"BREAKING NEWS THIS MORNING... disorder has broken out across West London after a series of shootings and attacks..."
"Yeah, we know," I mutter to myself before swallowing my mouthful of toast and switching off the TV. All this crazy violence needs to stop—it's getting way out of control now. I check the clock on the wall. Late again. "Shit."
I quickly check my face in the hallway mirror for crumbs, and after wiping under my big brown eyes and tightening my ponytail, I'm out the door to work.
I rush into the studio and cower when I see Johnny eyeing me from the front desk.
"I know, I'm sorry." I am so late.
His face lights up with a stunning smile as he crosses his heavily tattooed arms and leans back in his chair. "I moved your appointments, Hun. Don't worry, you have twenty minutes."
Relief washes over me. "Have I told you how much I love you lately?"
"Only every day this week. Your kit is all ready to go, can I get you a coffee?"
I flash him my blue Thermos in my bag. "Got one, thanks, Babe."
He hands me a handful of envelopes. "Here's the mail. I've paid all the invoices for the month."
"Thank you." I make my way to my domain; back left corner—that's me. I put my flask on my desk and prepare the inks for my first appointment.
"Layla?" Marco, my second in command appears. He runs a hand over his bald head—something is wrong. "I need to leave at three today, if that's cool?"
I'm surprised by his request. He never leaves early or takes time off, so of course I'm gonna say yes. "Um, how are your appointments set?"
"I've rearranged the ones affected. I know you're packed out, and I didn't wanna put any appointments on Maverick."
Thank god, I don't need any more work.
"Perfect. Thank you. Is everything okay?" I'm concerned. This is not like him at all.
His face flashes with worry. "I hope so. Let you know Monday?"
"No problem."
"Thanks, Layla." He returns to his workstation opposite mine and calls over his next customer. I hope everything is okay with him. He's been with me from the day I opened this studio and is the best tattooist I have here, after myself.
The door goes, and it's my first customer—one of my regulars, Tony. He smiles at me as Johnny books him in. It's his payday and I'm finishing his left sleeve today.
"Today's the day," he says as he reaches my station. His excitement is real.
I raise an eyebrow. "Finally."
"Well, if it wasn't so expensive..."
I glare at him and cross my arms.
"I'm joking!" he laughs. "You're worth every penny."
I bow in my chair. "Thank you."
Tony's covered in tattoos, but unfortunately, I didn't do all of his ink… I adjust my chair when he sits down and then I sterilise his arm.
"Has my friend been in to see you yet?" he asks.
"Adam? Yeah, he was in yesterday. Who inked him before? He wouldn't tell me."
"Inked 'r' us, over in East."
"Ugh, I've done so many cover—ups for them now. I don't know how they're still in business."
"You should open another shop over there."
"If only I could be in two places at once, huh?"
"If only."
My day passes quickly, it always does. I'm booked up for months in advance but I wouldn't wish it any other way. It's taken me years to get where I am today but I never gave up. Being a girl in this industry is so much harder than it is for a man, but my hard work has paid off and now I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve.
At seven I lock up the shop and head to the car park. I can hear a group of youth's fighting as I approach, making me roll my eyes in frustration. Last week, my beloved Merc' window was shot out and it took three days to get it back from the police. There's just so much violence in this part of the city. It was never ever this bad when I was younger, but then, the youth's these days are much braver...
I eye the group of boys shouting at each other to my right. They clock me but I quickly turn away.
See nothing, know nothing.
Just a few more yards to my car, so I walk faster. Most people know me around here, but I'm not taking any chances.
The conversation between them becomes increasingly heated and then I jump from the sound of a gunshot. My wing mirror falls to the ground and panic sets in. I run towards the back of my car for cover as the shots continue, but before I can get down behind it, an arm is suddenly around my side, pulling me down to the asphalt.
"Ahhh." I wince in pain. Fuck, my head.
"Shhh. Don't. Move," the voice warns. It's authoritative, forceful and not to be ignored.
The arm around my waist tightens and I nod my head in acknowledgement before squeezing my eyes together as the shouting gets louder. There's a scuffle and then an ominous flick of a knife.
