Second Skin

Chapter 7 - Delicious Ambiguity

Songs: Tearin' it Up by Gramatik; Shake'em Loose by Rumspringa

I hesitated for a split second, staring at Leo's hand as he held it out in greeting. He was smiling at me, his posture and expression generally open and welcoming. In spite of his demeanor, my mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts, a few of which strayed into the territory of "oh shit" before I gathered myself and reached out to grip his hand in mine.

I cleared my throat and hoped I didn't sound nervous when I said, "Sam Blanco. It's nice to finally meet you, Leo."

I smiled brightly in as friendly a way as I could muster. I just hoped my expression didn't convey the surge of arousal I felt over a very dirty image of Ramona that capered through my brain the second I figured out who he was. I couldn't help but wonder exactly what she'd told him about me. What the hell was 'a lot'?

"You do nice work," Leo said. "Fantastic work, to be honest." His wide lips pressed together in contemplation and he nodded at the pictures I had tacked up around the area.

I shrugged in response to his compliment. I felt a little caught off guard.

"Thanks man. What brings you over to my humble corner, anyway?"

I sat back down at my small side-bench to begin the deliberate and methodical process of disassembling my machine to clean and disinfect it piece by piece before running it through the small portable autoclave I carried with me. I admit I was trying to distract myself from his presence, but the work still needed to be done.

"I'm a bit of a collector, you could say," he said. I raised an eyebrow and glanced at him, wondering if he was a collector out of pretension or genuine interest. I assumed his primary motivation included impressing Ramona's father, but so far the guy seemed pretty genuine, which baffled me. I'm not sure what I'd been expecting, though; someone more arrogant, less friendly.

He picked up my sketchbook and paced away as he began to flip through it.

"You didn't design hers," he said after a few seconds studying several of my older designs.

"Excuse me?" I'd been engrossed in the work in front of me and wasn't sure if I'd heard him correctly.

"Ramona's tattoo. It's very pretty – not one of your designs, though. It doesn't match your style." He gestured at the sketches, which were mostly heavily detailed blackwork designs.

I flashed him an alarmed look and was grateful that he hadn't been facing me before I managed to regain control of my features.

He'd seen her tattoo. If Ramona had been telling the truth on Saturday night it had to have been just within the last three days. And he'd decided to visit me now. Should I be worried? He hadn't exactly come in with guns blazing, so chances were good that he wasn't out for blood. Still... his presence made me just a little nervous, all things considered. I felt myself starting to sweat in spite of the cool air blowing through the large vent nearby.

"Ah... no. She brought the design to me. I don't normally do color, but she talked me into it. Bought the inks, even."

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. "She can be pretty persuasive when she gets it into her mind she wants something."

Don't I know it, I thought.

"She loves it, by the way. I wanted to say thanks."

He turned and grinned at me, his eyes sparkling with humour. Apparently Leo knew how to appreciate fine art, too. My ego took a nosedive as I wondered how much enjoyment Ramona had gotten out of it. I sized him up. The guy had to be in his mid to late-twenties. As good looking and well-built as he appeared no doubt he was more experienced with women than me, too. I wasn't used to this feeling of inferiority. I had to remind myself that this was the real world now. It wasn't high school where I'd been at the top of the food chain for the last year or so, even if I hadn't always taken advantage of it without my best friend's little push from time to time.

"Um... you're welcome." I eyed him warily. He seemed to sense my discomfort and a deep laugh rumbled up from his belly.

"Don't worry, hermano. I know her well enough not to flip out on the guy she picks to tattoo her chocha. She has unique tastes."

He seemed to almost exude pride when he shared the small, vague detail about her. It hadn't occurred to me that a girlfriend's kinks would be something any guy might be outwardly proud of. But he was certainly right - she had unique tastes. I wondered if she'd told him the whole story about the tattoo incident. I had a feeling she hadn't, otherwise he might be having a different reaction right now. His casual demeanor was a relief at least. Again, I thought, Who the hell is this guy?

I recovered and made a valiant effort to seem nonchalant. "You're not the jealous type, huh? Most guys I know wouldn't be so comfortable with the idea of another guy that close to their woman, no matter the reason."

"Not with Ramona, no. I trust her."

As confident as he was, he clearly had a blind spot when it came to her. I almost pitied him a little. Mostly I was starting to feel a twinge of guilt over benefitting from his misfortune, even if he wasn't the least bit aware of it. Celie's words from earlier in the week echoed through my mind again: "I just don't think it's cool for you to mess around the way you are". He seemed like a good guy... at least that was my first impression. And he clearly had strong affection for her. So why the hell was Ramona screwing around with me?

