Текст книги "Uncaged"

Автор книги: Emilia Kincade

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Chapter Three

If a pin dropped, we’d hear it.

I push off him, flustered and frustrated, and quickly zip up my jeans and do up the button.

“Go!” I say with venom, pointing toward the curtained doorway. “Leave. God, do you ever stop messing around?”

“I’ll pick you up after work,” he says. He grabs his crotch and adjusts it to exaggerated effect, and I can only look away, shake my head.

“No you won’t.”

“We can talk more about my cock piercing then.”

“I’ll cut it off,” I say. I make a pair of scissors out of my index and middle finger.

He winces. “Ouch. See you at six.”

Before I can reply, he’s left the curtain flapping in his wake, his finger in his mouth, and a cocky swagger in his step.

I part the curtain, and catch him wink at Maya in the waiting room. I clench my jaw.

When comes into the back, sidling past me, she stops, seems to sniff the air. Dread fills me. Can she… smell it?

“I like his cologne,” she tells me a moment later.

“Mm,” I sound, turning around and taking a moment to collect myself.

“Not too strong.”

“Yeah.”

“Smells expensive.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve smelled it before. I think it’s—”

I cut her off. “You ready?”

Maya looks stung. I’m being too short with her, and it’s unfair. She has no idea, and she’s also my client. Wrong. She’s Tina’s client, and damned if I’m going to lose her because I couldn’t put on a better bedside manner.

“Sorry,” I say.

Maya sits in the chair slowly, lowering herself onto the crinkling wrap. I wipe a hand across my sticky forehead, wonder if she can feel how warm the chair still is.

“Are you okay, Penelope?”

“Yes,” I say, tucking hair behind my ears and taking a deep breath. I touch my cheeks with the backs of my hands. They’re boiling. I’m sure Maya will notice.

“Trouble?”

“You could call it that.”

“Is he a client?”

I sigh, and give her a polite smile. “Yes. Hold out your arm again, please.” I pick up the tattoo machine, but my fingers are still trembling a little, so I put it down and shake them a bit. I’ve still got Pierce’s taste in my mouth, and so I go to the sink and run myself a glass of water.

“What’s a Prince Albert?”

I almost spit the water out, but play it off like a cough.

“You don’t know?”

“Well, from what I gather, it’s a piercing on a, uh, man’s…?”

“Yup. It’s a piercing on the underside of the penis, beneath the glans, and into the urethra. The ring is pushed through one of the thinnest membranes on a male’s body, into the urethral passage, and actually comes out of the urethral opening. It’s relatively simple as far as male genital piercings go, and is one of the most popular.”

I recite it off the top of my head. It’s a way to distract myself, and hopefully Maya. I know a lot about body art and piercings.

She scrunches up her face. “That’s kind of disgusting. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Typically people say it hurts more than an ear piercing and less than a nipple piercing,” I tell her. “Some guys say it doesn’t hurt at all, but I don’t believe that. Four-to-six weeks healing time.”

“Why do they do it?”

I shrug, and then sit down on my stool next to her. “It’s not like I have a penis. People report they have heightened sexual pleasure. Some say they like the sensation when they urinate. Some women say that, in certain positions, the piercing can actually enhance sex for them.”

“Really?” she asks. “Huh. I wonder what positions?”

“Use your imagination,” I deadpan.

“Why does that guy want one? Doesn’t he know you don’t do piercings here?”

I laugh. “Oh God, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows why he wants one, or if he truly does, or if he’s just winding me up.”

“He’s hot, though.”

I push my lips together, stare daggers into her arm. I try not to squeeze it too tightly. “Yeah, he is.”

“Great body.”

“Yeah,” I say, contemplating pushing the needle into her arm a little deeper than I should.

“Who is he, anyway? Your ex or something?”

I shake my head slowly. “No, not my ex. He’s Pierce Fletcher.”

“Pierce Fletcher,” she echoes. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“He’s an underground cage fighter.”

“Yeah, my brother talked about him. Something like one of the best ever in the scene.”

“That’s what they say.” My tone lacks any semblance of enthusiasm. “He’s also about to become my stepbrother.”

“Oh,” she says. I see it on her face. At first, there’s polite acknowledgement, and then confusion: Weren’t they just talking about his cock?

