Unclaimed (2 page)

Lincoln

Dirty Ink was doing well.  Jonas and I opened Dirty Ink, our tattoo parlor, almost two years ago when I moved back from San Francisco.  We were doing better than either of us expected.

It was in one of the newly restored warehouses in the historical district on R Street in the downtown area that had been turn
ed into a strip mall of sorts.  The walls were brick and painted a soft, tan color with framed artwork from artists that currently worked in the shop.  We had six artists: Guy, Landon, Myra, Keller, Jonas and myself.  There was a piercer, Fabio, and part-time counter girl/gopher, Sarah.

My station was
in the back.  I liked it there.  I could see everything in the shop and my back was to the wall most of the time.

The sun was
setting outside while I worked on my last appointment for the day.  I was ready to close up shop.  It was relatively slow today and for once I was grateful.  It had been a long week and I needed a drink.  I was off tomorrow.  It had been awhile since I took a day off.  I had worked for twenty days straight.  Not always a full day but I had been in here working every day for the last twenty.  I desperately needed a day off.

The music was
blaring a rock song off someone’s iPod that was plugged in to the surround sound.  The few other artists left were cleaning up their stations, preparing to call it.

I looked down at my current work with my gun in one glove covered hand a
nd a paper towel in the other.  I was doing a scorpion on some girl’s foot.  Her ID claimed she was eighteen but I doubted it.  She looked way too young and she was crying, hysterically.  I hated when they cried.  It made me feel like such a bad guy.  I asked her if she wanted me to stop but she insisted I keep going.  She claimed she’d be fine.  Her tears did not scream fine.  They scream little, sissy baby.  Not to mention her sobs made her entire body shake which made it hard to work.

The top of the foo
t was a tough spot to get done.  All that bone so close to the surface of the skin makes it painful.  Of course, the scorpion she wanted was very detailed.  I told her that before we even started but she insisted it had to be this scorpion on the top of her foot.  So here we were, I was drilling on the top of her foot and she was bawling like she just got the news her puppy got hit by a car.

Good times.

The song switches, to an old school Cherry Picker’s song.  I tried not to cringe.  I hated the Cherry Pickers.  I was adult enough to admit that the music wasn’t bad but I was childish enough that I refused to admit it was any good.

I did
n’t know any of the band members personally but I hated the lead singer, Russell Kole.  He was my father, my sperm donor.  The man had managed to stay completely out of my life for the last twenty-four years.  I hated him for it.

“Turn that shit off,” I yelled across the shop.

I was one of his many bastard children but the only one he didn’t claim, at least that I was aware off.  The man managed to pop out kids like he was part rabbit.  Chances were I was not the only one unclaimed.  He had two legitimate sons through his wife, who he was still married to, and he had publically claimed four bastards and given them all his name, Kole.  Me?  Not so much.

“Why?”
Keller, one of the other artists, asked.  He’ was cleaning up his station.

“Just do it,” I snapped and
fought the urge to run my gloved hand through my already messy black hair.  It would contaminate my glove and I’d have to change it.  It would just stretch out this session with the crying chick even longer.  I just want to be done.  I want her out of my chair and out of my shop.

The music cut
off and I heard Keller mumbling under his breath.  He could mumble all he wanted I was not suffering through the Cherry Pickers in my own shop.  Very few people knew why I hated them so much.  It was not exactly something I went around advertising.  Unclaimed bastard here.  No thanks.

“I love th
e Cherry Pickers,” the girl I was working on whines in-between sobs and attempted that cute pout things only some girls can manage, sexy but childish.  Wasn’t working.  Even more reason to dislike her.  I glared up at her from behind my oversized BCG glasses that I wear when I worked.  Her eyes got big and she swallowed hard.  I was scaring the poor thing.  Oh well.

I did
n’t bother to justify her comment with a reply.

I was
done with wimpy, crying girl who couldn’t seem to keep her opinions to herself and was attempting to flirt between sobs.  Gag me.

Done, finally. 
I wiped her foot one last time and double-checked my work.  Despite my personal feelings for her I refused to let shodd
y work leave my shop.  Whinny crybaby or not, she got the best I could do.  I resisted the urge to scribble all over the top of her foot like a toddler in my annoyance.

Satisfied
I spread goo all over it, wrap it up, and gave her the aftercare lecture and a paper with instructions, and sent her on her way.  Thank God.  I didn’t even bother to walk her out.  I was done with her.

She tried to rub up against me when I handed her the after-care instructions and looked up at me from
under her tear soaked lashes.  I just set her away from me.  Didn’t she realize that having snot dripping out of your nose was not attractive?  Apparently not.