There was a long pause as I continued cleaning and he continued his slow pacing while he browsed through my sketchbook that was now thankfully devoid of naked sketches of his girlfriend. He seemed pleased with what he saw, and I found myself growing a little anxious, waiting for him to make a more constructive comment on my work. I was still experimenting with themes, so the actual imagery varied from piece to piece. Lately I'd been on a primal, animalistic kick, since a majority of my customers seemed to want some variation of a lion, for obvious reasons. Most of my latest designs were of snarling beasts rendered in stark tribal patterns.

The quiet finally became overwhelming. I had to break up the silence somehow as long as he was there. I remembered the comment he'd made earlier.

"You said you're a collector... what type of art?" I was hoping to get some conversation going. Anything that could help keep my damn brain from dwelling on her.

"This type," he said, gesturing to the pages of my sketchbook. I stared at him blankly.

He must have sensed my confusion. "Tattoos, hermano," he clarified with a big smile.

I could have sworn he had twice as many teeth as the average man. And his fucking hair had a life of its own... he'd run his fingers through it repeatedly and each time it took on a new shape but was still eerily perfect.

I ran my fingers self consciously through my own thick brown hair that was well past the point where I'd normally get it trimmed. I wondered if I should let it grow out even more. Was that look something women found attractive? Could I even pull it off? Or maybe I should go the other extreme and just shave it all off. Emilio kept his buzzed, which seemed to be an infinitely easier option. My dad had, too. I guessed old Alliance habits die hard.

I pushed aside my contemplation of hairstyles and looked more closely at his exposed forearms. The ink was certainly high-quality... nothing like some of the shitty work I'd seen on the members of the gang who'd passed through my chair over the past several weeks. Half the work I'd done so far had been touch-ups or cover-ups of inferior work.

"Nice work," I said. "Who's the artist?"

He pointed at the ink on his forearms. "Well, what you can see... these are an old friend in San Diego. Antonia Valentine. The others I have are from all over. I even took a trip off-world to get one."

I'd definitely heard of Antonia. She was one of the most renowned blackwork artists in the country. And off-world? The only off-world tattooist with any renown lived on Mars. My eyebrows began migrating up my forehead and I felt my jaw drop as he rattled off the names of a few other artists, several I'd heard of. His body must be a showcase of tattooing all-stars if he'd gotten art from all those people. I had to wonder with connections like that why in the world had his girlfriend come to me for her tattoo?

I was stunned when he finally finished up by saying, "I want you to design my next one."

I blinked at him and my mouth snapped shut. I sat up a little straighter before finding my voice again.

"What? Me? Why me? I'm a fucking amateur compared to them." I gestured at him. He still hadn't shown me any of his artwork, not completely, but I was sure the tattoos were all incredible if he'd been telling the truth about the artists.

"I've been going to professionals for a long time. I usually get one or two tattoos a year and I spend some time researching the artist before I decide who's going to do the honors. Benny showed me the tattoo you gave him. He said it was your first ever. He told me how nervous you were and how you fumbled around with the equipment at first, but you got into the zone once you'd started working on him. He's been to as many artists as I have... hacks mostly, but they all think they're hot shit. But he's been to enough true professionals that he knows one when he sees one. And the quality of your work shows. If Ramona's tattoo is any indication, I know it's true. You have a delicate touch when it counts."

We were back to Ramona's tattoo, which I knew had been a huge contrast to what I'd normally done. It was a wispy design, all delicate lines and pretty colors. It had probably been the most complicated tattoo I'd ever done, too. And the image of it concurrent with the suggestion of my delicate touch resulted in an internal struggle to maintain my composure that I hoped I'd never have to face again in my life. Through some miracle I managed to keep a straight face. At least I hoped I did, but Leo didn't seem fazed if anything showed in my expression.

"So... why me?"

He rubbed his hands together as he spoke, his face brightening. "You're the first promising artist I've met who's just starting out. If you end up making a name for yourself I want to be able to say I knew you at the beginning. Let's just say I want to sponsor you."

The word "sponsor" caught my ear. That meant money to me. But there was a complication.

"Ah, you should know that I'm planning to move to San Diego in a month. This isn't a permanent gig for me here." I gestured around me.

