New York City present-day

"Thanks," Ivy said taking the coffee from Lax. While she finished with her client, he had gone out on a caffeine run, figuring she could use the energy to work on his cover up tattoo.

"Cappuccino. With nutmeg."

"You remembered." She felt the warmth of the beverage through its white paper cup as she held it in both hands. She stared at the green logo of the coffee shop on its side so as not to get caught up in Lax's eyes. She didn't linger on the sweetness of his gesture.

"You have any idea of what you want for the cover up?"

He tilted his head. "You choose. You're the expert."

She gestured to his shirt with a nod of her head. Lax placed his Starbucks cup on the table next to her reference books and candles. He unbuttoned his shirt and after removing it he held it in his hand. She sipped her coffee studying the swastika she'd inked on his chest over two years before. Lax's stomach tightened as she enveloped him in her deep, languid gaze. He felt her eyes as powerfully as her fingers when she approached and gently ran the tips over the black symbol of hate. He immediately felt her familiar ethereal presence, the one that drew him to her the first time he'd seen her down in Georgia. His hand moved as if on its own when he cupped her chin in his palm and raised her gaze to his own. She grasped his wrist and pulled her face away. "Don't."

"Ivy. I've missed you."

"I…please Vic." She caught herself. "Lax." Her voice was calm and steady. "You left a shitstorm behind, you know. You ruined us."

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Georgia: 2 years earlier

Ivy had been back in Surville for two months and it already felt like she'd never left. Time stood still in the small divided town where she was born. The main street had its charm, mom and pop shops and an old RC Cola sign from the sixties still hung over the general store across from a grassy square with a Gazebo and benches. The picturesque southern charm and tolerance. Across the bridge was the run down sprawl of tar paper shacks, neglected farmhouses side by side with a trailer park and just beyond that, a small warehouse district teeming with hate and prejudice.

"Daddy? Daddy you home? I got your Moxie." Ivy called out pulling the screen door shut behind her with her foot. She brought two paper bags full of groceries into the kitchen of her childhood home through the back door. The kitchen was large and sunny. She passed the vintage red marbled Formica-topped table where she had done hours of homework growing up. The entire house was overrun with memories. It had been such an easy decision to leave. Now she struggled with feeling like a failure. Like she'd gone backward.

She instinctively made a sour face when she took the six-pack of soda from the bag and placed it on the counter. Nasty tasting stuff but her father practically lived on it. Daddy needed her home now after his second heart attack. Aunt Jo had to go back to Tennessee so Ivy took a leave from her studies at the Pratt Inst in NYC to help her dad out. He was semi-retired sociology and literature professor at the local university. Ivy's mother died during her birth so it had always been just the two of them; now she was twenty-eight years old and it was that way again. After putting away the rest of the groceries, she headed down the hallway to her father's study.

"Did you eat lunch? I can fix you something."

"No, no I'm fine." Her father was at his desk focused on grading papers.

"I'm heading to work soon. But there is dinner to heat up later when you're ready."

He looked up and adjusted his wire-framed glasses. "Thanks, Ivy you're taking too good care of me."

"You're welcome daddy." Ivy leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

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Shortly after moving back home she began working at Oliver Colby's tattoo shop on Surville's town line. She'd hung out there as a teenager and apprenticed with Oliver before she decided to go to art school. Now that she was home he was happy to have her working in the shop. He'd been like another dad to her in many ways. When she was a rebellious teen, he gave her the direction she needed with drawing and tattooing. Oliver's shop had started out like many other roadside parlors mostly frequented by bikers and drunken mistakes but over the years as tattoos became more mainstream, his clientele had expanded as had his artists. The aging tattooist who always had a toothpick between his teeth and critique on his tongue was a tough but fair teacher. Ivy knew she'd never have been able to turn her raw talent into such an art without him. Oliver hadn't changed over the years and Ivy was glad for that. One thing that had changed in Surville, however, was the size and strength of Sean Gall's Aryan Brotherhood. He'd started the group out of his house when Ivy was a kid. One of the most well-known white supremacists in Georgia, Gall was also chicken hawk who preyed on sad, lonely, poverty-stricken young people in order to build his white-power army. He was on the opposite end of the spectrum from a guy like Oliver. Oliver wanted to help the local kids while Gall wanted to use them. There was a lot of talk of Hitler and the race war, but mostly what Gall and his ragtag kids did was a lot of ranting on street corners and getting drunk at backyard barbecues. Ivy watched many of the kids she grew up with were drawn into the big, bad Ku Klux Klan. Like Doug and JC. She'd known them since grade school. In fact, JC had given her a Valentine when they were in the second grade. She always remembered what a sweet kid he had been until his father died when they were in junior high. That's when he started going around Gall's place and talking about white power bullshit. Doug was always a psycho. They'd been basically just a racist version of Fagin and his scofflaw boys. However in the years since she'd left for art school in New York, Gall had written and published own manifesto and occupied a warehouse dedicated to offices, living space and a meeting hall for the ever-growing organization. It appeared Gall was getting serious. He and Ivy's father had always been at odds and had frequent run-ins. Professor Harlan Pierce was a man of integrity and never missed an opportunity to speak out. Gall considered Professor Pierce, an enemy. The brotherhood had threatened to burn down the Pierce's house more times than Ivy could count. The town was divided. Half he folks actually sided with Gall on the race issue while other half including Ivy and her dad were deathly against it. But the two sides had lived together for as long as Ivy could remember. Strange bedfellows indeed.