My station was cleaned and I found Jonas lingering
in the back room eating chips.  The man was always snacking on something.  It was amazing he didn’t weigh 600 pounds or more.  Jonas was a giant bear of a man, built like a linebacker with copper colored hair that hung over his warm, hazel eyes.  He was always smiling.  He was covered in tattoos but they could all be covered up by clothing if need be and he didn’t have a single piercing.  Me, not so much.

I had
a piercing in my right eyebrow, both ears done, the top cartilage of one ear, and both nipples.  Still very mild considering what some people had done.  I also had tattoos, some work done by others and some I did myself.  I wasn’t covered or anything but I didn’t keep them hidden either.  Some were in places not easily covered like the clover on my hand or the spider web on the inside, top of my ear, opposite the ear with the cartilage piercing.

“Not
gonna take your scorpion foot home?” he asked mockingly as he shoved another chip in his mouth, smiling around it while he chewed.

“No, I think I’ll pass but she’s all yours,” I said, knowing he already knew
my feelings about her.  He hated criers too.  “Want me to go catch her for you?” I asked and turn back towards the door like I was going to try and catch her for him.  Jonas just laughed.

“
Uhhh, no thanks.”  He shoved a few more chips in his mouth before we headed out the back door and locked up.

Jonas and I co-owned the shop.  We have a good staff so we did
n’t have to stay late and close every night.  It was nice.  Tonight we did.  Everyone else already left.

“So bar?” he asked as we start
ed to make our way out of the shop.

“Sure,” I said a little reluctan
tly.  I really was not in the mood.

“Good, because all this c
rankiness is driving me crazy.  You need to get laid,” Jonas said.

“Thanks,” I grumbled
as we walked down the street.  My phone rang in my pocket.  I pulled it out and checked the screen.  Betty.  I hit ignore on my phone and dropped it back into my pocket.

“You should have answered that,” Jonas said as he shoved
his hands in his pockets.  I knew he saw the screen so he knew it was Betty.

Betty was
an ex, well more like a fling, that I was done with.  One of the joys of never actually being with someone is that you don’t ever actually have to break up.  The last time we were together was six months ago.  We had been sleeping with each other on and off for the three months before that.

It was sex, that’s
it.  I’m done.

Betty was a Dirty Ink groupie.  She hu
ng out at the shop.  She got work done all the time, which I didn’t mind.  It paid the bills.  She hooked up with whichever guy was interested at the moment.  A few months ago that had been me but I’d moved on.  I knew I was not the only guy at Dirty Ink Betty had been with and I didn’t care.  She was just an easy lay.  Easy or not, I was just not interested any more.

“I’m done with Betty,” I told
Jonas.  Betty just wasn’t doing it for me any longer.  Yeah she was hot but that was it.  I was bored.  She was a self-involved, mean little witch that never shut up.

“Does she know that?” Jonas laughed.

“I’ve told her more than once but she’s not too bright,” I figured if I just ignored her she’d give up or move on.  I was hoping it happens quickly because her stalkerish tendencies were getting old fast.

Jonas just shrugged as we turned into our first bar for the evening.

Chapter 2

Prudence

I looked good, sexy.  Even if the outfit is a little too slutty for my taste.  I was wearing the skanky birthday outfit Skyla got for me.  The red top was too tight.  One deep breath I might bust a seam.  The black belt made me look like I had more curves then my little form actually did.  My breasts were pressed up into my neck and if I lifted my arms, even a little, I was flashing stomach.  The black skirt barely covered my ass as I predicted.  If I bent over or shifted wrong I was going to be giving a show to anyone looking my way.

I put on a collection of mismatch
ed black and silver bracelets on one arm, there was even a pearl one.  Add red heels to the super tight top and the tiny scrap of leather they were calling a skirt, and I was dressed for a night on the town.

I lived in heels
and skirts everyday but this was a little much even for me.  I was not sure how I was going to pull it off.

My legs looked a thousand times longer than
they actually were at my 5’2”.  My body curved with the outfit despite my tiny form.  I was guessing the tiny skirt and heels mixed with alcohol was going to prove to be a tragic combination by the end of the night.

I was
wearing more eye make-up than normal, which made my already big, brown eyes look even larger.  They dominate my face.  I tried to cover the freckles that sprinkled across my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose, but like normal they proved to be impossible.  I hated my freckles and they refused to compromise.  My long, wavy brown hair was falling freely to my waist like it normally did and I was ready to go.

We took a cab to our favorite bar downtown
.  No concerns about a DD this way.  This was the first time all three of us had gone out without having to worry about fake IDs.

My roommates
started pouring shots down my throat and trying to toss me into guy’s laps the moment we got there.  They literally pushed me into a few.  Any guy that looked my way, and there were plenty of them, Maggie and Skyla went for.  I was always a little reserved but all the alcohol I was consuming was giving me some liquid courage.  I wasn’t shy but it took me awhile to warm up to people but not so much drunk.  I was friends with everyone.  I was having a great time.