He rubbed his goatee in contemplation for a second and nodded. "I can work with that. I'm in San Diego most weekends. Maybe I can help you get set up there."

I was confused by his offer and busy trying to come up with an adequate response when one of Benny's lieutenants came around the partition and caught Leo's attention with a slight nod. Leo's demeanor abruptly shifted, his expression darkening. The other guy seemed to cower ever so slightly as he spoke in a low voice I couldn't quite make out.

Leo pursed his lips and spoke back to him tersely, "No. Get it done by the time I leave tomorrow. No negotiating."

The gang-banger scuttled off and Leo turned back to me, his face relaxing and the friendly smile returning. The contrast in his attitude surprised me, but I was impressed and understood immediately why he was in charge. I knew without a doubt that I wanted to stay on his good side.

He looked at me thoughtfully for a second before saying, "I haven't had lunch yet. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat, yeah." That was a pretty constant thing, actually.

He grinned at me. "Come on. Bring this, too. You might need it." He handed my sketchbook back to me and I followed him out the door.

I had the strangest feeling for the rest of the day that I'd entered an alternate reality.

Leo bought me lunch at some little hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon diner where the staff seemed to know him by name. The place had fantastic food - even real pasture-fed beef, as opposed to the vat-grown version most other restaurants served. I was distracted from any uncertainty over his intentions when the plates were placed in front of me. I had the vaguest impression that he was gratified by my appetite. After I finished one of the best burgers I'd ever had in my life and the fries that came with it, I sat back with a fresh toothpick. Leo finally got down to business.

"I'd like you to redesign Ramona's tattoo for me. No colors or flowery stuff, but the same general design. I can have her send you the original concept if you want that to start with."

"Not necessary. I remember the general pattern." As if I could forget what it looked like. I remembered every tiny line and curve in intricate detail. I was pretty sure I could tattoo it from memory at this stage.

"It needs to match the theme of my other tattoos, but the general shape is what I'm after."

He proceeded to unbutton his shirt. I looked around, but the other patrons and the diner staff didn't seem to care. He pulled one heavily muscled arm out of his sleeve and turned so I could see the huge tattoo that covered it from shoulder to wrist. It was a stylized feline form - a lion, I realized - with intricate geometric shapes rather than shading to accent its shadows and highlights. The lion's tail extended in a curve down past his elbow and over his forearm, winding around it once before ending on the inside of his wrist. I could see similar tattoos decorating his sides and extending over his lower abdomen, all with a primal theme reminiscent of native South American art. His back and chest were still devoid of markings, except for an ugly puckered scar that was clearly visible beneath his right nipple.

I must have stared at the scar a second too long when I saw his fingertips brush over the raised flesh. I quickly shifted my eyes to his un-inked skin, thinking he must be saving the big ones for last. I wondered if he had a more obscure area in mind for my amateur work.

"Ah... you don't want it in the same place as hers, I hope."

He barked out a loud laugh. "No. Maybe I'll work my way up to that, but so far I've only tattooed my upper body and a bit on my lower legs. Nothing lower than my hipbones. I want this one either here or across my shoulders and back." He gestured with both hands across his chest. I nodded, secretly relieved but aware of what a challenge it would be. And a full chest or back tattoo? That would take hours.

I pulled out my sketchbook and began to sketch out the basic pattern while he watched.

"Something funny?" he asked. I realized I was smiling around my toothpick.

"No, it's just... I've had to cover up or redesign a few 'matching' tattoos when things didn't work out. I could just imagine the story I'd tell if you'd decided to get it in the same place and then she dumped you."

He chuckled softly as he buttoned up his shirt. "That would be fucking funny. But she's special. I have no worries on that count."

"Must be nice," I said straightfaced.

"You've had your heart broken?"

"No... I didn't mean that. I meant it must be nice to have a girl so special. I haven't been so lucky."

Not that I'd tried all that hard. So far Ramona was the closest I'd come to having a girl like... well, Ramona. The crazy thing was I still knew I could never really have her, but somehow I still didn't feel like the experience was a waste of time.

"Someday you'll get lucky, hermano, but you have time. It'll surprise the shit out of you when it happens. I never in a million years thought I'd have her. She's the girl every other guy wanted, thinking if they got her they could get to her father, impress him somehow. I didn't think I ever stood a chance so I just focused my energy directly on trying to impress him. I didn't think I should need a woman's help to prove myself. She surprised me when she told me how she felt. She still surprises me every day."

