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The hum of the tattoo machine filled the room, its steady, low buzz vibrating in the air as Skye focused intently on the lines she was inking into Ryder’s skin. She had always loved this part of the process—the quiet concentration, the rhythmic movements, the gradual transformation of skin into art. But today, there was something different in the atmosphere, a tension that hadn’t been there before.
Ryder sat in the leather tattoo chair, his broad shoulders relaxed but his eyes closed, as though he was steeling himself for something beyond the physical pain of the needle. His arm, where she had begun working, was propped on the padded armrest, and the fresh lines of ink were already starting to take shape, weaving intricate geometric patterns over his scars. Skye’s gloved hand moved with precision, but she couldn’t ignore the heightened awareness that had settled over her since he walked in.
Maybe it was the quiet way he had greeted her, his eyes dark and unreadable as he stripped off his jacket and took his place in the chair. Or maybe it was the fact that she had caught herself staring at him for longer than necessary, taking in the chiseled muscles of his arms, the hard line of his jaw, and the haunting sadness that seemed to linger beneath the surface of his exterior.
It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny there was something magnetic about him. It was more than that. She could feel the weight of his pain, of the scars he carried—both visible and invisible—and that weight had pressed itself against her in a way she hadn’t expected. Skye had been through her share of darkness, but Ryder’s silence, his quiet resilience, stirred something deep within her, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.
“Everything okay?” Ryder’s voice broke through the quiet, low and rough, pulling her from her thoughts.
Skye realized her hand had stilled, the tattoo machine paused just above his skin. She blinked and refocused, clearing her throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just... getting into the zone.”
Ryder opened his eyes, looking at her with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach the shadows in his gaze. “You don’t have to hold back, you know. I’m used to pain.”
There was something about the way he said it that made Skye’s chest tighten. Used to pain. It wasn’t just the physical pain he was talking about, and she knew it. She wanted to ask, wanted to probe deeper into his story, but she had learned a long time ago not to push. People shared what they were ready to share, and she couldn’t force it. Not when she had her own walls to maintain.
“I’m not holding back,” she said, her voice more even now as she resumed her work. “But tattooing over scar tissue is different. You have to be careful with the pressure. It’s sensitive.”
“I can handle it,” he replied, his tone soft but firm. “Trust me.”
Skye’s stomach fluttered at the weight behind his words. She pressed her lips together, focusing on the task at hand. The needle moved steadily across his skin, and the tattoo began to take form. The intricate patterns, a mix of bold lines and delicate curves, flowed over his scars, drawing attention to them without erasing them completely. It was a design that embraced the imperfections, turned them into something beautiful.
As she worked, the silence between them grew thicker, and Skye found herself hyper-aware of Ryder’s presence in a way that felt almost dangerous. She had been here before, standing at the edge of something she knew she shouldn’t fall into. She wasn’t naïve; she could feel the tension between them, the way his eyes followed her movements when he wasn’t pretending to close them. But she had rules for a reason.
And yet... there was a pull. A slow, magnetic draw toward him that had been building since the moment he walked into her shop. She told herself it was just curiosity. Maybe she was fascinated by the story he wasn’t telling, the scars that marked his skin like battle trophies. Or maybe it was something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.
“Do you ever get used to it?”
Skye glanced up, surprised by the question. Ryder was staring at her now, his dark eyes locked onto hers, the vulnerability in them barely masked by his usual stoic expression.
“Used to what?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
“The pain,” he said, his tone raw. “The scars. The memories. Do you ever get used to carrying them around?”
Skye’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her or himself, but either way, the question hit too close to home. She paused, her hand still holding the machine, and for a moment, she considered giving him the same answer she gave everyone else—something generic, something that would keep the conversation from delving too deep.
But there was something about Ryder that made her want to be honest, to let her guard down just a little.
“No,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t get used to it. You just... learn to live with it.”