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Ivy had just finished her last client of the day and was placing her needles in the autoclave when she heard a commotion in the lobby. She headed out and saw her co-worker Jesse looking bent out of shape. He was arguing with that new guy she'd seen hanging with JC and Sean's boys.

"What's up?" She asked casually walking behind the counter beside Jesse.

"This guy wants a fucking swastika tattoo and I told him we don't serve scumbag racists, so he says he's gonna kick my head in."

"I'll do the tattoo," Ivy said staring at the new guy as Jesse scowled at her. "You got the money?" she asked.

He stood arms across his chest thumbs hooked under his armpits and nodded. "Yeah, I have money. I heard this was the place to come."

Ivy was surprised that he was soft spoken and articulate. He was obviously a northerner with no trace of a drawl. Sean's boys were all backwoods boneheads. Who was this guy? She nodded back at him.

"Ollie doesn't like it Ivy, doesn't want these guys in here."

"Well, Ollie's gone for the day isn't he? And who'd tell him, you?" She knew Jesse wouldn't rat her out. "They're just fucking symbols. Just cause I tattoo them doesn't mean I believe in what they stand for. Besides, its money dude."

Jesse shook his head. "That's so hypocritical Ivy. I don't get how you can think that way."

"I know you don't." She motioned for the guy to follow her back to her room. Lax was struck by her steady gaze and decisive, calm manner.

Ivy felt the new guy walking behind her, his eyes on her back. The hairs on her neck stood up. She told herself to relax and stop imagining things. When she turned around her eyes met his and she thought he could read her mind, see through her. He sat on her tattoo chair and watched her open her laptop on the small counter top among small plastic bottles of ink.

"That your cat?" He asked noticing her screen saver.

"Yeah, Dinah. You like cats?"

"Sure, who doesn't like cats."

Neo-Nazi racist shitheads usually. Ivy thought, but just nodded. This guy was different.

"A swastika huh?" She asked pulling up images on the screen. "Go big or go home. I'll just print one out and trace it. Where you putting it?"

He pulled his black sleeveless T-shirt up off over his head and pointed to the left side of his chest. Ivy was a professional, she tattooed men all the time on various parts of their bodies, but something about him made her stare a little longer than usual. She couldn't take her eyes off of his solid shoulders and muscular arms. He wasn't the body builder type, but he obviously did some working out with weights. A lot of the knuckleheads did.

"Be right back." She finally pulled her glance away from his chest. "Meantime, shave it for me." She handed Lax a disposable razor so he could make sure the area was free of hair that would interfere with the needle.

He nodded as she headed to the copier in the hallway. After running the razor over his left pec a few times, he lay back on the tattoo chair and crossed his arms behind his head. Her room was small. Just the chair and a stool beside it, a bench with drawers for ink and tattoo machines. His black Docs looked huge propped up on the chair's footrest. Lax found her energy comforting. Maybe it was just a relief to get away from Gall's guys but something about her made him feel at ease. She was down to earth and unpretentious in low-slung faded blue jeans and a simple, fitting gray tank top with a black bra peeking out underneath. Her nondescript clothing didn't clash with or take away from the many elaborate colorful tattoos that sleeved her arms. He felt her enter the room.

Ivy observed his relaxed form before going over to the sliding drawers for her equipment. She swiveled her chair toward him and pulled on her black latex gloves. Lax noticed she kept taking tiny glances at him like she couldn't resist. Too fucking cute. He saw her flick her eyes across his tattooed arm and then she half-turned to glance at his crotch before blushing pink on her fair cheeks. She knocked her hand noisily on the container she was trying to open. At that moment, "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" by the Dead Kennedy's came blasting out of the shops sound system. "Jesse has strong beliefs," Ivy explained.

"Yeah, that Vegan tattoo across his neck told me." Lax answered.

She smiled and he realized how pretty she was. Not much makeup, natural looking. Her skin was fair with a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her dark shiny, side swept bangs kept falling over one of her large, deep espresso colored eyes.

"So really, don't you feel like a hypocrite?" He asked. "Doing this."

