The Tattoo Artist (La Petite Mort #1)

2. Chapter 2

two

Quinn

S ophie texted me to let me know the time of her appointment and what time we planned on leaving. I yawned, feeling tired since I had stayed up all night listening to the Wild West series. I used the entire gift card that Sophie gave me. I frowned slightly, remembering how my parents didn't even wish me a happy birthday.

A few hours later, I got a notification from Sophie. Unlocking my phone, I read the message.

Sophie: Outside. Hurry your ass up!

Thirty-five minutes later, Sophie parked the car down the street. My eyes widened as I took in my surroundings. I love my best friend, but at this very moment, I didn't like her so much. Not only did she pressure me to come with her, but she also omitted the location of the tattoo shop. As we both strolled up the block and crossed the street, we stopped in front of the tattoo shop. As we both stood inspecting the building, I started to feel anxious. My parents would kill me if they knew.

I had my sketchbook clutched to my chest. I swallowed hard, getting ready to enter the shop with Sophie. I would never see the light of day if my parents discovered I was in this part of town. I wasn't rich by any means, but my parents felt they were too good to be seen in this part of the city. It wasn't bad, but definitely dangerous.

"Come on, Quinn, stop being a baby and get your ass inside," Sophie yelled as she rolled her eyes, holding the door open for me. I shook my head in distress. I looked around, checking my surroundings one last time, ensuring no one I knew saw me entering.

I hesitated, ready to argue with her. "Sophie, I need to go ho—" she pulled me inside, letting go of the door behind us. Sophie laughed. It's too late now, Quinn . I mentally scolded myself. Why did I have to listen to her?

"Relax, your parents would never come to this side of town. Use this time to get inspired and finally be able to finish your portfolio. Look around, Quinn; the artwork here is beautiful."

I sighed, thinking about what she had just said—Sophie's right. I could use this time to expand my portfolio since I'd been on a sketching block these past three months. "You're right, Sophie, but you ne—" she grabbed my shoulders, shaking me a little. Sophie gave me that look that said stop worrying .

"Oh, my sweet innocent Quinn. Stop worrying and go look around," Sophie chuckled.

"How can I help you?" the woman asked. Her client had just finished paying and exited. Sophie stepped forward, reaching the front of the reception desk, where a woman with tattoos covering both her arms stood behind.

Terror Ink Tattoo

Behind the reception desk, the name in black, bold, old English gothic font could be read. I took a quick look behind us and saw that the doors to the tattoo shop had the same logo and lettering on each one.

"Hi, I'm here for my tattoo appointment," Sophie said. I looked around as Sophie spoke to the woman at the front desk. My mind took in every drawing against the wall. I turned my head to a ninety-degree angle and inspected every drawing.

"Quinn! Let's go." I snapped my head back to Sophie as she waved for me to follow her, and I did. We walked through a narrow hallway, so narrow that we had to walk behind each other. As we walked, we passed four stations with doors closed, but you could see from the side window that each of them was occupied by customers who were getting a tattoo or something else. I saw a woman with her breasts out as the woman in front of her was piercing her nipples. As we reached the end of the hallway, the receptionist pointed to the last door. Sophie opened the door. "Alexander? Right?" Sophie asked.

I lifted my eyes to look at the artist, and when my gaze met his, the world was pushed behind me. He had eyes that spoke to your soul—beautiful, deep emerald green eyes that could transport you into a whole new world. They gripped onto mine for a moment. Something in my chest ached, and an oddly familiar feeling was taking place.

His eyes.

They looked so similar to his.

Alexander was a Greek God from head to toe. He had black hair, the color of the night sky. His bouncy curls reminded me of Harry Styles, except Alexander's hair was short. Alexander had strong brows and long lashes. "He's gorgeous," I breathed while my heart drummed against my ribs. I started at his full lips wondering if they were soft .

I had never gawked at a guy for this long, and I had to turn away as a crimson flush crept up my face. My breathing became shallow, and my heart rate increased as I continued to stare.

"Sophia? Lay down on your side and lift your shirt just a bit." Alexander said.

