Chapter 1
Jenna frowned in irritation, acknowledging that this day was about to get shittier as she surveyed the parking spaces along the sidewalk outside her store. Every space was crammed with motorcycles of almost every model, but mostly Harleys and Triumphs, making it impossible for her to park near her door. She eyed the boxes in the back seat of her 4x4 and sighed, another trek carrying heavy boxes of supplies. Finally finding a space a hundred or more yards down, she reversed in and parked, slamming her door savagely, imagining it was a certain someone’s head she was venting on. Placing her bag over her shoulders, manoeuvring it towards her back and her store keys hitched over her thumb she lifted one of the boxes and strode towards her property, trying to keep her temper in check.
This was the third time this week she had to resort to leaving her vehicle a fair distance from her place, as it seemed to her that the business across the road from her was starting to dominate the whole damn street! Surely the other store owners were just as fed up with the parking situation, especially as their customers also wouldn’t be able to park. This affected her clients even more as they could sometimes spend many hours at her studio while she tended to their needs. Scowling while she fumbled with balancing the heavy box and lining up the key with the lock, she contemplated the options available to her to resolve the parking issue. She huffed in annoyance as she struggled to get the key turned, almost dropping the box, which would have been a right mess if she hadn’t managed to save it from decorating the pavement. Suddenly a shadow loomed over her.
“Do you need help with that?” drawled a deep raspy, and somewhat sexy voice.
She knew immediately who it was and scowled even more, without turning to face him she went on the attack.
“Yes!” she snapped. “You can save some bloody parking spaces for the rest of us! It’s the third time this week I haven’t been able to get near my door!”
Finally, her door gave up barring her from entry and swung open fiercely enough to cause her to stumble inwards.
“For fuck sake!” she cursed, just as strong well-worn grease-stained hands grabbed her waist to stop her from head planting the floor; she shimmied angrily and quickly stepped forward to remove his touch from her body, ignoring the searing heat they left behind as if he had touched her skin-to-skin. She couldn’t deny that the thought of those hands doing more to her than gripping her waist hadn’t crossed her mind in that moment but was quickly chased away by her contempt for the insufferable arrogant man who seemed to not care about the problems his clientele was causing for this tiny town.
“I don’t need your help, all I need is for you to get your clients to park on your side of the road so our customers actually get a look in!”
She dumped the box on the table next to the till and stomped over to the light switch, flooding her studio with a soft, atmospheric luminosity. She turned and glanced at the bear of a man leaning against her doorway with thick muscular arms set on wide shoulders which tapered down to a trim waist before flowing out to strong tree trunk legs, a trim beard framed his ruggedly handsome face which did nothing to alleviate her anger at the amusement she spotted in his eyes.
“I can hardly tell my customers where they are and are not allowed to park, bikers have a wild streak about them, they mostly do as they please” he shrugged.
Her temper flared up a notch, her red hair also flaring outwards as she moved, as if in solidarity with her frustrations. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at the source of her problem.
“Do you think this is funny? Believe it or not, there are 14 other businesses here besides you, we all pay our taxes, and we all need customers to stay open. YOUR customers are taking up so much space, let alone the fact they intimidate people, it’s putting people off from stopping here to shop!”
The man cocked his head to one side as he took in every inch of the fiery red haired and very curvy attractive woman before him, who was obviously very annoyed.
“Okay… I will put signs up and try and get them to be more mindful of where they are parking, but there’s no guarantees.”
He turned to exit her studio, then paused.
“And actually, for the most part, you couldn’t meet a nicer bunch of people, try being polite to them instead of shouting at them and you might find them much more accommodating” he advised, then sauntered with a pronounced limp, back across the street whistling the theme song to the film, Easy Rider.
Jenna watched him leave with anger and frustration cascading in waves through her. How dare he! Only twice had she confronted some bikers, once when they were not only parked three to a parking bay right outside but were also throwing litter on the ground amid loud raucous and very crude chatter while she was trying to work, and the other when a biker had fired up their machine and revved loudly, making her jump as it started spewing noise and thick black smoke in through her open doorway while she was mid-stroke through an intricate design in a very delicate area on a customer. He made it sound like she was always horrible to everyone she seethed, but if she thought about it, she had to admit that the Proprietor of Phoenix Bikes had only ever seen her ‘pissed’ side so his opinion of her was probably justified in his eyes.
****
Jenna leaned over the back of her client, anger at the parking situation and the sexily irritating man across the road temporarily forgotten as she focused on the design before her. The woman lying face down on her chair was a returning customer, enamoured with her work and wanting her tattoos extended over her shoulder and down her back. Many of her customers were survivors just like her, often wanting a tattoo to declare the struggles they have endured, with some having survived, just like her. She strongly believed tattoos were a storybook, a map of someone’s deepest thoughts, truths, passions and even secrets. It wasn’t just about the art; it was about the person and the story they wanted to tell but couldn’t put into words. Tattoos symbolized attitude, pain, heartache, healing and love, they were often someone’s life story illustrated on skin instead of paper. She felt honoured to be part of their story through her art.
She had seen all sorts of customers step through her door in the three years since she had opened her business. Some customers were not hardened to the pain of a needle etching lines into their skin and often made her efforts difficult by constantly fidgeting or complaining that they couldn’t cope with it, but luckily this customer was a pro with a high pain threshold, knowing what to expect and not to make sudden movements.