"No." She answered firmly.

"You're tattooing a Nazi symbol on me and I take it you don't share the beliefs."

"I tattoo Jesus and Mary and Buddha and all kinds of religious icons and symbols on people every day and I don't believe in any of that. It's just art. It's all symbols. Besides the swastika was taken by Hitler and corrupted in 1932. The word swastika comes from the Sanskrit word that literally means "it is good." It is a common practice for Hindus to draw swastika symbols on the doors and entrances to their houses during festivals as an invitation to goddess Lakshmi. It was also a symbol of good luck in some western cultures. All before Hitler got his hands on it. "

Lax shrugged. "Thanks for the history lesson, but the majority of the world still sees it as a symbol of white superiority. No one thinks about that original meaning. Hell, I don't."

"I don't think of it having that power. I don't hold much stock in any of the symbolic bullshit. It's what's inside. The belief and hatred are inside a person not in a symbol they hide behind. So no it doesn't bother me and I'm not a hypocrite."

"Just seems like it ought to be more complicated for you. I do have those beliefs, symbol or not. You are helping me to represent them. "

"Look, I am selling you a product okay? This tattoo, what you choose to do with it is up to you. Once it's on you and you've paid it's out of my hands. Gun manufacturers make pistols. The person who buys it chooses to kill someone, not the maker of the gun."

"You're simplifying it." Lax sighed. He loved a good argument.

"You know most of the Aryans around here can't put a sentence together worth a damn and you're wanting to debate me about racist symbols while having me tattoo one on you?"

"Yeah."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Vic Bishop. I'm from New York. Went to law school, but dropped out to come down here and meet Sean Gall." He paused. "You?"

"I'm Ivy Pierce. I lived in New York for a while myself. Went to Pratt Institute of Art. Had to come home though, to take care of my dad."

"Art school girl huh?" Lax commented slowly with a small smile. "JC told me to come here ask for you." He had one of those raspy panty dropping voices that made Ivy's head fuzzy.

She cleared her mind and quickly responded "JC…that guy's a pain in my ass, all right, known him since kindergarten. All those guys. This is a small town Vic. There are two sides."

"What you're saying is we are on opposite sides. You and me."

"Yeah." She needed to keep reminding herself of that fact. "You ready for this?"

He nodded. "As I'll ever be.'

She leaned in to apply the stencil. Her eyes were so open and inviting as he stared up at them. When she placed her gloved fingers on his smooth, warm skin, she flicked her gaze back down at his chest. Electricity ran through Ivy as she placed the stencil over his left pec. She pressed with gentle firmness and ran her palms over the thin sheet to insure the imprint. He felt a tingling in his spine and a sudden rush of blood to his cock. She seemed almost loving as she stroked her fingers across his skin and stared down, absorbed in the purple stencil of the tattoo on his firm pectoral muscle. He could feel the thrill despite her gloves as warmth spread from her fingers through his body. Lax had been tattooed many times in the past by women and had never been aroused like this. He had it bad for this girl and didn't even know her. He had to get back in character. He felt Lax taking over and that was dangerous. Then he thought of Isa and a pang of guilt stabbed his chest. It was over; he ended it before he came to Georgia. No reason for guilt. He wasn't with anyone. Vic was single, he rationalized.

"Just relax," Ivy said leaning over him, "I'm going to try to make this as comfortable for you as possible." Was that a shudder of desire through his body? She held up a mirror for him to check the placement. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah looks great." Ivy kicked off her boots and socks. She settled down on the stool at the left side of his chest and leaned over to rest her elbow across his collarbone. He could feel her body trembling. The hitch in her breath became more obvious the closer she leaned in or maybe he was making her nervous? Her arm was warm against him. He felt like his body was filling with heat, spreading from the places she touched. He cock started twitching. Right now he could just grab her face and kiss her, she was that close. Vic could have his way with her right here in this tiny room. Vic probably would...the thought invaded Lax's mind.

Ivy was completely absorbed in his body. She felt like she was floating in the eye of a tornado. Once she began the outline, Lax focused on the stinging pain and sharp buzzing sound of her machine as she worked, her bare foot giving the pedal just enough pressure. Her breathing was slow and steady, her eyes were focused in deep concentration. It was so hot to feel worshiped like this, it had his belly coiling and spine-tingling. He could feel sweat forming on his back where it touched the vinyl of the chair. Each time she stopped to wipe down the tattoo with alcohol to measure the progression, he noticed her hands tremble as she ran them over his skin proving she wasn't as cool and professional as she acted. Every brush of her fingers was going straight to his cock. Lax smelled peppermint on her breath every time she exhaled and the scent of jasmine mixed with the patent odor of being tattooed: a/d ointment, rubbing alcohol, metallic blood mixed with ink and hot tender flesh being marked. Ivy's face was intent as she worked. Something about being that close to her and having her so focused on him with that constant pain pushing his endorphins' continued to turn him on. The pain of the needle increased his arousal. He knew the brain's response to pain is similar to sexual arousal and that it's very common to feel this way. It's the adrenaline. However, this had never happened to him during a tattoo before. He could feel her breath against his neck as she leaned over his chest to reach an outer section of the tattoo.

