The Tattoo Artist (La Petite Mort #1)

28. Chapter 28

twenty-eight

Quinn

I t had been two weeks since I last saw Deimos, and that night had consumed my every thought, especially what he said to me. I opened the door to Terror Ink Tattoo and made a beeline for Alexander's tattoo room. It had been a week since I officially accepted Alexander's job offer, and it was going great so far.

While Alexander tattoos his clients, I spend my time preparing for his next client or sketching ideas from which clients can choose.

About forty-five minutes ago, Alexander's last client came in. I watched him thank Alexander, give him one of those bro hugs, and leave.One thing I learned from working with Alexander was that all his clients were male. Not one single female entered his tattoo room, at least when I was there.

I looked up from my sketchbook before closing it and focused my attention on Alexander. "Alexander," I interrupted him from cleaning his setup. He had just finished a tattoo for someone named Nikolai Volkov, who I learned was a businessman in New York. He was good-looking but not like Alexander.

"Yes, Princess." He responded.

"I need your Greek translation skills," I paused, meeting his stare and trying to repeat the words Deimos had said to me. "θηλ? με ζελ?," I said very confidently. Alexander looked at me before he started to chuckle.

"I think you're missing some words, Princess." He acknowledged and continued to chuckle. What the hell was so funny?

"Unless you mean nipple with jelly," he added, smirking at me. Wait what? I groaned and slumped back down.I could hear him approach me. He placed his hands on my shoulder, spinning the chair so that I could face him. "Your missing words," he said softly, touching my cheek to caress me. Come on! Think Quinn!

I stared up into Alexander's green eyes, which reminded me so much of Deimos, and that was when it hit me. Deimos words came running through my mind in a constant loop. "I remember," I blurted out. "Να με θυμ?σαι, ?γγελε," I repeated his words, knowing I probably butchered them, but I didn't care because what Alexander said next caused my heart to skip a beat.

"Remember me, Angel," he whispered. His eyes were gleaming with possessiveness, but our eyes never left each other.He said it as if he was Deimos. It was as if he was the one who meant it and said it to me that night. Alexander used the same tone he did, and for a second, I wanted Alexander to be Deimos.Or maybe it was the other way around, and I wanted Deimos to be Alexander. I got the sensation that this feeling I felt for either of them wasn't new.

"I want another tattoo," I cried out, breaking the bond between us.

"What would you like to get and where?" He asked and went straight to the sink to wash his hands. I doubted telling him the truth out of fear that he might not understand me, but when he turned and looked at me like I'd hung the moon, I couldn't help but be honest with him.

"I want this," I said, pointing to the necklace Deimos had given me.

Alexander stared at the necklace around my neck. "No! Absolutely not," he paused and looked at me.

"I'm not going to do that. I will not mark you with that," he said, pointing at the necklace. His nostrils flared.

I was shocked. Why was he acting like this?

"Why?" I demanded to know why the hell he was acting this way. He knew I wanted more, mainly because he was covered with tattoos—who was he to judge me?

"Because I said so," he gritted through his teeth. I scoffed. Who the hell did he think he was?

"Well, you're not my father, and you're not my boyfriend. So, guess what? You don't get to tell me what to do," I said, pointing at his chest with each word that came out of my mouth. I was done talking to him and his arrogant ass.

Getting my bag from the desk, I headed for the door when he suddenly grabbed my wrist, stopping me. "Princess, I can't tattoo you because that's the mark Deimos gives to the people he kills." My eyes widened, and my hand went up to clutch the necklace. That couldn't be true.

The necklace.

None of this makes sense. Deimos gave me a necklace with the same sign. Did this mean he wanted to kill me? Why would he? I didn't fucking understand what the hell was going on. Alexander himself said that it meant protection, and now he was telling me that Deimos wanted me dead.

"No," I shook my head.

"Deimos wouldn't kill me, not after everything. You said the neckl–" he interrupted me from blabbing even further.

"The necklace is the real thing. The necklace you have around your neck is his necklace," he confessed.

I stopped breathing.

Alexander just told me that Deimos gave me the necklace he used to wear—the same necklace I saw two years ago. Both my hands went up to clutch the necklace. "Explain, please, Alexander," I begged him. I needed him to explain. Alexander walked closer to me, causing me to walk back until my back hit the wall, and he caged me against the wall.