Bloody hell, his voice was velvety smooth. Sophie listened and settled on her side. I stood in the corner as he was getting his equipment ready. He slipped on a pair of black latex gloves, and my eyes traveled to his tattooed sleeve. I swallowed past the lump, and my tongue slipped out, wetting my lips.

Oh My God!

This man had veins running up along his forearm, and holy shit, was it the sexiest arms I had ever seen. He had tattoos all over his arms and neck. I wouldn't be surprised if his chest were covered as well. Alexander had a blue morpho butterfly tattoo instead of the skull with horns and a sword like Deimos had. But the way Alexander looked at me seemed so familiar.

"How was your birthday yesterday?" Sophie asked as she lifted her head to look at me. Just like Sophie knew me, I knew her, and I knew that what she really wanted to know was how my obsession with Deimos was going. Bloody hell, I knew this was coming. She saw that my sketchbook was filled with Deimos; the most recent one was dated yesterday. I cleared my throat.

"My birthday was good. Thank you again for the gift card," I said, hoping she would forget. Sophie didn't respond. She didn't have to; the look she gave me said stop bullshitting and tell me why you drew him.

"He—he was there the other night in front of my window. He came back. Sophie, after two years, he came back—and on my birthday—" I paused so that I could gather my thoughts. "He just stared at me as if I were something he wanted. The look he gave me was—" I didn't get to finish my sentence because Sophie interrupted what I was going to say.

"Like he wanted to kill you," she joked, laughing. "But seriously, Quinn, I don't know how you aren't afraid of him. He kills fucking people for a living!" Sophie cried out all too seriously.

I ignored her statement and continued to tell her about that night. "I was drawing him, and I think he noticed because when I turned to look back, he was gone. He was no longer standing in front of me. The crazy part of all this was that there was no trace of him, no trace that he was ever there." I stopped momentarily, trying to decide if I should tell her that I had woken up to him inside my bedroom. But before I could let her know, she chuckled and looked at me as if I were crazy.

"Are you sure it wasn't a dream?" She asked me. I groaned, throwing my sketchbook aside, and ran my fingers through my hair.

"No, I did not dream it. I'm being serious. I don't understand why you can't take me seriously. Deimos stood in front of me inside my room. He stood there looking at me. He took a fucking paintbrush Sophie and he—" I was getting angry. How could she not believe me and have the audacity to interrupt me once again? She asked me about how my obsession was going. I didn't understand why she would ask me if she wouldn't take me seriously.

"Because I care about you, and I asked you because I saw you're still obsessed with him. Deimos is a myth. He's not a real person. I think it's time to get over your obsession with him, or your parents might send you off to the loony bin just like your sister." I studied Alexander for a second, and he appeared to be unfazed and focused on his work.

I exhaled and slumped back into my chair.

I saw him.

He was real. It wasn't a dream.

"Deimos is real. I am not crazy, and I don't need a loony bin. He's real."

I knew he was, and I would prove it to her. I vowed silently—more determined than ever to prove her wrong. I took my sketchbook and plugged in my earphones, leaving only one inside my ear so I could hear what was happening around me.

I started to sketch.

I had planned on drawing Sophie, but I opted to draw something else—someone else. "Quinn, I'm sorry. Let's pretend for a minute and say he is real. He's killed people." Sophie apologized. I closed my sketchbook and tilted my head up, and my eyes connected with hers.

"And if people did their research, they would know that those people he killed are people who had done something. They've hurt people. Innocent people," I added, still feeling that anger simmering inside me.

"That does not give him the right to kill all those people."

"He's a vigilante," I pointed out, having this urge to defend him. "Plus, I'm sure there are people out there that you might like to kill someday," I revealed, remembering what she said a few months ago when she wished the purge existed.

I opened my sketchbook once more and continued to draw. My pencil had a mind of its own and drew Alexander. I looked up at him every now and then, sketching the little things. I made sure the details were perfect even though all I could draw was his side profile since that's the view I was given. He wiped the ink from her ribs and continued drilling the needle into her skin. I finished the drawing and turned the page. My hand moved as I focused on drawing his luminous eyes. I pushed my hair behind my ear and bit into my bottom lip. I looked up, and his eyes caught mine for a quick second before dropping my gaze back onto my sketch.