He was very controlled while he spoke, not fidgeting with his hands much except for the occasional swipe of his fingers through his hair and idle rubbing of his goateed chin as his mouth carefully enunciated each word. His eyes were bright and intense in his expressive face, but he had worry lines etched in his forehead. It made me wonder again how old he really was. I suspected in his line of work you might tend to age a bit quickly.

I watched him for a few seconds while he stared off into space, probably thinking about Ramona.

I looked down at the design I'd rendered so far, then went back to add a few harder, more angular lines, trying to make the parts that had been too flowery a little more masculine. I sketched in some small, decorative details similar to what I'd seen on his other tattoos.

"You really love her, don't you?"

His face lit up and I knew what Benny meant when he'd told me their story earlier that week.

"More than life, hermano."

I kept drawing, chewing a little harder on my toothpick. I was feeling more conflicted by the minute the longer I spent with him. I was actually starting to like him. He seemed easygoing and open. I wondered if it was an act and the severe gangster look he'd had at la cueva was his real personality. I wondered if there were just two versions of him, and I had somehow made it into his inner circle without trying. It seemed like a stroke of luck that I was sure to fuck up, considering I was a nobody. But my instincts told me he wasn't putting on an act.

I knew I couldn't dwell on my misgivings now, though, without giving something away. I was also growing increasingly certain that if he ever found out about me and Ramona I was a dead man. If I could win him over with the tattoo maybe it would give me a little breathing room. I focused intently on the sketch in my hands, determined to give him my best.

I turned the sketchbook around to show him the design. He raised his eyebrows, looking impressed, then suggested some changes. We spent the next hour or so sitting in the diner, chatting about life in general while I refined the design. I was surprised at how much we seemed to have in common.

He was more educated than most of the pachucos in Los Leones, so it was no wonder they looked up to him. He had a love of art that extended beyond tattoos but his rationale was that he'd prefer to be able to take his collection with him; for it to be an extension of himself and his life. It was a sentiment that had crossed my mind frequently as well, and I told him so. His intellect and sharp wit reminded me of my sister's, yet another indication of why he was in charge, and everything together made it clear why Ramona's father - and Ramona - liked him so much. At least that's what I surmised. His choice of tattoos also impressed me. He clearly wasn't like the average gang-banger by any stretch and it made me wonder how he'd ended up in this life to begin with.

I thought he must have been on the same wavelength when he asked, "You seem like a smart guy, Sam, and you have real talent. Why are you wasting your time tattooing the losers in Los Leones?"

I knew he wasn't including himself in the statement, but it was yet another cleverly worded question that set me at ease with him.

"I didn't quite have the test scores for college. Not like my sister. And there isn't exactly a four-year degree for tattooists. This is what I've wanted to do ever since I realized I was good at drawing. Tattooing in this neighborhood seemed like as good a place as any to start, since I know the territory. Once Benny showed up on my doorstep and set me up over there it seemed the obvious choice. Hopefully with that experience under my belt it'll be easier to find someone to apprentice under, then eventually set up my own shop." I paused to concentrate on drawing for a second. "What's your excuse?" I challenged.

He smiled and took the bait. "If it's a story you want, you got it, hermano." He paused for a second and beckoned to a waitress to order refills of our drinks and two slices of pie.

"I grew up in this life but my abuela made sure my brother and I were raised right. She knew the life, too... she'd been part of it when she was young. She always used to tell stories about how many close calls she had. And she had scars to prove it, too. She's one scary lady when she wants to be." Leo shook his head and smiled to himself at the thought.

"She's had a hard life but it's in her blood, she always says. She told us that she tried to leave, to change her lifestyle so many times, but once it's in you that deep it's hard to be comfortable anywhere else. She knew we would end up running with these guys like our father did, but she always told us if you're going to do it, make sure you're the one nobody wants to mess with. She says there's a time to be kind and a time to be cruel and you have to be able to figure out when, just remember that everyone is human. That and she insisted we finish school. Probably the best choice I ever made. That's why Benny's come so far in spite of his age. Papa Flores appreciates initiative and loyalty, but above all he appreciates intelligence."

"What does your grandmother think of how you turned out?" Too late I remembered Benny's story and realized my mistake.

His expression grew dark and I caught a glimpse of the man whose 'cruel' side kept the gang in line. I quickly backtracked.

"Sorry, man. I didn't think... Benny told me the story about your brother. That must've been rough."

