Page 4 of Inked Desires
That one word hits me like a blow, and I drop to my knees on the sidewalk. For the first time, it sinks in—really sinks in. Help… Who’s helped me so far? No one. I’m lost. I need everything. I have nothing. And no way to survive on my own. But I have to. I have to find a way, an escape route. Maybe—just maybe—
“We’re not open yet,” someone says behind me.
I jump. The voice from the diner echoes in my head. He steps around me, one hand holding a coffee cup and a paper bag, the other digging into his pocket for keys.
“I’m looking for a job,” I say, even though I was doing everything to avoid him just minutes ago.
He glances over his shoulder but doesn’t fully face me.“You don’t look like someone who’d work in a tattoo shop,” he mutters, unlocking the door.
“You need someone for the front desk, right? I might not tattoo, but I can book appointments.”
God, I need the money. My shitty car already ate up a chunk of what I stole, and the rest won’t last long.
The man stops, exhales like he’s preparing for something.“Come in and drink a damn coffee,” he says, stepping into the shop’s glass front.“You look pathetic. And stop talking to me like I’m the fucking president.”
Is that a yes? Or just a polite way of telling me to piss off?
He’s right though. I must look ridiculous, crouched on his doorstep like some half-dead stray. Not ready to leave, I push myself to my feet and follow him inside. Something about this guy pulls at me.
I stop between the front desk and the waiting area, not daring to follow him into the back. I can’t afford to get hit with a trespassing charge on top of everything else. I need to stay far away from the local sheriff.
“You gonna stand there all day, or are you coming to drink this fucking coffee?” His voice booms across the room.
I look up. He’s standing in a doorway, leather jacket gone, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. I step closer and take the paper cup he offers with a quick, cautious hand, like I expect him to throw it at my face.
“What’s your name?” he asks, scanning me from head to toe.
“Andrew,” I answer, grateful for the warmth of the drink in my hands.“And y—you?”
He raises a brow. Maybe he didn’t expect the question to come back at him. But I’ve been intimidated long enough.
“Arès,” he says under his breath.“Ever worked a front desk before?”
I shake my head.
"But I learn fast!" I say, aware that my lack of experience could be a dealbreaker, yet it’s the only fallback I have. What do you want me to do? He shoots me a look that says he’s clearly underestimating me. I have to prove I’m useful—I have no choice if I want to stay here. Besides, if I manage to earn some money, maybe I can rent an apartment. The boarding house I’m staying at will cost me a fortune in the long run.
"Start by making some coffee," he says, nodding toward a door. "After all, you drank mine."
Then he leaves me alone. He doesn’t seem thrilled to have me here, but the upside is that if I annoy him, I’ll at least have some peace. Better than dealing with flirting attempts or unwanted closeness.
The kitchen is simple. It has only two appliances besides the oven and fridge: a coffee maker and a microwave. I rummage through the cupboards until I find ground coffee and filters, just like he said. Near a cabinet, I spot a broom. Not wanting to stand uselessly while the coffee brews, I decide to sweep the lounge. It takes just a few minutes, but the guy doesn’t reappear during that time. Sighing, I pour myself a cup of coffee and slump back into the chair at the reception.
Fortunately, the phone ringing pulls me out of my boredom and inaction. I can’t just sit still—my thoughts become too intrusive.
"Devil’s Sign, Andrew Lopez speaking," I say, instinctively using my old name.
"Finally found someone to enslave?" a man’s voice exclaims. "About time!"
"Not yet. I’m trying before I sell my soul," I reply in the same tone.
"Interesting. Is Arès there?"
That name never ceases to surprise me. It’s uncommon, but it suits him. This guy is different—nothing like a small-town local. Everyone around here seems a bit rough, like they don’t like strangers much.
I nod but suddenly remember the guy on the other end can’t see me.
"He’s here," I confirm.