“And,” I say, sighing, drawing out the word. “We’re sleeping together.”

She covers her mouth.

Silence swallows us.

Chapter Four

One month earlier...

“I’m moving to Melbourne.”

It is a statement of fact.

My father looks up from his paper, and his cornflake-filled spoon hovers in between the bowl and his mouth. His sea-green eyes narrow and his crow’s feet deepen.

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

I flash him a quick smile. “We’ve talked about it before, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving to Melbourne, and I’m going to apprentice for Tina Azume. She’s already granted me an interview.”

Dad gives me a slow blink. Out of nowhere, he looks like he’s aged ten years. “Oh.”

“Rose lives out there and she’s got a spare room and says that I can move in with her. Tina Azume is my favorite artist and one of the best on the planet.” I offer a small shrug. “It’s what I want to do.”

“You’re serious about becoming a tattooist?”

I hold my breath, wait for that hint of passive-aggressive judgment to rear its ugly head, but it doesn’t, so I nod at him. I should give him some credit this time.

“Yeah, Dad. I really am. And actually, we prefer to be called tattoo artists.”

“We?” he asks.

“I’m going to become one, Dad, and I’m going to be good. And I’ll be honest, nothing you say will stop me from chasing this.”

His bushy brows bunch, and he looks hurt for a moment. “I can see you’re on the offensive.”

I lick my lips. I won’t lie, I’m nervous. Butterflies are raging in my stomach, and I’m desperately hoping he doesn’t say no. I want to go with his blessing. I don’t want to disappoint him.

“You’re confident you can do this, Penelope?”

“You’ve seen how well I can draw. I’m going to be good, Dad. I really am. I have a good hand, and a better eye.”

“I know you do. I’ve seen your drawings. You’ve got great perspective and lines.”

I feel a blush in my cheeks. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from an architect. And from you, Dad.”

“But, Penelope, body art, really?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw well on skin?”

“I can’t say I do,” he admits.

“It’d be really great if I could get my father’s support on this.”

He sighs. “You know, you get that manipulative streak from your mother.”

“I’m not being manipulative. I’m just being honest.”

“Your mother was appalled to find out you got another tattoo.” He gestures at my wrist. I have a silhouette of the Chicago city skyline there. I did it myself with my left hand. I am a little ambidextrous, and so I’ve been training it.

“Well, frankly, I don’t really give a shit what Mom thinks,” I tell him. She burnt her bridges with me long ago. It’s just me and Dad now.

He grows cross in an instant. His tone is deep and disapproving. “Penelope.”

“What, Dad? Come on, we don’t get along. Heck, even you couldn’t bear to be with her. And after what she did to you? I can’t—”

“She’s still your mother, and I don’t want you using that language at the table.”

“Yeah, well I chose you. And sorry for swearing.”

He can’t help but smile. “You know, I always thought it was fathers and sons that had troubled relationships. Not mothers and daughters.”

“Shows how much you know.”

“Evelyn and her daughter have a good relationship.”

“Not everybody is the same, Dad. Besides, did Evelyn break her daughter’s father’s heart?”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t hold on to that, darling. It’s not healthy. I’m past it, and I don’t blame your mother, either.”

“Any time you cheat, you deserve to be blamed.”

“It’s not always that simple.”

I fold my arms. “I know, I know, you grow distant, the passion fades, whatever. You still don’t do it. You either sit down and talk like responsible adults, or you break it off. It may be black and white, but that’s how I see it.”

He sucks on his upper lip for a moment. “Just, consider not throwing away your relationship with your mother, okay? You’ll regret it when you’re older.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll consider it. So, will you give me your blessing? To go to Melbourne?”

He sighs. “I guess it’s not like I can stop you, huh? You always did do your own thing.”

“No, you can’t stop me. This is my dream, Dad. I’ve got the money grandpa left me, and I can afford to buy the ticket. I’ve already got my interview set up, my appointment to get my visiting tattoo artist apprentice license, and a meeting set up for my visa.”

“I see that you’ve planned it all without me.”

I frown. “Dad, you were the one who told me to give this serious thought, and to get the legwork done. I’ve done my due diligence. This is not some wishy-washy idea. I’m serious.”