He breathed deeply through his nose as though making a conscious effort to relieve some tension. He shook his head and I caught him rubbing at his chest through his shirt in the spot where I'd seen the horrendous scar earlier.

"It's alright. It's been a few years but a betrayal like that is hard to forget."

"I wouldn't expect you'd ever forget it. Especially not from someone you loved."

In a soft tone, he said, "It's my proof of her love, this scar. She gave me the will to live after what my brother did to me. I was heartbroken more than anything over what he did, and what I was forced to do to make it right. She healed me."

I nodded silently, unsure what the hell I should say, if anything. I tried to pretend he wasn't talking about the same girl I'd spent the previous weekend in bed with. Shit, I had to stop thinking about her in his presence, but it was damn difficult when he kept mentioning her, his utter adoration so painfully apparent with every word he spoke.

He shook his head. "The thing is, I could have forgiven him if he'd just stood down. Owned his mistake. I never wanted to kill my own brother..."

He looked up and met my eyes. His eyes were filled with an anguish I couldn't fathom, even with the tragedies in my own past. He held my gaze for a second then looked away as he continued.

"But he forced my hand. So many others lost their lives that night because of him."

He stared down at his empty, crumb-laden plate and let out a deep sigh. "That day was both the worst and best of my life. If it hadn't been for Manny's actions that day I never would have had Ramona."

"Seems like a pretty tough tradeoff to me."

He nodded and sat contemplating for a moment before he said in a quiet voice, "She's worth it." The stark admission sent a chill down my spine.

We both grew quiet and I focused intently on the sketch of the tattoo. When I finally had a version of the design he was happy with I sketched a quick outline of a torso beneath it to show how it might look on his chest or back. The way the redesigned scrolls and curves fell we ultimately decided it would be more flattering gracing the contours of his back. As intricate as it was, I knew this wasn't a tattoo I wanted to take a chance freehanding.

"So when do you want to do it?"

"Now, if you have time. The weekend's shot since I'm in San Diego. I don't get back until Tuesday."

I checked the time. If we got back now, there'd be plenty of time to get it done by the end of the day. It would be a longer day than I was used to, but the extra money was worth the effort. I tapped a quick message to Celie in my wrist comm letting her know I would probably be late getting home.

As if the afternoon couldn't get any more surreal, several hours later I was about three quarters finished with his tattoo when Ramona arrived.

Leo was lying on his stomach on the tattoo chair, barechested, with his thick arms crossed beneath his cheek. The tattoo machine buzzed as the needles dug into his skin. He would flinch every so often when I hit a tender spot but otherwise had remained almost perfectly still aside from subtle head movements when he spoke. We'd been talking tattoos and his ideas of how to get me set up in San Diego. His suggestion was to apprentice with Antonia, with his referral plainly etched in his skin after this afternoon. After enough time under her I'd be able to establish myself with my own client base.

He turned his head in the opposite direction when the familiar sound of her high-heeled footsteps began to echo through the large space of the warehouse. I looked up and my heart skipped a beat when I saw her round the partition into my corner. She was dressed in a pretty white dress that buttoned down the front, showing a generous amount of cleavage and tanned thigh where the buttons were left undone at the top and bottom. Her golden shoulders were bare and contrasted with the stark white of the short sleeves that covered her upper arms. I swallowed thickly, suddenly finding it difficult to focus on my work.

For some crazy reason it hadn't occurred to me that she'd be here, even though she was always here on weekday afternoons around this time to meet Leo. My brain had trouble parsing the idea of the two of them occupying the same space together, particularly with myself in the same room.

I stopped tattooing and gently wiped the excess ink from his back. I realized if I continued while she was there I was likely to make a mistake, and this particular tattoo had pretty high stakes so I wasn't keen on fucking it up. I glanced up at her and nodded in greeting.

She smiled warmly at me but her smile seemed to falter a bit. She looked as nervous as I felt. Or was it really guilt? I wasn't completely sure on either count considering I'd never been in this particular position before. She seemed to gather herself quickly before her eyes rested on Leo's face and she smiled. His face lit up even brighter at her presence than it had when he'd spoken of her in the diner earlier.

"Mi amor," he said in a gruff voice, lifting up onto his elbows and reaching for her with one arm.

"Hey, baby." She spoke affectionately and moved in close, letting him wrap one arm around her hips and bury his face in her belly. She slid her fingers through his hair, then bent to press a kiss on the top of his head. I heard him emit a deep rumble from his chest as he inhaled deeply. I knew exactly what that was like and didn't blame him in the least for his reaction.