Ryder’s eyes darkened, and he looked away, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
The silence stretched between them again, but this time it was heavier, charged with unspoken emotions neither of them seemed ready to confront. Skye resumed her work, but her mind was no longer focused solely on the tattoo. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Ryder’s question, to the way his voice had cracked ever so slightly when he asked it.
What had he been through? She knew better than to pry, but the curiosity was gnawing at her. People didn’t walk around with that kind of weight on their shoulders without a story behind it. And Ryder’s story, whatever it was, was written all over his body, in every scar, in every guarded look, in every word he left unspoken.
As the session wore on, Skye found herself growing more and more aware of the tension between them. It wasn’t just sexual, though she couldn’t deny the attraction. It was something deeper, something that stirred a primal urge in her to understand him, to help him in a way she wasn’t sure she could. But even as that urge grew, so did the walls she had built around herself.
She had rules. No dating clients. No letting anyone get too close. And most of all, no allowing herself to get wrapped up in someone else’s pain when she still hadn’t fully dealt with her own.
Ryder remained quiet for the rest of the session, his eyes closed again, his breathing steady despite the discomfort she knew he had to be feeling. By the time she finished the first part of the tattoo, her hands ached from the hours of steady work, but the design was coming together beautifully. The bold lines flowed seamlessly over his scars, transforming them into something powerful, something almost otherworldly.
She wiped down the fresh ink one last time, stepping back to admire the progress. “Alright,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “That’s enough for today. We’ll pick up where we left off in the next session.”
Ryder opened his eyes and sat up, glancing down at his arm. His expression was unreadable as he studied the tattoo, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—relief, maybe. Or perhaps it was something more elusive, something Skye couldn’t quite name.
“It looks amazing,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Better than I imagined.”
Skye smiled, though there was a heaviness in her chest that she couldn’t shake. “I’m glad you like it. Just make sure you take care of it. Keep it clean, follow the aftercare instructions, and don’t pick at it.”
Ryder nodded, still staring at the tattoo as though he couldn’t believe it was real. “I will.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with the unspoken words that hung in the space, and Skye could feel her pulse quickening. She needed to break the tension, to remind herself—and him—that this was just a professional transaction. Nothing more.
But before she could say anything, Ryder stood up and grabbed his jacket, pulling it over his shoulders in one smooth motion. He looked at her then, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart race.
“Thanks, Skye,” he said quietly. “For more than just the tattoo.”
Skye swallowed, unsure of how to respond. She wanted to tell him it was nothing, that she was just doing her job. But the truth was, it didn’t feel like nothing. Not with him.
“You’re welcome,” she said finally, her voice soft.
Ryder lingered for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something else. But then he turned and walked toward the door, the bell above it jingling softly as he stepped outside.
Skye stood there, watching the door long after he had gone, her heart still pounding in her chest. She had been through this before—clients with stories, clients with pain. But Ryder was different. There was something about him that had gotten under her skin in a way she hadn’t expected, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.
She sat down at her worktable, staring at the empty chair where Ryder had been. The needle buzzed faintly in the background as if the echoes of the session were still hanging in the air. Skye closed her eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that had been swirling in her mind all day.
She had rules for a reason.
But as she sat there, alone in the quiet of her shop, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, with Ryder, those rules might not be enough.
For the next few days, Skye tried to focus on her other clients, immersing herself in her work the way she always had. She completed two new pieces, both large back tattoos that required her full attention and energy. But no matter how much she tried to distract herself, her thoughts kept drifting back to Ryder.
His scars. His question about pain. The way he had looked at her as if she held the answers to something even he didn’t fully understand.
It didn’t help that Becca, who had come in for her shift the day after Ryder’s session, had immediately picked up on Skye’s distracted mood.
“So, what’s going on?” Becca asked, leaning against the counter as Skye prepped for her next client. “You’ve been weirdly quiet all morning.”
Skye glanced at her friend, trying to brush off the question. “Just tired. Been working a lot.”