Why was he so intense?

A few minutes passed, and the sound of drilling stopped. I pulled out my headphones and paused the audiobook. "Oh wow, that's beautiful." I stood up from my seat and made my way to her. She had a gorgeous red rose tattoo depicting a blooming rose with its petals coming off.

The details were impressive. I studied her tattoo a bit longer. Before I could ask Sophie the meaning of the red rose, my thoughts were interrupted.

"What about you?" A deep voice said from behind me. I turned around and faced him. "Are you here for a tattoo as well?" I gulped and turned to face Alexander. He was handsome but so intimidating.

Bloody hell, I hope he didn't notice how nervous he was making me.

"Me?" I questioned.

"Yes, you. Is there anyone else here?" He snapped his gloves and threw them away into the bin. I shifted on my feet, unable to hold eye contact any longer. I tried to speak, but no words could form out of my mouth. Oh great, I looked like a creep, Fuck my life!

Thankfully, Sophie jumped in. "Her parents would kill her. She isn't allowed. Anyways, how much do I owe you?"

"Two hundred and thirty. Let's go to the register. Follow me," Alexander said.

Phew.

I looked at Sophie, and she looked at me. I whispered a 'thank you'. We made our way back to the front to pay. Sophie reached inside the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out three fifty quid notes. I tapped my foot against the marble floor, replaying what happened. The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I was getting. I should have kept eye contact. I should have said something to him.

"Fuck! I need to get more money. Stay here, Quinn," she said, interrupting my thoughts. She rushed out of the room, and my heart started to pound against my chest furiously. The room was silent, and I could feel him staring at me. Why the fuck did she have to leave me alone with him?

Alexander chuckled, looking at me before he spoke. "She better come back, or you'll be paying for it," he threatened, and something inside me flared with anger. What an asshole. I looked at him as my mouth opened to say something, but then I decided against it.

Instead, I turned around and muttered something. "Are you always such an asshole?" I muttered to myself as I sat on one of the empty chairs.Alexander stopped what he was doing and looked at me. I knew he had just heard what I had said. I didn't look at him. Instead, I stared at his lower body, not wanting to make eye contact.

"She's going to pay you. Sophie isn't like that," I argued a little louder so that he could hear me. I pushed my hair behind my ears as I stared at the floor before glancing around the room. In the far corner of the room, I noticed a painting of a woman with half her face covered with beautiful blue morpho butterflies. I stood from my chair, moving closer to it, and examined it. Her copper hair fell a little past the neck, and butterflies surrounded her.

"This is beautiful," I blurted out as my fingers caressed the painting. I felt a warm presence beside me.

"I hear that a lot, but not many understand the true meaning behind the painting. I believe each painting has meaning behind it. Why else would the artist paint it?" He glanced down at me, and I tilted my head slightly up, meeting his gaze. Damn, he was tall. He was roughly six feet four inches, which was enormous compared to my tiny five-foot-three-inch frame.

"What do you think the meaning is for this one?" He questioned. His hand raised, pushing the loose hair behind my ear. I bit my lip and held his gaze as I answered him.

"Well, a butterfly symbolizes rebirth, transformation, and life. Legend says a blue morpho is a wish granter, a bringer of good luck, like a butterfly's metamorphosis from a caterpillar to a stunning winged creature. This picture symbolizes personal transformation, the shedding of old identities, and the emergence of a new self, but I also believe there's something more."

I wasn't sure what got over me, but I dared look into his eyes. His eyes stared into my soul the same way as Deimos. He smirked at me. "You know your art, Princess." My breath hitched when I heard him call me "princess." It instantly made me feel butterflies.

"You drew this!" I said rather confidently.

"And how do you know that?" Alexander said, his arms folded over his chest.

