Generations by Tamara Vincent

Author:Tamara Vincent
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2018-12-13T22:00:00+00:00

On her way into the tattoo place, Velvet caught the eye of a guy that whistled and called her.

She gave him a look.

“You’re not from around here,” the guy said. He was wearing jeans and a denim vest over a white tee, his muscular arms covered in tattoos.

“What if I’m not?” she asked.

A few of the guy’s friends whistled and catcalled. They were standing in front of the chopper garage. They looked like bikers.

“If you are new in town you don’t know about the Reapers’ BBQ,” the man said.

“What’s it, a grill?” she asked, insouciant.

The man was staring at her tits. She liked that.

“It’s a party we have out of town in this season,” he said. He handed her a leaflet.

She smirked. “You’re some kind of religious nut?”

“It’s not official, so keep it under your hat,” he said.

The leaflet was poorly printed. It had a map, and a few instructions to reach a place out of town. A date and time.

“Why should I care for this?” she asked.

The man grinned. “It will be fun. Music, good food, lots of people, booze—”

“Drugs—” she said.

“Hey, it’s a fun thing, right?”

She looked at him, then at the leaflet, then back at him. She tossed her head, and threw away the butt of her spent Camel. “I’ll think about it.”

His grin widened. “You do! And bring your friends, if they are as hot as you are!”

And among the whistles and cheers of his pals, he turned on his heels and walked back to the garage. He had a nice ass, Velvet said to herself. She pocketed the party invitation, and pushed into the tattoo shop.

There was a guy that looked like a stray cat, that stared at her and nodded a greeting when she entered.

“How can I help you?” he asked. He was chomping on a half-cigar.

Velvet’s heart was pounding like mad, and she would have killed for a little pot to calm her nerves. “I’m here,” she said, “to get some ink.”

That was what Ophelia called it. Ink. Get ink. Be inked.

Her heartbeat kept racing, but not out of fear any more.

“First time?” the guy asked.

She gave him a grin. “It shows, uh?” she said. “But then, I’ve waited too long already.”

“Never too late to start,” the man said. “That’s what I always say. Do you have something in mind?”

Velvet was looking at the posters on the walls, row upon row of intricate designs. Skulls and spiders and demons and sexy women and strange symbols.

“I’d like to start with something simple,” she said.

The man nodded.

Velvet was looking at a display of different scripts, curly letters and Gothic characters.

“What about a text?” she asked.

“What about it?” the guy replied.

“I was thinking about getting a name.”

The cigar moved from one corner of the man’s mouth to the other. “Can be done. It’s pretty classic, only—”

“What?”

He grinned. “You wanna be careful, when getting the name of your man on your skin.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“Removing a tat is a lot more painful than getting it.”

Velvet laughed.

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