Feeling a bit the third wheel, I rolled back from the tattoo chair and set my machine down on the side bench, giving them some space.

I pulled off my gloves to give my hands a few moments to breathe, then said, "Now's as good a time as any to take a break, I guess. You're moving too much to work on anyway." I picked up my sketchbook and opened it to a clean page.

Ramona's eyebrows shot up and she looked at me. After a second I realized what I'd said. I gave her an apologetic look and shrugged. She smiled back, the quirk of her lips giving birth again to that sweet little dimple that always undid me. Emboldened by the resulting jolt of lust, I smiled around my toothpick and winked at her.

Her jaw dropped and I thought she might burst out laughing for a second. She just rolled her eyes at my audacity and shook her head slightly. Her brow furrowed and her expression grew serious, almost fearful. I caught her meaning and it hit me only too clearly. What the fuck was I doing? Benny was probably right. I probably had a fucking death wish.

Leo finally tore his face away from her stomach and rolled over, sitting up and hanging his legs off the side of the chair. The tattoos that adorned his muscular arms rippled as he reached to pull her close again. It was like he couldn't stop touching her. My palms tingled in sympathy. She was very, very touchable, I'd give him that.

She bent and gave him a deep kiss on the mouth before pulling back. She glanced down at him, then at me. "So, can I see it yet? How much longer is it going to take?"

He turned to look at me and I thought his eyes looked a little glazed. Yeah, she was like a drug. La Venenosa. No doubt he knew it well enough already.

"Another hour and a half probably," I said. "You're welcome to stay and watch if you want." It seemed the polite thing to say, even though I wasn't sure I'd be able to adequately focus if she stayed in the room. I hoped she understood.

"Stay, babe," Leo murmured, turning back to her. His face was level with her breasts and he proceeded to trail kisses along the low neckline of her dress as if he didn't have an audience.

Christ if the man wasn't a complete imbecile around her. He was nothing like the hardened gang leader I saw before lunch. I was afraid he'd start undressing her right in front of me. Not that I minded seeing her naked, but it might be just a little awkward under present circumstances.

"I wish I could, but I'm a little tied up for the rest of the afternoon. I just wanted to stop by to see your progress." Her voice was deadpan but her mouth curled at one corner and I saw... oh god, that dimple. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, but it was enough to sufficiently stun me for a moment.

I heard a soft little tap and realized my toothpick had fallen from my lips and landed on the sketchbook in my lap. I figured she was getting me back for my slip-up earlier, but what the hell was she thinking?

I stuck the toothpick back between my lips and closed my eyes. I gritted my teeth, then raked my fingers through my hair and spun my chair away from them. I pretended to fiddle with my tattooing equipment, ostensibly to give them a moment of privacy, but really to regain my composure before Leo regained his sanity.

Now I understood what Benny meant. There was certainly a shitload of chemistry between those two. I glanced over my shoulder once in time to see him slip one hand between the gap in her skirt and slide it up her thigh. They were still kissing, but she pulled back and her eyes grew wide for a second before she gripped his wrist and pulled his hand out from beneath her skirt. I turned back around and studiously began reorganizing my supplies.

In an exaggerated whisper I heard her admonish him. "Leo! We're not exactly alone here."

I heard him grumble in disappointment, then he let out a deep sigh.

"Hey, Sam. I'll be back in a few minutes." Leo's voice sounded low and intense from behind me.

"Yeah, man. Take your time." Take all the time you need. I'll just be here trying not to imagine your girlfriend tied to the bed.

He returned a little while later and resumed his spot on the tattoo chair with a soft groan. He shifted his hips a few times before finally getting settled.

"That bad, huh?" I asked, trying my best to make casual, interested conversation.

In the time he'd been gone I'd gone through several states of paranoia and panic before it had finally subsided and I felt clear-headed enough to begin tattooing again. I took a deep breath, donned fresh gloves, and readied my machine to get back to work.

"That good... except she's making me wait. Wants a proper farewell, she says." He didn't sound thrilled.

I nodded in understanding and made my best effort at idle conversation again.

"You said you're gone most weekends, right? Why don't you take her with you?"

I was genuinely curious about that. I knew she wanted to go. He certainly seemed like he wanted her there, so what was the holdup?

"Papa's a hard ass. He's very protective of her, which pisses her off like you wouldn't believe. I've tried to talk to him about it but he won't budge where she's concerned. The strange thing is she used to be in the foulest mood right before we'd go, but today is different."