"Because you have that same exact blue morpho butterfly on the back of your hand," I pointed out. His serious face softened, and he gave a slight nod of approval. "Do I know yo—" I didn't get to finish my question because Sophie came barging in, letting Alexander know she was back.

"Here's the rest of the money, Alexander. See you next week for my back tattoo. Come on, Quinn!" She handed him the money and grabbed my hand, dragging me out of the lobby. I took one last look at Alexander, and his luminous green eyes closed before he closed the register.

As Sophie drove us home, Alexander was on my mind the entire trip. Alexander spoke to me. Despite my appearance, he acknowledged me. Alexander saw me for me.

He gravitated towards me, not Sophie. Don't get me wrong; I adore Sophie; she was my best friend, but people saw her and not me. I could see why, though. She was stunning. She had long blonde hair, hazel eyes, and fair skin. She was five feet eight inches, and her fashion sense was impeccable. No one had ever looked at me twice before, but Alexander acknowledged my existence, not hers.

"What's on your mind?" Sophie said, bringing me back to reality. I looked out the window.

"Nothing," I said as I stared out the window.

"You're such a terrible liar, Quinn," Sophie said as she kept her eyes on the road.

"I'm not lying," I said, twirling my fingers at the ends of my hair.

"You play with your hair when you lie or get nervous. So spill, Quinn." I sighed as I watched her tap her fingers onto the steering wheel. I looked down at my sketchbook, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. "If this is about Deimos, I don't want to know."

"It's not," I whispered, shaking my head.

"When you left me alone with Alexander, he spoke to me." My voice was low. I was surprised Sophie heard me. She nodded for me to continue. "I don't know. I guess it felt nice having someone of the opposite sex talk to me and acknowledge me," I said, finding the courage to look at her. I saw something in her eyes, but I wasn't sure what.

"Quinn," she said my name, but there was a warning in her voice. "Alexander is bad news. You better not have a crush on him. First of all, you just met the dude today, and second, you're probably not his type." There it was—the warning.

How was Alexander bad news?

"Don't worry, Mom. I don't have a crush on him, and you're probably right. I'm not his type, but I feel like I get him. We talked about the painting on the wall, and I enjoyed it. We had a mutual understanding that I—" Sophie looked bored from this conversation. I didn't even bother to finish, so I kept my mouth shut.

"Alexander is not a good guy, and he's dangerous, Quinn. I care about you. You're my best friend. Plus, you two are total opposites, and he's like thirty, and you just turned eighteen." She said her voice sounded so concerned.

"He's like ten years older than you. He's not a good person, trust me. I'm only looking out for you."

The rest of the drive home was silent. We arrived at her house, and she parked the car in her driveway. "Look, Quinn, I'm sorry if I came off rude. I'm just trying to protect you. You're innocent and kind, and I don't want to see you get hurt. You don't want to get mixed up with someone like Alexander."

I sighed .

"I know you have my back, and you care for me; I care about you too. But you know it is my choice, after all, whether I decide to pursue Alexander or not. It's not going to happen, but I want it to be my choice." Sophie nodded in understanding.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

I unbuckled my seatbelt and wished her goodbye as I made my way into my house. I took my keys from my backpack and unlocked the door. The door opened, and I saw my mom cleaning the house. I greeted her and immediately headed to my room, closing the door behind me.

I dropped my backpack onto the floor and placed my sketchbook on my desk, staring at the mirror—Sophie's right. I wasn't his type. I mean, look at me. I was eighteen and dressed like I was ten. I looked like an absolute idiot. A knock on my door broke me away from the mirror, and my mother walked in with a basket of my clothes.

"You better be cleaning your room, young lady," she warned me.

"I am," I said, knowing damn well I was not cleaning my room. My hand went up to play with the ends of my hair.

"I 'm going out with your father tomorrow, and we'll be staying at your grandma's house. Would you like to come?" She offered, and I shook my head kindly.

"No, that's okay. I'll go next time." She nodded, heading for the door when suddenly she stopped and faced me.

"Your skirt looks a little too high. Fix it!" She demanded. I looked down and noticed it.

"Sorry, Mama."