“Forgive me for not being overly thrilled.”

“Hey, all the other kids who just graduated are all going to Hawaii or Mexico to get drunk, do drugs, and have sex. I’m going to Melbourne to start my career. As an artist.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll concede that point,” he says. “Penelope, I admire your ambition, I really do. But why don’t you try it out here first? In Chicago?”

“It’s Tina Azume, and she’s looking for an apprentice!”

“I really don’t know who that is.”

“Only one of the most famous tattoo artists in the world! She’s got this amazing style, and she’s extremely humble. She’s not super exclusive or a snob or anything. She’s really cool, Dad. She’s, like, a role model. I’ve got posters of her work up in my room.”

“Those? They just look like normal tattoos.”

“And the Mona Lisa just looks like a normal painting.”

He pushes up his lower lip with a finger. “Okay, but I don’t like the Mona Lisa, anyway.”

“But you see where I’m coming from, right? I’ve already made up my mind.”

“You’re only nineteen.”

“And that makes me an adult.”

“I’d be an irresponsible father if I just let you waltz off for God knows how long.”

“Would it be any different than if I was going to Australia for college?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “You’d be getting an education. There would be responsible adults around you. You would be in an academic community focused on learning, self-betterment.”

“I will still be getting an education,” I cry, throwing my arms up, exasperated. “I’ll apprentice and learn more about body art and techniques. And as for your slight on the community, tattoo artists and people that get tattoos are just as human as anybody else, and believe it or not, shock horror, are for the most part responsible adults, too. They also, believe it or not, value learning and self-betterment. Don’t go stereotyping them because of your own narrow-mindedness. Just because someone’s got a full-sleeve doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, just like how not having tattoos doesn’t automatically make you a good person.”

He blinks, rubs his red eyes. I notice then that his hair seems to have grayed more in the last week alone, and he’s looking a little thinner.

“You’re right, Penelope. I’m being judgmental.”

I wince. Somehow it almost hurts to hear Dad admit that he’s wrong to me. “You’re looking tired, Dad.”

“Things have been crazy at work. The Dubai project of course came to a stall once the economy flat lined, and we’re in a legal battle to get our owed fees.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It is.”

“But you know what I’m chasing, right? What if somebody told you that you couldn’t be an architect?”

“My father wanted me to work at the bakery.”

“Grandpa? Really?”

“Yeah. Said I had great hands, but bread wasn’t my thing.”

“See, so you still went off on your own! You chased your dream.”

“It involved seven years of architecture school, sweetheart, in an ultra-competitive environment.”

“And I’ll likely be apprenticing for years as well, and it’s just as competitive. Come on, don’t patronize me.”

He lets out a deep, shuddering exhale, and I know he’s relenting.

“I’m going to miss you,” he says.

I won’t lie. It hits me right in the gut. It’s just been me and him for a few years now, and since he works so much, we’re like a team. He takes care of me in some ways, I take care of him in other ways.

“Will you be okay alone?”

He laughs. “Come on, Penelope. Of course I will. I’m only a fifty-two year old man.”

“Really? Because I’ve seen the way you eat when I don’t prepare dinner. It’s unhealthy.”

He clears his throat, and sidesteps the issue. “How long are you planning on staying there for?”

“Oh, jeez, Dad, it’s not like I’m leaving forever. I’ll be back! I think my visa only gives me one year, anyway, with the option for a second.”

“And it’ll be legal for you to work there?”

“Yes.”

“And it’ll make you happy?”

“Yes!”

He puts the spoon down, and it clinks against his bowl. “Fine. But I expect you to email me at least twice a week. And call me once a week. A proper telephone call, not just the hi-dad-bye-dad bullshit that kids do these days. Actually, I want it over Skype as well. I want to be able to see your face. Anyway, I need to put the new laptop to good use. I haven’t even used it once, you know?”

I grin. “Okay.”

“And I want the telephone number of Rose and her mother or father or guardian. I’ll want to have a talk with both of them first.”

“No problem.”

“And I want you to write me out a plan. I want you to list out exactly what you’re going to be doing, how you’re going to do it, and anything else that entails. I want to know how you’ll get a license to tattoo, where this Tina person is. I want to know how you’ll sort out your taxes, driving license, everything. I want you to be on top of everything, and I expect it by tonight when I get home from work.”