"He gave you his necklace because there's only one of its kind. The necklace now protects you instead of him. If anyone touches you, Deimos will personally murder them. That necklace makes you untouchable," he explained.

He pushed a lock of my hair behind my ear and hooked one finger through the necklace, tilting my head. W hy did this feel so familiar?

"That's why, Princess. I will not tattoo your death on your body," he said, his fingers brushing against my cheek. Deimos didn't want to kill me. He wanted to protect me. Who are you, Deimos? And how does Alexander know so much about him?

"Ho–how do you know so much? About him?" I wondered. He stepped away from me, leaving space between us. He chuckled softly and leaned against his desk. He folded his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to flex and get bigger. He didn't reply. He just stared at me.

"Why are you so interested in him?" he questioned. I glared at him, copying his exact move. I folded my arms over my chest.

"Because—because I want him. Alexander, I—I," I paused myself from continuing. His eyes showed a hint of sadness, but only for a second.I took a deep breath in and then out, closing my eyes as I spoke. "I like him. I've liked him since I was sixteen." My eyes remained closed. I couldn't look at him.

"Do you have feelings for him?" He challenged. I opened my eyes and nodded my head.

"Yes, I–I lo–" His face fell, his nostrils flared slightly, and suddenly he turned his body away. He was angry, at least I think he was—his breathing was hard and fast, almost like he ran a marathon.

"You what? Huh? You love him?" Alexander uttered, his voice full of venom. He turned around and glared at me dangerously. He closed the gap between us in three long strides. My breath hitched when my back met the wall once again with a thump .

"I think so," I confessed because I'd never been in love, so I wasn't sure what love was or wasn't. His eyes got dark and more menacing. He was irritated, annoyed, and resentful. He laughed humorlessly.

"You're in love with a killer. A man who murders for the pleasure of making his victims suffer," he pointed out. My eyes widened. How could he be so cruel? I thought we were friends.

"Why the hell would someone so pure love someone so evil?" He continued his harassment of Deimos. And with each word that came out of his mouth, my resentment grew towards him. "He doesn't deserve you," he spat out with so much venom.

I was fuming.

I pushed against his chest to push him back, but my fist did nothing. "I understand him!" I yelled. Shaking my head at how he was acting. "News flash…I don't care if he's a killer. You don't know him," I emphasized each word as my index finger poked his chest. I had never been so outraged in my entire fucking life. I couldn't look at him. I walked past him, grabbed my bag, and went straight for the door. As I approached the door, I turned back around to face him one last time. "No one is innocent. We all sin. We're sinners, and the only difference is who's telling the story," I paused, controlling the emotions I was currently feeling. "Alexander—" I whispered his name.

"I thought I finally found a friend who wouldn't judge me. Someone who would finally understand me. But I guess jokes on me, right?" I added and left before he could even reply.

After I left the tattoo shop, I headed for the once-abandoned home. I stood outside for almost two hours waiting for any sign of Deimos, but I got nothing. So, instead of waiting all night, I returned home.

I was heading upstairs toward my room after I finished cleaning the table and washing the dishes. My parents were in the den watching the evening news. I, on the other hand, was ready to fall asleep. I was both mentally and physically drained.

Opening the door to my room, I entered and closed the door behind me.My shirt was the first thing to go, leaving me in my bra when something suddenly caught my attention. Exiting my closet was none other than Deimos. He was dressed in all-black clothing as usual, but something was different. He walked toward me with a purpose.With each step he took, I was entranced by him more and more. Deimos was dressed like a character from Call of Duty—Ghost. I smirked to myself as I remembered my fascination. Thanks to TikTok and all the videos of men dressed as Ghost on my FYP.

His lips crashed against mine, taking me by surprise as I had not noticed him lifting his mask. Deimos cupped my face and walked us backward until my back collided with the wall. He interlocked our fingers and lifted my arms over my head, pressing them against the wall. I was high on oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin, but those feelings subsided—that high quickly faded. The sensation of something wet and slimy was overpowering my other senses. I opened my eyes as he pulled away, feeling the unknown liquid run down my face. My hands instantly went to my cheeks. The sensation was stronger than ever when my fingers came in contact with the liquid. I grazed my cheeks, feeling slimy and sticky.

