Page 6 of Wicked Takeover
Female interest flashed in her eyes, her financial worries forgotten for the moment. Dante couldn’t have been happier. He wanted Lauren to feel at home here, not only because he and Frank had been close but because she seemed so alone.
She didn’t wear a wedding ring. He suspected she wasn’t dating anyone special, either, given how she blushed at his attention. The way a woman would who wasn’t used to that from a man. At least one who worked in a tattoo parlor. “Before you go over the books, you probably should meet the staff. So they understand why you’re here and what you’re doing.”
Lauren glanced at the front door. “The young woman who left a few minutes ago, she works here?”
“If you’re talking about Jasmina, then yeah. Started here eight months ago. She answers the phone, books appointments, takes payments, runs out and gets our lunches, stuff like that. She’s picking up takeout now.”
“She’s gorgeous. Is she the girl in the mural on the front door?”
Dante smiled. “The same. You like it?”
“Oh yeah. Did my—” Lauren’s easy demeanor switched off, replaced by a guarded business air. “Did Frank do it, or is that your work?”
When she’d said Frank’s name, sadness rang in her voice. Dante pretended not to notice. “Neither of us. Your dad could ink simple designs, same as me. Van Gogh’s our resident artist.”
She looked confused. “Seriously? That’s his—or her—real name?”
“His.” Dante lowered his voice. “At least that’s the name he goes by. Trained to be a painter like his namesake. Couldn’t sell enough of his stuff to pay rent and eat, so he’s inking here until he gets his break. By the way, if you call him Cory, he’ll cry.”
Lauren laughed softly. “Yeah, sure.”
“See for yourself.” Dante cupped his hands to his mouth and let loose. “Hey, Van Gogh. Can you come up front? Someone wants to see your best work.”
Squeaking noises, the kind a chair makes, sounded from the back. “In the binders or on me?” He shouted as Dante had.
“On you.”
Lauren leaned in. “What’s he talking about?”
“You’ll see. Don’t close your eyes.”
She looked at the photo of the guy who’d gotten his nuts and cock inked.
“Don’t worry.” Dante rocked on his heels. “Van Gogh will be decent. For the most part.”
Reluctantly, she faced the hall and waited.
Van Gogh shuffled down it, naked to the waist. He was a scrawny kid who’d just turned twenty-two, had shaved his head, and wore a scraggly goatee.
Dante suspected Lauren didn’t notice Van Gogh’s facial hair or bald noggin.
She gaped at his tats.
Van Gogh’s narrow chest looked as if he’d ripped the skin away to show his heart, ribs, and guts beneath. Gunshot wound designs decorated his arms. Bright red blood seemed to seep from the holes. The art in glorious 3-D, amazingly realistic.
Lauren made a pained sound. “Oh my God.”
Van Gogh exchanged a glance with Dante. “She gonna be okay?”
“I’m fine.” She touched the ribs and heart etched on his chest, then dropped her hand quickly. “You actually tattooed yourself? Using both hands?”
“I’m ambidextrous. As long as I have a mirror, I’m good.”
“I’d say better than good.” She made a face at the tats on his arms. “What you’ve done is freaking amazing. It’s so gory and real.”
“Oh yeah?” Van Gogh looked almost pleased. “Thanks. You want something like this on you?”
Lauren stepped back. “Absolutely not.”