I nod rapidly. “I can do that.” I’ve got this broad smile on my face, and I reach across the table and take his hand. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You know,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I never thought my beautiful daughter would become a tattooist. Sorry, tattoo artist.”

“What did you think I’d be?”

“I don’t know. Graphic designer? Something safe.”

“Try and be a little more open-minded.”

“Wait until you get to be my age with children of your own, and let’s see how open-minded you’ll be then when they ask you if they can do insane things.”

“It’s not insane.”

“Well, maybe it’s just because I’m your father, but the idea of letting my nineteen year-old daughter live alone in a different country without any real supervision sounds insane to me.”

“You can trust me. I’m not a partier. I’m not interested in that stuff. Heck, I’ve never even tried a cigarette.”

His expression hardens. “I should expect not.”

“You have to trust me, Dad.”

“I do trust you. But if you disappoint me—”

“I won’t,” I promise him. “I swear it.”

“Okay.”

“Hey!” I say after a moment of silence. “You can use this as an opportunity to see… what’s-her-name more!”

“Her name is Isabelle,” he says sternly. “Isabelle Fletcher.” Then his face lights up. “Hang on a minute.” He pulls out his phone, and starts going through his messages.

“What is it?”

“Melbourne, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Isabelle has a son, and he spent his teenage years in a boarding school in Melbourne. I think he’s still there.”

“Really?” I ask. “That’s a coincidence.”

“Indeed. His name is, um, Pierce.”

“Oh. Like the James Bond actor?”

“Different spelling, I think. I’ve got a photo of him somewhere. Isabelle sent it to me.”

I watch as he manhandles his phone, punching the on-screen buttons the way he pecks at his keyboard.

“Ah, here we go,” he says.

He turns the phone around and shows it to me. There’s a photograph of Isabelle. She’s looking uptight and well-dressed as usual. And standing next to her is…

“That’s him?” I ask.

“Yeah. Why?”

I say nothing, just shake my head.

The guy is hot as hell.

Chapter Five

I’ve been invited to an illegal underground cage fight, and it’s only my first night in Melbourne.

Some might say I was off to a good start.

I look at Rose, one eyebrow raised. “You can’t be serious?”

She’s distracted, examining her nails. “Still not dry,” she says, looking up at me. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Rose, an old high school friend, has picked up some of the Australian accent since moving out here when she was fifteen. I like her… for the most part, but we’re quite different. Her idea of a fun night is certainly not the same as mine.

“Could we get into trouble?”

“Babe,” she says, rolling her eyes. “They’re not going to arrest five-hundred people.”

“Five-hundred?” I say in surprise. “That many?”

“Oh, for sure. It’s only the biggest fight this month.”

“Are there many fights?”

“Oh, every week. This is the biggest.”

“I don’t know,” I say, rubbing the tops of my thighs. “To be honest, Rose, I’m really not looking to get into trouble while I’m here. I mean, if I get arrested, I have to deal with the embassy, my dad will find—”

“Jesus Christ, girl!” Rose says, charging into the room and sitting on my bed. She crosses her legs. “You won’t be arrested. They’ll just tell everybody to leave, you know? They want the organizers and fighters, not the watchers.”

“Is it just one fight?”

“Yeah, one fight.”

“That’s it? All these people are turning up for one fight?”

“It’s the fight of the month. People are betting big bucks. It’s business.”

“Okay, this is starting to sound shadier and shadier by the minute. I think I’m out.”

She shrugs, and gets up. “Suit yourself. I was just asking if you wanted to come is all, not trying to put pressure on you.”

Rose is about to leave when I call her name, and say, “There’s more, isn’t there? I saw that look. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

She grins. “How could you tell?”

“I can always tell with you.”

“Fine, fine, there is something.”

“What?” I ask, shaking my head. “I mean, it’s just a couple of beefcake jocks beating each other up, right?”

“Well, not just any beefcake jock.”

I blink. “Well?”

“One of them is fine,” she says, drawing out the word.

I laugh, but shake my head. “I’ll need more of a reason than that to go down and risk getting arrested.”

“Okay,” Rose chirps. She turns around again.

