Ink wars, p.1
Ink Wars, page 1
Ink Wars
Heather Dahlgren
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Heather Dahlgren
Heather Dahlgren
Copyright © 2023 Heather Dahlgren
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
Corbin
* * *
“Corbin, final tattoo here. You ready?” J.R. asks.
Getting my apprenticeship with J.R. Watson has been one of the most thrilling and humbling things that has happened in my career of becoming a tattoo artist. He’s one of the most talented, versatile, and popular artists there is.
He’s not easy to work with. He pushes you to your breaking point and then pushes even more. Everything he has taught me, from building a tattoo machine to keeping a sterile environment to working with the most demanding clients, will stay with me.
Today is my last day here. I will be licensed to tattoo on my own after I pass the state requirements and after working with J.R. that won’t be a problem.
It’s been an honor to work with him, learn from him, to grow as an artist because of him. Leaving this shop and his experienced voice shouting at me will be something I miss.
“J.R. it’s stunning. Thank you so much.”
I turn toward the voice that I will not miss.
Leah Collymore.
J.R.’s other apprentice and a colorful thorn in my side.
She’s not without talent but her need to be the center of attention, an overachiever, and always number one is infuriating.
When I got this apprenticeship, I had to prove my worth. I had to show my skill, my art, and my versatility. But Leah — no she just came in with her tits hanging out and got it.
Nothing has changed.
Her tits are always on full display and every damn guy that works here or comes in for a tattoo wants her attention. She loves every minute of it. Her loud laughter, endless flirting, and overconfidence take over this damn shop. J.R. eats it up and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s fucking her. But he’s completely devoted to his wife, who loves Leah just as much.
Today is her last day too and while I continue to sterilize the rooms, Princess Leah is getting showered with gifts and goodbye hugs that last much too long.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a guy and I’m not fucking blind. She’s gorgeous. A real-life pinup model. Her black hair is always up, perfectly styled with a bandana headband to match her outfit. Her brown eyes are always shining huge with dark, long lashes and even darker makeup. Those plump lips are always painted bright red or pink. And then there are the colorful tattoos she has dancing down her left arm. A complete bright, colorful sleeve. And that damn Swallow bird she has on her right clavicle. It’s all fucking alluring and sexy as hell.
She’s a walking wet dream and she knows it. The way she shakes her ass and bites her lip, batting her eyes. It’s distracting and unprofessional.
But she should enjoy her last day here with the attention and gifts and long touches because tomorrow real life begins.
And princesses don’t thrive out of their kingdom.
Leah
* * *
“Damn girl, this is the best tattoo I’ve ever gotten,” Daniel, my client says, looking in the mirror.
A brilliantly colorful Phoenix spanning shoulder to shoulder on his back. It came out exactly how I wanted and I’m very proud.
“Thanks, Daniel. You’re my last client here,” I say, cleaning up.
He turns around and looks at me with wide eyes. “Don’t say that shit. Where the hell are you going?”
I smile as I get up to grab the ointment and rub it on the fresh tattoo. “I’m working on trying to open my own shop, but until then, I’ll be working with a few friends around the city.”
As I pull off my gloves, he grabs a piece of my sketch pad paper and a pencil. “I’m leaving you my number. When you get your shop up and running, text me. I’ll be waiting for my next tattoo.”
Pride fills me as he hands me his number. It’s not like being out and a guy is giving you his number. This is totally different. This is because he loves my work so much that he only wants me to tattoo him now. It’s a high. A feeling unlike any other.
I’ve busted my ass to get where I am.
Being a woman among all these hard-headed, horny, cocky men is not easy. I’ve had to work harder, prove more, and fight longer.
J.R. Watson is the first artist who took me seriously. It wasn’t easy but after weeks of turning up, showing him my artwork, my ability, and my determination, he gave me a shot. One neither of us regrets. I’ve learned so much from him and I think I even taught him a thing or two about realizing a woman is every bit as talented, if not more so than a man.
J.R. has truly shaped me to be able to handle this industry. He taught me simple things like sanitation right down to working with people who don’t want you around.
Corbin Stoll would be that person.
This asshole thinks he’s better than everyone else. He doesn’t believe there’s room for improvement because he’s fucking perfect.
I tried to be friendly with him when I first came in, which was two days after him, but he wanted no part of it. He thinks I’m fucking my way to success, and I stopped caring a long time ago. He can think what he wants because, after today, I’ll never need to see or work with him again.
If only his attitude was as much a turn-on as his body, I might miss him.
He’s hot. I mean insanely fucking hot. The kind of hot that you don’t think could possibly be real. Like it’s touched up or edited for a magazine. But it’s not. He’s really that hot.