My eyes roamed his face and then immediately roamed his hands. I gulped–struggling to breathe as I took in the image before me. Panic etched my heart the moment my mind finally understood what was happening. And in that moment, Deimos lived up to his name–fear, terror, and dread.

Deimos had blood on his hands.

Crimson.

That was the color he had all over his hands. The blood looked fresh as it continued to trickle down his hands. I removed my hand away from my face, putting my hands out in front of me–also covered in blood.

I swallowed hard in an effort to pass the lump that had formed in my throat.

"D–Deimos," I paused, breathing a little too hard. What did he do?

"Wh–whose blood is that?" My voice was laced with fear and anger—my emotions were everywhere. Why do this? Why come here and smear blood on my face and hands? Deimos took a few steps back. Our gaze connected briefly as my eyes made contact with something more sinister.

His smirk.

I could see the sinister smirk his lips portrayed, and just like that, I knew he killed someone. But who? And why? The tears had now escaped my eyes at the realization that I had someone else's blood on me.

He frowned, almost as if he was mocking me. "Aww, why so sad?" He questioned sarcastically. My head immediately snapped to look at him, and if looks could kill, Deimos would be dead. I knew Deimos was trying to push me away, but I didn't understand why.

After everything.

"What are you trying to prove? Huh?" He didn't reply, and the anger I was once feeling reappeared with a vengeance. "Answer me! Goddammit!" I shouted. He stepped towards me, never taking his eyes off me. I watched him; my gaze never faltered.

He leaned his forehead on mine. I could smell his minty breath lingering under my nose.

"I don't deserve you, little butterfly—" My eyes widened at the name he just called me.

"Alexander," I whispered to myself, but he continued before I could even think more about it.

"I'm evil. I'm fucking evil," he whispered against my lips. I shook my head. My hands cupped his face. "No–No, you're not—" he chuckled, pushing away from me. I stood against the wall while he stood about four feet away from me.

"Oh, but I am," He admitted .

"Alexander," he mentioned his name, and the sinister smile plastered on his face right now caused my body to tremble.

"No, please. Deimos, please don't hurt him," I begged.I closed the gap between us.

"Don't kill him. Please," I continued to beg him. I didn't want Deimos to hurt Alexander. Deimos tilted my chin up and looked down at my gaze.

"I don't deserve you," he stated again, his voice softer and his eyes showing regret.

"Why?"

"Because my Angelos, I'll hurt you like I—" he stopped himself from continuing.

"Wh–Who did you hurt?"

"Someone special. She had the purest heart. She was innocent until I corrupted her. I loved her over everything and everyone. I was the target. They wanted to kill me, but she paid the price that night," he confessed.His eyes were red and glistening. "They couldn't get to me, so they went after her. We were driving on my bike, and I looked away for a second. I swear it was only for a fucking second," his voice held so much emotion it broke my heart to hear him. My hands wrapped around him, and I hugged him tightly, trying my best to console him.

"A car came up to us and started shooting, causing me to crash." He added.

"What happened to her?" I questioned, hoping she wasn't dead. He looked into my eyes, holding me prisoner with what I saw. "She suffered head trauma, and now she doesn't remember me." He confessed.I sighed, feeling myself relaxing, knowing she wasn't dead. Watching him break down for her broke me, but I knew what I had to do, even if it broke my heart. I was letting him go.

"Then fight for her. Make her remember, Deimos." I gave him my best smile before hugging him once again. I knew this would be the last time I saw him.

Goodbye, my Deimos.

I woke up panting for breath, my hand searching my body as I looked at my hands and fingers for any sign of blood. This wasn't the first time I dreamed about being covered in blood.

It felt so real.

I wasn't sure what triggered it before but tonight I was confident it had to do with Deimos marking me with someone's blood. It took me hours to wash away the blood he left behind.

I was inside a home. The place had beautiful white walls with frames hung on them. I made my way upstairs, careful not to make a sound. I pushed the door open, and there lay a man sleeping peacefully. As I closed the gap between us, I hovered over him. His face was faceless. I couldn't tell who this man was.

I slid my hand inside my jeans and gripped the handle, pulling the sharp object from the confines of my panties. The next thing I knew, I was covered in blood.