“Rose,” I say, sighing. “What else is there?”

“Oh, right,” she says with a smirk, exaggeratedly pointing a finger at me. “You can always tell.”

“I can.”

“Well, it just so happens that you know one of the fighters.”

“I do?” I ask. My brows knit as I think about it, but I can’t imagine knowing any underground fighter. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, you don’t know him know him, but you do know him.”

I stare at Rose. Does she actually expect me to decipher that? “Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Pierce Fletcher.”

I’m about to say I don’t know who that is, and then it hits me.

Fletcher.

Isabelle Fletcher.

She’s dating my dad, and it’s her son. I flashback to the picture that dad showed me. He is fine, that’s for sure.

“You’re not serious,” I say through a half-laugh, half-scoff. I can’t believe it. She’s pulling my leg.

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?” I ask. “I don’t even know him.”

“Well, technically you have some sort of relationship. After all, when you wrote that your dad’s girlfriend had a son out here named ‘Pearce’ – and you got the spelling wrong—”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

Rose raises her eyebrows at me. “Anyway, I knew it had to be him. Maybe you can introduce me to him.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve got a boyfriend. And besides, how would he even know who I am?”

“Well, you know who he is.”

“Yeah, because my dad showed me a picture. I never actually met him!”

Rose shrugs. “Seriously, you should come. It’s going to be fun.”

I suck on my lower lip, thinking about it.

“There’s nothing on television tonight,” she says.

“Will it be just us two?”

“Jason’s coming, too.”

Her boyfriend. That’ll cramp her style if she gets to meet this fighter.

“He’ll drive,” she says.

“Well, okay,” I say after a moment, grinning. “Why not, right? I’ve never seen a fight before.”

It’s dark, it’s cold, and as far as I can tell, we’re in some unremarkable lower-middle-class suburb.

“We’re here,” Jason says, and he meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I thought you said this was a big event. I don’t see anybody around.”

“No parking on premises,” Rose says. I can hear the smacking of her lips as she chews her bubblegum. “Since it’s illegal and all. Five hundred cars would definitely look out of place at midnight on a Tuesday.”

“What is the, uh, premises?”

“Oh, just an old train depot that doesn’t get used anymore. It looks totally low-key on the outside, but they’ve done it all up real nice on the inside.”

“You mean like they used to keep trains inside?”

“The engine carriages, yeah,” Jason says. “That’s how there’s enough indoor space.”

“Ah.”

“We’ve got to walk there, maybe a ten minute walk?”

We all get out of the car, and I fall into step next to Rose. She’s holding Jason’s hand, and seems completely amped. I see goosebumps on her arms. She’s wearing leather pants she’ll have to peel off to get out of, and paired it with a tribal print crop top.

“You look like you’ve just stepped out of a Spice Girls music video,” I say.

“Nineties is the new retro,” she tells me. “Spice Girls were my favorite, anyway.” She blows a bubble and pops it with a bite. Rose definitely knows how to put on a show. She’s so confident.

We round a corner, and that’s when I see it, streetlamps glinting off train tracks and chain-link fencing. So we must be nearby.

There’s a scream of laughter behind us, and I see a pack of girls. They walk quickly by us, and we’re left in their perfume-soaked wake. Mini-skirts, platforms, skinny jeans, heels… they’re all dressed as if they’re going to a club.

“I thought we were going to a fight?” I say, looking at Rose. Suddenly I’m feeling a little insecure. I mean, I’m wearing loose jeans, a black Pink Floyd pullover, and a cardigan.

“We are,” she says. “Like I said, it’s the biggest fight. It’s going to be a huge party.”

“You could have told me what it was going to be like.” I fiddle with the buttons on my cardigan. “I’m going to stand out so bad. I thought it was going to be like, I don’t know, in a dusty basement or something.”

“Oh, don’t worry so much,” she says, waving a hand at me. But she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are fixed on the big building in front of us. I can see that the windows are blacked-out, and from the outside it looks a little like an airline hangar. Huge, boxy, a real eyesore.

But I can hear it. The hubbub of excited people. It’s like a vibration in the air, a signal, and Rose is already tuned in to it.

She speeds up, excited, and I fall behind.

As we close in on the crowds, I realize that I don’t really want to be here anymore.