His short brown hair, shorter on the sides than the top, is always perfectly styled. His bright green eyes are the ultimate contrast to his dark hair. Granted they are always filled with rage when he looks at me but it kinda adds to the appeal.
His body, holy hell. This is what I mean when I say you don’t think it could exist in real life. His muscular arms are covered in black and gray tattoos, making his muscles stand out when he flexes. His chest and back are solid and since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing him shirtless, I can say that I needed to sit on my hands to keep from tracing that impressive V that leads down his low-hanging jeans.
“You’ll text, right?” Daniel says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I smile as I nod. “I promise.”
“What’s up with Corbin? He’s been staring in here since his client left. You guys a thing or something?” he says, slipping his shirt on.
I laugh as I walk toward the door. “Hell no.”
Corbin’s judgmental, condescending, angry eyes collide with mine. I smile and give a small wave. He hates that. Hates when I don’t let him get to me.
It just makes me enjoy it even more.
He thinks he’s going to walk out of here and own this industry.
I toss him a wink before turning my back on him.
Too bad for him, he needs to get around me.
Chapter 1
Leah
* * *
“Leah, you’re still sleeping?”
I pull the covers over my head and squeeze my eyes tight. “Get out of my room, Fay.”
“Oh, come on. I wanna go shopping,” she says, pulling on my comforter.
I push it off my head and lean on my elbows staring at her. My hair is definitely a wild mess and my tank top strap is hanging off one shoulder.
I narrow my eyes at her as she smiles back at me. “I didn’t get home until late because I had a huge piece to finish that took longer than I thought. I’m exhausted and you come in here without a fucking coffee.”
She laughs and I smile at her carefree personality.
Fay is one of my best friends. We’ve known each other since elementary school. I was the new kid, and she was the only girl who was nice to me. She saved me a seat next to her at lunch and when I asked why, she said that she likes making people happy.
It’s still the same. She goes out of her way to make sure everyone around her is happy. Even if it costs her, her happiness. I’ve told her a million times that she shouldn’t put everyone else’s happiness above her own, but she just ignores me.
She’s a receptionist for a lawyer and while I work late nights, she’s done at five every day. It’s hard getting our schedules to match up.
Except for Sundays.
This is the only day that we have together, with our other best friend, Arya.
“Coffee is bre
I shake my head and climb out of bed. “It better be strong.”
“It is,” she sings, walking out of my room.
I grab my robe off the back of the door and groan when I see my reflection in the mirror. It looks like I was out drinking and fucking all night but that rarely happens anymore. I’m too busy running my tattoo shop. The hours are long, and the clientele list is even longer.
The success I’ve achieved in the last two years far exceeds my expectations. I’ve become one of the most sought-after artists and not just in New York, but in the country.
It’s mind-blowing and humbling. All the hard work I’ve put into this career has been so worth it. Even after two years of walking out of J.R. Watson’s shop, I still run into Corbin Stoll. That asshole has his shop around the corner from mine.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it on purpose. I was furious when I realized we were so close and even more livid when he started gaining success. He’s a douche and I’m surprised that he’s become as popular as he has. Not because he isn’t talented, but because his attitude fucking sucks.
“Leah,” Fay shouts from the kitchen.
I snap out of my thoughts and pad out toward her.
This apartment we rent is small. It’s New York, so not only is it small, it’s expensive. It only has three tiny bedrooms and one bathroom. There are three women in this place and one bathroom. It’s awful.
It might be small, but it’s cool, modern, and edgy. The walls have exposed brick from the old building. The floors are dark hardwood that carries throughout the entire apartment. There’s exposed ductwork and huge windows that give us a view that so many only wish for. The kitchen has black cabinets and gray cement countertops. It’s very industrial and I love it.
It’s the complete opposite of my shop which is bright, cheery, and very much reminiscent of the fifties. My favorite time. I should’ve been born in the fifties.
That’s why even with the industrial feel of this place, we have all the furniture from the fifties. A teal couch and loveseat. A small yellow Formica table with metal legs and vinyl chairs. There are vinyl albums all over the walls and even a small jukebox in the corner I was lucky enough to find.
I love this tiny apartment.
“Here,” Fay says, passing me a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, doll,” I say, taking a sip.
“So, tell me about the tattoo you did last night,” she says, leaning against the counter.
I grin, wrapping my hands around my coffee. Her long red hair is in a high ponytail and her brown/green eyes seem greener today with the sage sundress she’s wearing. She’s a tattoo virgin. Perfectly untouched skin. She wants one and I’ve begged her to let me do it, but she’s too scared. So she lives vicariously through my clients.