The bar
was loud, filled with bass thumping music and drunken chatter.  I flirted with random guys, even gave a few my number, but I refused to go further than that.  I had no plan to go home with some random guy especially one that picked me up in a bar.  STD anyone?  No thank you.  I had never picked someone up before, had sex, and parted ways.  It all seems so, I don’t know, risky?  Impersonal?

I found it more th
an a little ironic that Skyla was pushing me towards any and every guy considering she had never even had a boyfriend that I was aware of.  If I had to pick anyone who would be anti-one nightstand it would have been her.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Maggie said from next to m
e.  She grabbed my arm to turned me around so I could see whatever caught her eye.  She was checking out a tall, blond, Viking type guy.  “He’s like, like…” words seemed to escape her.

“He’s like a Viking,” I helped her out and we all started
to laugh.  He truly did look like one with his tall frame and long, blond hair.  He even had a sharp, straight nose.

“
Arrrggg,” Maggie said as she made some sort of growling face.  She sounded more like a pirate than a Viking.  “I want him,” she announced. I just laughed.  Of course she did.  He was a Viking after all.  Who didn’t want a Viking?

“I’m gonna get another round,” I said as I turned away from Maggie as she mumbled something I didn’t really understand about hot Viking sex and Skyla just laughed and prepared
to play the wingman.  Skyla was the perpetual wingman, never pursuing anything for herself.

I really didn’t want to stand there and watch
Maggie flirt with the Viking.  I wanted another drink.  Plus I needed a few minutes where they weren’t diligently trying to get me laid.  Avoiding all their well-intended efforts was exhausting.  I kind of resent the fact that they thought I couldn’t find my own fling.

I was
hoping that by separating from them, even momentarily, their attentions would be diverted to their own hunts for men, well, at least Maggie’s.  Skyla didn’t hunt for mean.

I pushed my way through the crowd towa
rds the bar wondering if they’d finally give up on the idea of getting me laid because Maggie was distracted by her giant Viking.  I took the opportunity to get a drink afraid they were going to try and hook me up with the Viking.

I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was
going.  Just pushing between bodies in the general direction of the bar when I ran into a wall and started to stumble back.

Maybe I didn’t need another drink after all.

The wall I collided with grabbed me when I started to fall saving me from the embarrassment that was sure to come when I fell on my ass and flashed the entire bar.  The hands on my back caused me to realize I hadn’t run into a wall at all but another human being.  A guy with a rock hard chest covered in a white t-shirt.  It took a moment for it to sink into my alcohol soaked brain that I had not hit a wall and walls did not have hands.

My hands were resting on his chest and I could feel well defined, but not over
ly large pecks under my hands.  I could feel something else through his thin t-shirt too, something hard and circular.  Nipple piercings?  Interesting.  I slowly raised my eyes to look at him from beneath my lashes.  If his chest was this nice, what did his face look like?

Oh.  My.  God. 
I was not disappointed.  He had thick black hair, short but messy in that sexy, bedhead fashion or maybe he ran his fingers through it one too many times and now it was just a mess.  His skin had a perfect tan, giving him a nice honey color.  I could see the top of some tattoo peeking out of his shirt that reached up his neck just a little and his right arms was covered in ink.  His ears were both pierced and sported some sort of black metal studs.  The cartilage of one ear is also pierced.  The other one had a little spider web tattoo.  His right eyebrow was pierced and he had a coordinating black barbell through it and his eyes, oh sweet Jesus, his eyes.  They were the most striking grayish-silver I had ever seen, like a summer storm.

He was lean and long with a meant to be touched body, magn
ificent face, and sinful eyes.  Hello, hotness.

His lips curved up to one side in a cocky
, little, half smile that only a few men could actually pull off without looking creepy.  He looked the farthest thing from creepy possible.  “Well hello there,” he said.  His voice was deep and husky.  I held back a sigh but just barely.

I must
of looked like a fool standing here just leaning into him after running into him but I couldn’t seem to find the motivation to move away.  How clumsy was I?  How drunk was I?  I lost count of my shots, several shots back and I’m a lightweight.  Never a good combination.

I went to push back from him, to
put some distance between us.  I needed to regain some of my sense.  I needed to pull myself together and stop drooling over this guy.  Way to make a first impression.  When I pushed away his arms were still around me, holding me against him, and he wasn’t letting me go.  Interesting.

He raised one eyebrow when I didn’t
respond.  Wait, what did he say?  Oh yeah, hello.

“Sorry,” I said softly finally pulling myself out of my drunken, lu
st induced stupor.  Kind of.

