Page 5 of Inked Desires
"Great, can I talk to him? He’s not answering my messages."
"Who should I say is calling?"
"William. William Clark."
"One moment."
I hang up and stand up. I’m not thrilled to go to the back room, but Arès didn’t leave when the phone rang.
I push the door open. Inside, a large room. A chair sits in the center. To my left, a floor-to-ceiling mirror covers an entire wall. My gaze shifts. Arès is in front of a wall cabinet, cleaning the counter.
"Some William Clark wants to talk to you," I say.
He shivers, then violently tosses the cloth into the sink.
"Tell him I’m not available," he growls.
"He knows you’re here," I retort.
If he didn’t want to talk to someone, he should’ve given me a list to screen calls. I can’t read minds yet.
He exhales loudly, turns, and passes me. I follow silently.
His fingers grip the phone so hard the plastic cracks under the pressure.
"What?" he barks.
He stays silent during William’s words, his face growing more severe, jaw clenched, darkness filling his eyes.
"It’s been two years since you’ve given any sign of life, and now you call? Just send me the papers," he snaps before hanging up.
The phone slams onto the table.
Suddenly, I feel like an intruder. He doesn’t look at me. He just crosses the room and storms into the back, slamming the door behind him.
Next time William calls, I’ll tell him he’s not here. He’ll probably know it’s a lie—there’s only one tattoo shop after all—but I don’t mind being a liar. I’m destined for hell anyway.
Arès already didn’t seem friendly, but after that call, he looks worse—like a monster ready to unsheathe his claws. I have no desire to upset him further or find out what he’s capable of.
The morning passes without other incidents. I start sorting paperwork. A few bills catch my eye: their due dates are almost past. Even though I don’t want to bother him, I have to let him know.
I head to the back room. To my surprise, he’s gone. When did he leave? And how? No one passed me on the way out. Confused, I scan the room, but he’s nowhere to be found. Was I too focused on paperwork to notice?
I return to my post, fatigue creeping into my muscles. I rest my head in my hands, trying to hold on despite exhaustion. For the first time in days—and despite the big glass window that makes me visible to all—I feel a little safe.
"If you don’t take this job seriously, find another," he snaps.
I jump. He’s there, like magic. I must really need sleep; no one can disappear and reappear without making a sound.
"Sorry, I had a rough night."
Truth is, it’s been much longer than that, but he doesn’t need to know.
He tilts his head slightly, those deep, icy eyes fixing me like he wishes I’d leave. I rub my neck, embarrassed.
"I spotted some expenses to pay," I say, changing the subject and showing him the documents.
Without a word, he slides his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and circles the table, opening his online bank account before my eyes. He doesn’t even try to hide his PIN. Is he stupid or careless? Especially with a thief like me here. I keep quiet but memorize the code anyway.