As I tell her about the dragon tattoo I did, Arya, our other roommate, and best friend comes walking out of the bathroom.
“I used all the soap. Some asshole thought it would be a good idea to try doing a body shot off of me while I was standing,” she says, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet.
“Being a stripper has its downfalls,” Fay says, raising an eyebrow.
Fay hates that Arya strips but she makes great money.
It wasn’t like she came to New York hoping to dance around naked, but when you need to pay the bills, you do what you gotta do.
“It has its perks too,” Arya says, lifting a perfect eyebrow.
“Money or sex?” Fay asks.
I laugh as Arya shrugs, giving me a wink. She had sex. Probably mind-blowing, tilt the world on its axis, sex.
Bitch.
“What’s the plan today?” Arya asks, sipping her coffee.
Her long, wet blonde hair is causing drops of water to run down her bare arms. Unlike Fay, Arya is a walking advertisement for my talent. She’s gorgeous with her long blonde hair, full lips, fake tits, and body of a porn star. She has a black and gray sleeve on her right arm, from her shoulder all the way onto her hand. Intricate flowers that dance down her arm. She wanted black and gray and I wasn’t thrilled at first because I love color, but she’s not the colorful type of girl. She also has two very simple turtle doves on each clavicle and one bright red heart on her lower right stomach. She says when she finds the man of her dreams, she’ll get the second red heart on the left side.
That’s my plan with the Swallow on my clavicle. One day I hope to find someone who will fill up the other side.
I guess that’s one thing we all have in common — still looking for the right guy.
He’s out there, I’m just not sure he’s in New York.
“How about lunch and shopping? I need some new work clothes,” Fay says, washing her coffee mug.
“Still trying to impress your boss?” Arya asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
Fay spins around, placing her soapy hands on her hips. “I’m not trying to impress him for the millionth time.” She shakes her head walking toward her room. “I’m gonna go get ready,” she whispers.
I sigh, taking a sip of my coffee as I stare at Arya. “Why do you do that shit to her? You know how she is. Stop pushing her buttons all the time,” I say.
She leans her arms on the island counter that separates the dining area from the kitchen and smiles. “But she makes it so easy.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I say, laughing.
“Seriously though, that boss of hers is a blind asshole. If he hasn’t realized by now how amazing she is, why is she wasting her time?” she asks.
I take a sip of my coffee and sigh. “It’s not our business.”
She shakes her head and stands up straight. “Fine but let's help her find some sexy things that will drive him crazy anyway.”
I laugh as she heads toward her bedroom to get ready. I finish off my coffee and decide to get ready too.
Once we are all ready, our unlikely crew walks the streets of New York window shopping, laughing, and enjoying being together.
We find a few outfits for Fay. She rejected everything Arya showed her, and I had to fight a laugh each time.
It’s been a great day. Just the relaxing fun I needed after a long week of work. We’re now waiting for a table at one of our favorite restaurants in the neighborhood. It’s a bar and grill that we spend probably too much time at.
“This place gets busier every week,” Fay says, looking around at the large crowd.
“Yeah, but damn look at all the men,” Arya replies.
I laugh looking around. Arya isn’t wrong. The place is filled with sexy men and a lot I’ve had as clients. Seeing my tattoos out in the wild is something that will never get old. It’s such an amazing feeling seeing my artwork healed and looking fabulous.
I’m distracted looking at the tattoos that are on display when Arya shoves into me.
“Hey, what the hell,” I say, glancing at her.
Unfortunately, it isn’t her I see. “Seriously? You’re so fucking juvenile you need to push into my friends?”
Corbin grins and leans against the wall. “That was an accident, princess. I was about to apologize, but seeing how worked up it’s gotten you, I’m gonna save it.”
Princess. I fucking hate when he calls me that. He has this idea that I’m some spoiled brat and it couldn’t be further from the truth. He has no idea what my story is and how hard I’ve worked to get where I am.
I’ve busted my ass just to be seen in this industry. No one took me serious. The amount of men who laughed when I walked into a room was infuriating. The hours I spent proving I was not a joke was exhausting. It was bad enough I had no support from my own family. My mother told me I needed to find a real career. She never supported me and still doesn’t. Even with all the success I’ve gained, she thinks I’m wasting my time. It’s no different from my childhood. She got pregnant young and I never met my father. I was nothing more than an inconvenience to her. In her eyes, I held her back and she made that clear. I think that’s why I started drawing in the first place, I was trying to escape reality and I could do that with my drawings. It was also a way I gained her attention. It was normally her yelling at me to stop doodling, but still.