“Don’t be. 
I’m not,” he said as he continued to smile down at me.  He had the sexiest smile I had ever seen.  I couldn’t help but smile back.  I turned my face away to tried and hide my blush that I knew was rising.  I blushed so easily.  I didn’t even realize I was burying my face in his chest in my attempt to hide my blush.  Ahhh, he smelled so good like soap and sanitizer?  I pulled my head back, away from his chest, and blushed even deeper.

“You headed towards the bar?” he asked as he motioned with his head in the direction of the bar still holding me in his strong arms.

All I could do was nod and look back up at him.  I couldn’t seem to make my tongue work.  Maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking my ass, or maybe it’s Mr. Messy Hair.

“Come on. 
It’s on me since I was holding up traffic,” he teased as he released me but quickly grabbed my hand so I couldn’t make an escape, not that I want to, and started to pull me towards the bar.  The hand holding mine was rough but gentle.  There was a tattoo of a green, four leaf clover that started between his thumb and first finger, stretched over the back of his hand and the stem continued up over his wrist.  I wanted to lick it.

It
was official. I was drunk.

When we reached the bar he shifted me in front of him and placed his hands on my hips as we started to cut through the packed
crowd, three deep to the bar.  I couldn’t help but lean back on his wonderful chest.  He was so tall.  I felt like a midget next to him.  He was probably 6’2” or taller.  My head reached his nipples.  If I turned my head I would be able to take one of those nipple rings between my lips.  I wanted to.

“What’ll you have?” he asked leaning down so that his lips brushed against my ear sending a chill through my body.

“Raspberry cosmos,” I said refusing to turn to him.  I knew his face was close.  If I turned to look at him his lips would probably be level with mine and I’m sure that I wouldn’t be able to resist, or if I wanted to.

“Rod, raspberry cosmos and the usual,” he told the bartender when he looked
at us.  He raised one eyebrow in question to Mr. Messy Hair behind me.  What was that?  What silent question was he asking him?  I wish I knew what his reaction was but I couldn’t turn and look up at him without being completely obvious, so I didn’t.

“And three blow job shots,” Maggie hollered as she jumped up next to him wit
h a giggling Skyla on her arm.  The Viking was nowhere in sight.  I briefly wondered what happened with him.  They were either here to run interference or try and hook me up.  Neither was going to be pleasant.

Lincoln

“And three blow jobs,” I repeated when Rod looked at me raising an eyebrow again questioning if I planned to get all these girls shots.  I did.  I didn’t usually buy girls drinks and Rod knew that.

The moment the loud redhead yelled it out I wanted the little fairy I was holding to take those plump lips and d
eep throat some whipped cream.  The idea was to appealing to pass up.

I noticed her when we first walked in, probably because she was with one of my hal
f-sisters, Skyla, although it wasn’t public knowledge that we were related.  We didn’t exactly hide it either.  It was complicated.

I watched as her friends dragged her from group of guys to group
of guys flirting shamelessly.  I was waiting for my groups turn for their attention but it never seemed to come.  I wondered if Skyla was avoiding us on purpose.  She knew who I was.  She was my only actual sibling that I talked to.

Our fabulous father got real
ly plastered one night, which wasn’t uncommon for him, and Skyla had to swoop in to rescue him, also not uncommon.  In his drunken stupor he admitted that he had a seventh child, me.  She sought me out.  We had been in high school, different high schools, at the time and slowly developed a relationship.

When I saw the little fairy pushing through the crowd, finally separating herself from her loud friend and my sis
ter, I put myself in her path.  I had to know this girl.  This little slip of a girl was hot.  I would probably crush her but damn she was hot.

Her long, brown hair
was the color of chocolate and brushed the top of her ass.  I wanted to tangle my fingers in it, run my fingers through the long waves until they brushed against her firm, little ass.  Her big, brown eyes were gorgeous and those freckles.  Sweet Jesus, those freckles.  I had a newly discovered love of freckles.  Not so many that they took over her face.  They were just enough.  I wanted to kiss each one.

Her skin was
fair, not even slightly tanned, fake or otherwise.  I wondered if it was as soft as it looked.  I shifted my hands on her hip so that it slid just under the bottom of her top and it is, like silk.  I forced back a groan.  I could only imagine what she’d feel like in other places I wanted to pay attention too.

“So who’s your friend?” the redhead asked while we waited
for our drinks.  The redhead smiled at me, in a way that was meant to be deliberately flirty but it was more sloppy probably due to large amounts of alcohol consumption.  I was not interested in the least.

“
Ummm…” the little fairy said.  I hadn’t told her but I was keeping her pressed up against me like we were more than friends.  Oh, we were going to be more then friends if I had my way.

“Lincoln O’Neil,” I said but kept my hands just where they were
.  I was not letting go.  This girl was a find.  I refused to let someone else scoop her up when I just got ahold of her, or for her friends to drag her off while they try to charm willing men.