"Oh? How so?"

"Not sure. She just says she understands if she's going to run things someday she needs to learn her priorities and not bitch and whine when she has to do a job she doesn't like. And that the LA work is starting to grow on her. Still... I hate being away from her for so long at a stretch."

"Understandable. Seems like a girl like her you'd want to keep close." Shut up, Sam.

"Like her?" he chuckled. "I don't know what you've heard about her, but none of the rumors are true."

I was pretty sure I knew what he was referring to, but I asked anyway.

"What rumors?"

"The ones about those chiflados she supposedly hooked up with before she and I were a thing. Sure she had a little fun, probably led them on more than anything, but she's never really been one of those girls. She's more innocent than she seems, you know. Her father never had anyone killed over messing around with her because she never did."

I was used to having conversations like this with my clients, but this was the first time I felt invested in the subject. It made me a little uncomfortable even though I was asking obvious questions.

"I think I remember hearing they got shot." It was a struggle to keep my voice level when all I was thinking was how much I hoped her father had had nothing to do with it. I was grateful for the distraction of the tattoo needles before my eyes and the intricate design I was inking on him. The focus it required actually helped keep me calm and suppressed the conflicting emotions that were raging through me at the moment.

Everyone had heard vague stories of the two guys she'd been seeing. The shootings had happened a few months apart, by my recollection, but gang shootings never had enough corroborating evidence to nail whoever had done it. At least there hadn't been any witnesses. Since the general consensus was that Papa Flores had done it to protect his daughter, the LAPD had conveniently dropped the investigations. That had been Emilio's story anyway, based on what he'd heard from his dad's close friends on the force who Emilio was still in contact with.

Leo grew quiet, staring off into the distance. The buzz of the machine laying black ink into his skin was the only sound in the room for several seconds.

I saw his eyebrows twitch and his muscles seemed to relax beneath my hands. I'd seen that reaction before, just before whoever was beneath the needle began to open up. It was one of the strangest things I'd learned about this job. People liked to talk while they were laying there under the needle, and I'd learned that keeping them talking tended to keep their minds off the pain. Everyone wanted to feel like an expert, so I would ask questions about subjects I knew they were more familiar with than I was. As a result I'd learned probably a lot more than was strictly acceptable since I'd been there, but I was working under a sort of tattooist's confidentiality code, even though I wasn't sure an official one actually existed. It just seemed to make sense to keep my mouth shut about the things I heard.

Leo was apparently comfortable enough with me after our long conversations this afternoon to open up even more. I expected just another story but was unprepared for the confession that spilled from his lips. He took a deep breath and began telling the story, speaking in a low tone.

"Oh, they got shot, but... That was after she'd been with me. We were still keeping things quiet... we didn't want to flaunt it in front of Papa until we knew we had his approval, so not many people knew about us. Then those two started coming around again. Not at the same time, but not far apart. They were fools to do what they did – harassing her, calling her names, threatening her. She wouldn't go to Papa about it because she didn't want to run to him with all her problems. She wanted to appear stronger than that. But she tells me everything."

There was a long pause and I continued inking in his tattoo. He was probably one of the best clients I'd had yet, rarely flinching, even by reflex when I hit certain nerves I knew should cause at least a small spasm.

I was almost sure he'd finished talking when he finally said in a low, quiet voice, "It wasn't Papa who took care of them. It was me. She still doesn't know."

He shifted his head slightly to glance up at me. I nodded, catching his meaning. It's not something I'd ever talk to her about anyway, but the revelation made me sit back for a second to think.

Of course it had to be Leo, but not because they were screwing her. Because they were threatening her. Which was a perfect reason for them to get what was coming in my opinion. And the suggestion that he'd probably been her first, or damn close to it... that was still something I wasn't prepared to contemplate. It just made me feel like I was in much, much further over my head than I could even imagine.

"Why the hell would they threaten her. Sounds like a poor decision on their part. I mean... she's the fucking boss's daughter. You don't threaten the boss's daughter, not considering who the boss is."

He snorted. "They weren't exactly smart. But she'd been close to them each early on, probably teased them mercilessly, knowing her. I guess they didn't know how to take 'no' for an answer. She was genuinely scared. Especially knowing what happened to her mother."

"I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same thing if I were you. I'd like to think if I had feelings that strong for a woman I'd do anything to keep her safe." I knew I meant it. I was beginning to feel that way for Ramona. The idea of anyone threatening her had caused a surge of anger to rise in me unexpectedly. It dissipated as Leo had continued speaking and I understood how devoted he was to protecting her.