She always felt serene when she was working in her studio. Painted in a relaxing deep sage green, the walls were filled with examples of tattoos she had completed for customers, and the far wall displayed her artwork that was for sale. Large ferns in china floor pots and pieces of intricately carved wood brought a touch of the outside into her space, enhancing the whole ‘back to nature’ vibe. Lighting deliberately designed to throw soft shadows and ambient tones to soothe the soul. Her eye for exquisite detail and a true connection between nature and her artistic strokes meant she was fast gaining popularity with townsfolk, and new customers were starting to travel from outside her town to allow her to etch their story, her diary now full weeks in advance. She could get more tattoo artists on board to increase bookings, but she didn’t want to as she was a bit of a perfectionist and preferred to ensure her customers left truly happy with their purchase, and if truth be told, this studio was her baby, she left a piece of herself in every picture and tattoo, and the studio screamed her own personality and passion, she didn’t want anyone else coming in riding roughshod over her vision; she also wanted to maintain control of her life.
With soft R&B playing in the background to distract from the monotonous buzz of the tattoo machine which perversely gave her a feeling of peace, she carefully and almost reverently dipped the needle into the ink pot beside her and continued to follow the outline of a butterfly temporarily traced on the woman’s skin. This first sitting was just to outline the intricate design of flower blossoms, butterflies and bumblebees, ready for the vibrant colour to be applied on her next visit, when the tattoo would finally come alive for her, and she was looking forward to seeing it finished. Once the butterfly was complete, she leaned back to survey her handiwork. Satisfied she placed the needle machine on the side and peeled off her latex gloves.
“Are you ready for a coffee break Melissa?” she queried.
The woman grinned in response. “You bloody read my mind girl” she drawled as she fidgeted to manoeuvre her body further up the chair.
“Great! Let me tip your chair so you are upright enough to drink” she smiled, as she pulled the lever to tilt her customer towards a 10 o’clock angle, flipping the footrest up so she didn’t slide off. It was easier than forcing her to get dressed and get up from the chair during the session and risking rubbing against the transfer. “Do you need the bathroom?” she asked in afterthought.
“Nah, I’m good for now.”
Jenna prepared the coffee machine, then decided to make a quick toilet stop herself, frowning as she passed the doorway to see all the parking bays outside still full of bikes. Their earlier conversation had obviously not triggered any action then she fumed, as her irritation reared its head again; she was definitely going to have to do something about it.
Coffee in hand, she sat down beside Melissa.
“So, how’s life treating you?” she asked her client. This was Melissa’s fourth tattoo now, so they had developed a friendly stance with each other. Jenna had very few true friends as she had trust issues, especially where men were concerned, so she was content to enjoy her dose of girly chat through her customers, therefore protecting herself from untrustworthy people.
“It’s going good, Dan finally popped the question so we’re getting married next month” she squealed waggling her engagement finger at Jenna to show off her diamond ring.
“Congratulations! And what a lovely ring.”
She was genuinely happy for the woman, although a tiny little voice piped up deep in her mind’s recesses, ‘I hope he doesn’t trade you in for a better model, or cheat like most men!’
Jenna definitely had major trust issues, all thanks to her ex-fiancé Mark, who she met in college. In the beginning it had been perfect, he was tall and handsome with his blonde wavy hair and chiselled looks, charming, confident and didn’t seem to mind her plus size figure, even appearing to almost worship her curves. She had been happy, and totally in love, though not quite believing someone so handsome would want fat little Jenna, and her doubts eventually proved her right.
They had graduated and started out on their careers, Mark forging a path as a no-nonsense hard-hitting lawyer, and she had gone into PA work. She had found it very stressful, with long hours which meant they sometimes struggled to find the time for each other, then slowly she noticed a shift in their relationship, he became controlling and seemed less content with her looks and had started making comments about her weight or how she was dressed, reminding her frequently that his career expected a certain image, a level of style and poise which in his view she lacked. His criticism cut her deeply and she had tried to change, but dieting just made her miserable and she didn’t feel herself when dressed to his demands.
His complaints about her appearance hadn’t stopped him proposing though, a grand affair he had planned down to the smallest detail, ensuring media and prominent figures were there to see the up and coming high flying lawyer snag himself a wife. Of course, now she knew it had all been part of his 5-point plan, a married lawyer with a socialite raised wife, who displayed family values climbed the social and legal ladder far easier than a playboy, and his opinion was that she would be ‘too grateful’ to reject him, playing the happy little wife, submitting to his expectations of her.
And of course, she said yes despite the tiny voice in her head trying to make her doubt that he loved her as much as she loved him. Once that ring slid on her finger though, his controlling attitude increased dramatically. His criticism of her figure became harsher, he didn’t like her hair, the way she did her makeup or the clothes she wore, and condemning every morsel of food she put into her mouth. As time wore on, sex no longer satisfied her as he gradually became a ‘wham bam, thank you mam’ kind of guy, which towards the end had eventually spluttered out to celibacy. She had blamed herself; it was because she was too fat, wasn’t trying hard enough, wasn’t giving him what he needed to be happy, and his distancing was a consequence of that. She found herself turning into a meek little mouse, scurrying around trying to please the man she loved. Finally, the biggest betrayal of all that shattered her heart and changed her forever; the day she discovered his secret.
