?” He whipped around and stalked back towards the tattooing area.