"So you're really one of them, Sean's guys? Really?" She asked, breaking the hypnotic silence that had enveloped them around the buzzing needle. Both seemed relieved at the break in the sexual tension.

"You mean, I'm a racist homophobe hanging with a bunch of guys waiting outside to lynch somebody? That's what you think?" Lax responded channeling Vic. He couldn't let his girl shake him. It didn't matter who he was dealing with if any off the brotherhood had even an inkling he wasn't who he said he was, he'd be dead.

"Well, yeah. The only guys around here who want the ink you do are with Brotherhood. I saw you with them yesterday. Moose, JC, and Doug. It's just you seem …different."

"How so?" He squinted at her.

Ivy went on "I grew up here. I know most of these guys. Doug and JC went to grade school with me. When they got involved with Sean Gall they changed and all they do is spout off racist idealist bullshit. And I know what they do, what you do." She had sounded ominous before she paused. "You, just don't seem the type. You look the type but...I don't know, you just…seem too smart. And I haven't heard you say the N word once. With those guys, it's every other word."

Lax felt himself panic for a minute. He was losing it, he needed to go full on Vic. "Just because I'm from NY and went to college you think I can't be proud of my race? I'm down here to be on the front lines. There's a war about to start. I came to fight to beside Gall."

"I just think you…maybe you're new, don't know what you're getting into? "

"Damn it Ivy. It's Ivy, right? Don't you care about your country? What's happening? When you take a German Shepherd and mix him with a Golden Retriever, you have a worthless animal that nobody wants and that isn't worth anything if you're trying to breed him or sell him. These degenerates that allow their children to race mix and that sort of thing, they're destroying our bloodline. They are taking what's ours."

"Hold it right there. Look, I'm doing your tattoo it doesn't mean I want to hear your fucked up beliefs. That's what they are you know."

"You're the one that's fucked up if you're not upset by that."

"Seriously? You really…" she shook her head. She was wrong about him. "That's backward, ignorant thinking..."

"Fuck what you think. Finish the damn tattoo." He growled waving his arm for emphasis. "You are a hypocrite doing this. And saying it's for the money makes you a whore too."

"True colors, huh? Tattoos' done." Ivy lifted the needle and the buzzing ceased. She stood.

"You only finished the outline."

"Well, thanks to you setting me straight, I suddenly developed a conscience. And keep your damn money. I'm an artist, not a whore. Got that? An artist. " She turned her back and began cleaning up her work area. Again she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She knew his eyes were boring into her.

Lax couldn't help the small smile forming on his lips. He had retained his character and he liked seeing her feisty.

"I have to clean you up." She glanced over his body as he stood. It was only then he realized he'd totally rocked up. He glanced down at his crotch and saw his cock was clearly outlined in his tight jeans, bulging to the left and pushing against the fabric so it molded to the shape. She was staring and quickly moved her eyes to his fresh tattoo. She wiped it down and applied A and D ointment then put a temporary bandage over the swastika.

"Do I have to go over aftercare with you?" Her voice was impatient.

"No." He answered pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"Know what? I take it back. You're just like them. Vic."

"Told you. Like you said, we are on opposite sides."

"Best we don't forget that."

Lax nodded and turned to leave. She was absolutely right and there was no way in hell he was getting involved with a woman during this. He chalked the whole arousal tattoo experience up to the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in months. That's all it was, over stimulation. He needed his head on straight. Lax would steer clear of Ivy. But what about Vic? He rubbed his eyes and grunted, feeling like he had split personalities. This was life or death.

When he left, Ivy felt ashamed, something she rarely allowed her self to experience. Maybe she had been a hypocrite all this time and it took a racist asshole to point it out. She also felt foolish to have been wrong about him and confused at getting aroused. She noticed her panties were damp. "Shit. " She muttered. It had been way too long since she'd had sex, but still, she never felt that way when she tattooed a guy.

"He's an ass and he's one of them." She said aloud as she headed out front. "See you tomorrow Jesse." She tossed her bag over her shoulder heading to the door.

"Wait that guy left this for you. Said to make sure you got it." He handed her one hundred dollars in twenties. "Racist shit for brains but a big tipper huh? Maybe he'll be back?"

"Doubt it." She said seriously, folding the bills into her pocket. She had no intention of keeping his money after his whore remark.