Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Scotland

Tattooing himself was one hell of a bad idea. It wasn’t the pain, which was barely more than a sharp tickle, or the buzz that put some people on edge, either. The big problem was that he’d gotten to a spot that he couldn’t fucking reach.

“Well, that went to hamburger in a handbasket.” He let out a sigh, wiping at the last trail of ink before grabbing for the spray bottle. The hit of cooling liquid was instant, quenching the burn that had risen to the surface of his skin.

It was only supposed to have been a small piece on a stretch of blank skin near his kneecap. He hadn’t planned on giving the rose quite so many petals, and his original placement he’d had in mind for the stem had changed when he’d thought of turning it into a chain.

He’d just been so wrapped up in not messing up the freehand design that he’d forgotten exactly how far his reach was. He hadn’t figured it out until his back and neck had started to protest and the tip of his machine had disappeared out of view.

Now he had a half-piece that was probably never getting finished, and an obsession that belonged to his new machine that he’d found online. His old one had been clunky and noisy, but this tattoo machine fit easily in his hand, the buzzing muted and not quite enough to make his fingers tingle.

I had to try it out first.

He cracked a grin, trying to catch sight of where he’d trailed off. His skin tingled, flushing warm, like he’d spent too much time in the sun.

Of course, even as beautiful and quiet as it was, it was really nothing next to his main obsession. Blue eyes, blond hair and a five o’clock shadow occupied his thoughts ninety percent of the time when he wasn’t focused on his art. The other ten percent was pure private time. No one but a trusted partner was seeing that part of him.

Wiping the area one last time, he reached for his roll of dermal cover sheets, cutting one to size and pulling the paper off. It was pure adrenaline to press it to his open skin, gently smoothing it in place before peeling off the plastic backing. All that was left was a sticky film no thicker than cellophane that would speed his tattoo along to healing.

His skin was hot as he touched it through the film, tracing the fresh lines that were darker than the gloves he wore. It was already weeping in some spots, and soon the ink would spread, turning into a smudged mess that would only be removed when he took the plastic off a day from now.

It would be fine, until the itch set in. To him, the itch was the worst part.

Stripping the gloves from his hands, he tossed them to the nearest garbage can, easing the paper towels and wells of ink inside before tossing the half-dozen needle tips he’d used into the sharps bin.

When he’d ventured out on his own in the tattoo world, he’d been nearly certain that he would never make it. His personality rarely matched that of other artists, and his style was different, to say the least. His old place with the neon sign and the constant drama had been easy to leave.

A few clients had turned into dozens, and it had spiraled as word spread of his work. His clients were like walking billboards, and everyone who asked them who their artist was inevitably ended up on his website or his doorstep.

He still couldn’t believe it, really. He didn’t think he was that good, no matter what his clients said about it. He just loved art, and the people were pretty damn awesome, too…for the most part.

Now he was booked up for two years, and only working three days a week in a shop of his own where the overhead was the only thing that kept him from knocking it back to two. And when he wasn’t working, he had his side business that was more for fun than anything else.

His phone hummed against his desk along the far wall, the buzz shattering the endorphins that had started to build. Usually, he turned the thing off when he was working, but today was technically his day off. He hadn’t been able to resist trying out his new favorite baby when it had shown up in his email as delivered. He’d rushed into town, kicking off his shoes as he’d torn the package open.

Giving his hands a wash, and failing to get most of the splatter off, he grabbed his phone by the time it started its second round of ringing, putting it to his ear.

“We have a problem.”

Scotland chuckled, shaking his head as he wiped his arm over his forehead. “Hey, Maddy.”

The sadist had wormed his way into Scotland’s heart as soon as he’d started going to Unkinked. He was the strangest mix of shy and social butterfly, dipping into gossip only to tilt his head in confusion a moment later. He also seemed to have the strangest mission lately, not that Scotland minded at all.

Not when his crush was the prize.

“I’m serious,” said Maddy, no hint of humor in his voice. “Clint fell this morning.”

“Shit.” Scotland dropped his hand towel, the fabric falling from his fingertips unchecked. “Is he okay? Did you need a doctor or something?” He knew a few. Hell, he’d tattooed one’s sub, and they were part of the community.

“Uh—no, he’s not that old. He didn’t break a hip or anything,” said Maddy, completely deadpan. Confusion was laced in his voice, so pure that it broke Scotland’s heart. “I think he was dropping.”

Scotland blinked in surprise. “But Clint hasn’t scened with anyone in forever.” Watching didn’t count—not when you were doing it without a real partner or aftercare.

“Well, he did once, but that was a while ago,” said Maddy. “And no one is supposed to know that…”

Well, it was news to him. Terrible fucking news. Or maybe it wasn’t so bad. If Clint hadn’t gone back for seconds, then he couldn’t have gotten too attached.