My life so far plays before me. It's been good. If I die now, I can be happy with what I've achieved.
The shots continue and then the man beside me reaches for something in his jacket. My head throbs; I'm sure blood is running down my face. A shot fires above me, making me jump.
"Go after him, then!" The voice shouts before muttering something about being idiots, but I barely hear him because my heart is drumming violently in my ears. I'm clinging to his arm; not even knowing who this man is but being thankful as fuck for him.
Footsteps scatter as the group runs away and the arm around my waist disappears.
"Please," I beg.
"It's alright, they're gone."
I open my eyes and specks of bright, white light flood my vision. The body moves from beside me and stands while I sit up and touch my head. Its dark, but with the orange glow of the street lights, I can see the blood on my fingers.
Shit.
Two hands effortlessly lift me up from behind and I gasp in surprise. Lightheaded, I stumble back to rest against my car. I see my bag on the ground and reach for it but I'm beaten to it. The man collects up my things, and I cringe as he even picks up my Tampax...
Oh God.
I breathe deeply as the world spins. I lean over and try to breathe steadily but I'm so overwhelmed, I can't think straight, not even to inhale.
"Here," the man says as he offers me my bag.
I shakily take it. "Thanks."
"You're bleeding," he tells me.
"I know."
"Is this your car?"
I nod. I almost died. I almost fucking died. Bursting into tears, I cry, and not quietly but with big, heaving sobs. I cover my face… I think back to when I used to get mixed up in my brother's fights and it makes my breath catch. He almost died so many times... I take a deep breath and let out a sob; calm down. I really need to get home.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and suddenly feel embarrassed when I realise the man is still standing in front of me. "Sorry," I croak.
"No, I'm sorry."
I look up, blinking through teary eyes before my eyes settle on his. He's standing out of the light so I can only just make out dark skin and dark eyes. He's staring at me and I'm staring back just as hard. I can't see the exact shade of his eyes but for a moment, I lose myself in them. Fuck… his features are so strong, so masculine and my stomach flutters. I pull my eyes away from him, embarrassed, again.
"Thanks, for helping me," I mutter after finding my sense and rummaging through my bag to pull out my car keys.
"Don't thank me. That was my fault."
I nod my head knowingly but don't look at him. So he's one of them. Obviously. Looking like that, how could he not be?
"Are you good to drive?" His fingers touch my face and he wipes some blood away from just above my brow.
It hurts and I flinch. "Yes."
"Alright," I think he says.
"Stay out of trouble," I mutter before I turn away and pick up my broken wing mirror and get into my car. Stay out of trouble? What the hell?
I watch him in my rear view before I pull off and see him still standing there. Maybe I should have offered him a lift?
No Layla, fuck that, he almost got you killed... but he also saved my life. I shake my head and concentrate on the road ahead. I need to get my ass home.
***
AFTER TWENTY MINUTES, I reach my flat. I've thought about that guy the entire drive home. Wow, he was nice. His body was built, and those features...
I go straight to the bathroom to check my face. I've grazed the right side of my forehead and it looks quite bad. I get some cotton wool and warm water and clean it up. It stings like hell and after I've picked out the gravel, I apply some antiseptic cream to it. I've never had any cuts or grazes on my face and I'm getting angry the more I look at it. I tie my long hair into a high ponytail and remove the makeup from my face. My caramel skin looks unusually pale and I begin to feel dizzy again.
After a few more deep breaths, I get my Pyjamas ready and moisturise my skin, giving special attention to my right side. I have a tattoo from the side of my breast, down my waist and thigh to just above my knee. I designed it myself; it's a dire Wolf under a dream catcher with caves and scenery around it. It's black and shade mostly, with colour only in the wolf's eyes and the beads on the dream catcher. Marco did my ink because he's the only one I trust to do it to my standards.
I climb into bed and wonder how I'm going to explain this massive graze on my head to the girls tomorrow? They are not gonna let it go unmentioned so I better think of a story fast, and a good one at that.
I study the ceiling in a daydream. That man though... His eyes were soul—catching and although he didn't say much, his voice... Ugh... I groan and roll over and hurt my cut up head, forgetting about it already.
Fuck my life.
