You're so delicious

Careful attention was required today. Both tattoos we were working on today were complex with a lot of intricate shading. Complete focus was required for the quality of work we'd become known for.

It was the reason we were able to afford our tattoo shop and the loft we lived in above it. After doing a sleeve and chest work for the President of the Grimm Motorcycle Club a year ago, word had spread quickly, and bikers from several states made appointments for custom artwork.

I'd always loved to draw. My first job after we'd fled was with a local tattoo parlor. With an ID in hand that said I was eighteen, I certainly hadn't looked it, not with the fresh face and innocence of my true fifteen-year-old self at the time. The owner had been suspicious, but after some trial sketches, he liked my work enough to hire me anyway. I smiled at the irony-I wasn't legally old enough to get a tattoo, but there I was, madly writing in permanent ink on the flesh of every type of client under the sun.

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