“Why do you think he’s dropping, then?” He reached for the hand towel, scooping it off the ground and tossing it toward the laundry basket under the sink. He hated the crunchy feeling towels got after he used them more than once, so he always kept an ample supply.

“He looks exactly like I do when I drop,” said Maddy, letting out a little huff. “He can barely sleep and wanders around like he doesn’t even know where he is sometimes. He smiles, but it’s not real—not if you truly know him. And he didn’t just fall… He just collapsed like all his strings had been cut. If I hadn’t been there, I doubt he would have bothered to get up.”

Okay, that’s worse than I thought.“What did he say?”

If anyone would know about a drop, Clint would. He was the local king of kink, for Christ’s sake.

“That he tripped,” said Maddy, scoffing. “But I saw it. He did not trip. He’s dropping.”

He scratched his scalp before dragging his fingers along his chin. He’d shaved that morning and he’d be good for another two days before he got any hint of scruff. He’d tried to grow a beard once, but after two weeks of a five o’clock shadow, he’d given up.

“I know you’re worried, Maddy, but I think you’re reading into this too much. Clint is tired. He has been since I’ve met him.” He couldn’t recall seeing him in any other state, even though he was always sexy as hell. “Maybe he just needs a vacation.”

He wished he could do more, but Clint had made himself abundantly clear on multiple occasions. He wanted nothing to do with Scotland, and there was no power on earth that was going to change that. That didn’t mean Scotland couldn’t obsess over him a bit—or a lot.

“Tired people don’t scream in their sleep and cry when they think no one else is there,” said Maddy, his voice rising. “They don’t hug and rock themselves when they think the door is locked. There’s something wrong—really wrong.”

Scotland bit his tongue, clenching his hand into a fist. If he had his way, he’d be at Unkinked right now with Clint in his arms. He had a feeling that ship had sailed, though.

“Maybe he really needs a vacation?” That excuse sounded weak, even to his own ears. “What do you want me to do?” Everything—anything, and I’m there.

Maddy let out a long sigh, his breath muffling against the phone. “I don’t know. Derreck didn’t have any input, either. He respects Clint too much to force him into anything, but I can’t see how there is any other way.”

Respects him too much?“I guess that implies that you respect him too little?” Scotland tilted his head in confusion, battling with his humor. Now is not the time. This is serious, dammit.

“He’s my boss, so…”

And didn’t that speak a thousand words. Whoever Maddy had worked for before must’ve been one sorry sonuvabitch.

But what the hell were they going to do? If Maddy was right, it was only a matter of time before Clint had a complete meltdown. Someone couldn’t carry that kind of weight and end up as a healthy person on the other side. Stress warred with your soul and usually won in the end.

“Let me come by the club,” said Scotland, reaching for his wallet and tucking it into his pants. They were black, too, not just because they made his ass look fantastic, but because it hid the little splatters of ink that were sure to be everywhere by the end of each working day.

“Okay, but wear something that will catch his eye,” said Maddy, his voice suddenly rushed. “Shit, I gotta go. With any luck, you’ll get laid.”

Scotland snorted, shaking his head. “Who taught you that? I never thought I’d hear you say the word ‘laid’.”

“Nav.”

“Of course.” There were so many people in the community, but it was hard not to get to know the regulars. Trick and Nav had had their membership fully reinstated while Scotland had been there—after an apparent incident, that was.

Not my pig, not my farm.There was a reason he tried to stay out of gossip, even as much as Maddy tried to drag him back. Everyone sounded terrible in the middle of a hearsay battle, but he always tried to see the best in people. It usually worked out okay.

“Shit, he tracked me down. I’m supposed to be stocking the supply room right now. Bye.” Maddy ended the call with a click, and Scotland couldn’t help but chuckle.

Their friendship had happened by pure chance, like so many other things in his life. One minute, Scotland had been admiring Derreck’s ass, and in the next, Maddy had had a baseball bat over his shoulder and death threats on his lips.

“You look at my Dom like that and no one will ever see you again. I know exactly where to hide the body, too.”

Scotland had laughed so hard that he’d fallen off his barstool and straight onto his ass, holding his sides as his chuckles refused to abate. “I was actually wondering if he’d bury me alive if I slipped you my number.”

He could have loved a sadistic sub like Maddy in his bed, but he was even better as a friend. That, and Derreck was a pretty intimidating guy. He didn’t have to lift a finger for people to get out of his way, and he’d probably never had to raise his voice in his life.

Even with the offer to Maddy, Scotland already had his crush by then. There was only so much longing he could do without breaking down a little.

Clint had been behind the bar that day, moving his hands quickly to keep up with drink orders, and striking up a conversation with anything that moved. He was rugged, in an ‘I slept on the floor’ kind of way, with arms that displayed exactly how many cases of beer he could carry in a single trip.

One look and Scotland had been lost. He hadn’t seemed to be able to find his way since.