I couldn't say why, but his confession somehow eased my mind about him. For some reason I'd only been able to picture my dad's reaction to finding out about Mom's affair. Leo would never hurt her, even if he did find out about us. If I had my way, that would never happen and I knew Ramona felt the same. But even after that little revelation, the knowledge of what we were doing still ate at me.

I finished his tattoo in the early evening. He paid me an exorbitant amount for my work and we parted with a friendly handshake and his promise that he'd visit Antonia and show her my work over the weekend.

I turned down his offer of a ride home, telling him he should get back to Ramona, let her give him that proper farewell. I'd rather be alone to think, in any case. Unfortunately as much as I tried to come to a decision about whether to keep seeing her or not, I couldn't keep the image of her from that afternoon out of my head.

On the train ride home I leaned my head back and closed my eyes and imagined that I'd been the one sitting there in front of her trailing kisses along the tops of her breasts, my fingertips brushing the inside of her thigh, making her flush with anticipation. Of course in my head she wouldn't stop me. She'd urge me on. I could feel her chest swell with steady, panting breaths as my fingertips moved higher.

The call for my stop jolted me out of the fantasy and I cursed softly to myself. I rubbed my face briskly with both hands and beelined for the door, jogging the few blocks home. My footsteps carried me across the broken sidewalk and past rows of run-down, pre-fab apartment buildings that were nearly identical except for the colorful gang tags that graced their outer walls.

When I got back to my building and made it into the apartment it was dark except for the waning light of the sunset creeping through the windows, casting long shadows across the dining room table and into the kitchen. Celie was probably still at the Vegas' where she'd been spending more time in the afternoons when I wasn't around.

I stalked into my room and shut the door, dumping my gear in a pile on the floor, then sat heavily on the foot of my narrow bed. I kicked off my shoes and lay back with a groan and a loud curse of frustration.

What the hell was I going to do? I tried to work through the conversation in my mind that I'd have with her, but none of it made any sense once I put the words together. All it boiled down to was "Leo's a nice guy, we shouldn't be doing this to him." Or "If he finds out I'm a fucking dead man." I just wasn't ready to end it so soon. Not after just one steamy weekend. I knew only two things: She'd be calling me tomorrow, and I couldn't not see her. Goddamn if she wasn't a hard woman to say no to. I resolved that I would give it my best shot at least. But as reckless as I knew it was I didn't think I could do it without spending one more night with her.

My mind wandered again to her smooth, tanned skin, luscious and golden against the white dress she'd had on earlier. This time I let the images stay. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, beginning to feel the slight buzzing sensation of arousal that began in my skull and tripped down my spine, finally settling as a low, steady throb in my groin.

I could almost feel her flesh beneath my lips and tongue, her skin salty from dried sweat. I knew how soft the tops of her breasts were, how smooth that stretch of her inner thigh was, and I knew exactly what she never wore beneath her skirts.

I sat up and yanked my shirt off over my head, then dropped my pants to the floor around my ankles, leaving only my shorts. I slipped them down just far enough that I was exposed, then lay back down and let my hand find the familiar steady rhythm while my mind did the rest of the work.

I imagined her there, standing in front of me in my little corner of the warehouse. I was seated on the tattoo chair where Leo had been earlier, but it was my face buried in her breasts and my fingertips making their way between her thighs.

The buttons at the top of her dress somehow came undone and her breasts spilled out, her nipples daring me to suck them. I could almost feel their soft texture against my tongue as I did exactly that. She moaned in ecstasy when my fingers slipped deep inside her and she begged breathlessly for me to fuck her. Then she climbed on my lap and wrapped her legs around me and I felt myself slip so deep inside her I couldn't think straight.

I heard my own panting and soft grunting as the scene flashed through my mind. Within minutes it became a sudden jumble of images and sensations as the pressure built under my hand.

My voice erupted in a harsh moan when my dick pulsed and I came hard. My back arched involuntarily as the violent spasms took hold, my entire body tensing with the release.

"Oh, fuck." I gasped out the exclamation in relief and lay still and panting for several seconds.

I pulled my shorts off and used them to wipe up with, then tossed them in the overflowing hamper. The dim thought that I'd have to find some time this weekend to take care of the laundry crossed my mind before I slipped under my covers.

The sun finally slipped behind the horizon, leaving me in darkness.