Becca raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. I’ve seen you work long hours before, and you never get like this. Come on, spill it. Is it about that guy? The one who came in last night?”
Skye stiffened, her hands pausing over the ink bottles. Becca, always perceptive, didn’t miss a thing.
“What about him?” Skye asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Becca grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, nothing. Just that he’s gorgeous and you were acting all weird after he left. I’m just saying, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you look at someone like that.”
Skye rolled her eyes, though her heart was pounding. “He’s a client, Becca. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh,” Becca said, clearly unconvinced. “And how’s that ‘no dating clients’ rule working out for you? Because it looked to me like you two were having a moment.”
Skye groaned, rubbing her temples. “There’s no moment. He’s just... different. That’s all.”
Becca’s teasing expression softened. “Different how?”
Skye hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. How could she put into words the way Ryder had gotten under her skin? The way his pain mirrored her own in ways she wasn’t ready to face?
“It’s complicated,” she said finally. “He’s been through a lot. And I... I don’t know. I guess I just relate to that.”
Becca nodded, her gaze sympathetic. “I get it. But just be careful, okay? I know you’re good at keeping your distance, but if this guy is getting to you, maybe it’s time to reevaluate that rule of yours.”
Skye frowned. “What are you saying? That I should break my own rules?”
Becca shrugged. “I’m saying that sometimes, rules are made to be broken. Especially if it means finding something—or someone—worth it.”
Skye didn’t respond. She wasn’t ready to admit, even to herself, that Becca might be right.
The next few days passed in a blur of routine and work, but the anticipation of Ryder’s return hung over Skye like a storm cloud. She had scheduled his next session for the following week, and as the day approached, she found herself growing more anxious. It wasn’t just about the tattoo. It was about the unspoken connection between them, the one she wasn’t sure she was ready to acknowledge.
On the day of Ryder’s second session, Skye arrived at the shop early, her mind already racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. She had spent hours perfecting the next part of the design, but it wasn’t the tattoo that was making her heart race.
It was Ryder.
When he walked into the shop later that evening, his presence filled the room in a way that made Skye’s pulse quicken. He was dressed in his usual dark jeans and leather jacket, his eyes shadowed and unreadable as he greeted her with a nod.
“Ready?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Ryder nodded, though there was something different in his demeanor today. He seemed more distant, more guarded than usual, and it made Skye’s stomach twist with a strange sense of unease.
She set up her station and motioned for him to sit, but as she began to prepare the ink, she noticed Ryder’s hands were clenched tightly in his lap. His jaw was set, his body tense in a way that made her pause.
“You okay?” she asked, frowning.
Ryder didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his expression hard. “Yeah. Just... rough day.”
Skye’s chest tightened at the raw edge in his voice. She wanted to ask more, to push him to open up, but she knew better. Ryder wasn’t the type to share unless he was ready.
“Alright,” she said softly, her hand brushing his arm as she began to position the stencil for the next part of the tattoo. “Just let me know if you need a break.”
For the next hour, the buzz of the tattoo machine was the only sound between them. Skye worked in silence, her focus solely on the intricate patterns she was inking into Ryder’s skin. But she couldn’t shake the tension that lingered in the air, the weight of whatever was eating away at him.
Finally, when she paused to clean the fresh ink, Ryder spoke, his voice low and broken. “I hurt someone. In the ring.”
Skye froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected him to say anything, but now that he had, she felt the weight of his confession settle over them like a heavy blanket.
“What happened?” she asked quietly, unsure of what else to say.
Ryder’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the chair. “I lost control. I was in a fight, and... I just saw red. I hurt him worse than I should have.”
Skye’s stomach twisted. She knew what it was like to lose control, to let anger or pain take over until you couldn’t see straight. But hearing it from Ryder, hearing the guilt in his voice, made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t expected.
“It happens,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes we do things we don’t mean to. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”
Ryder looked at her then, his dark eyes filled with pain and something else—something vulnerable and raw. “What if I am?”
Skye’s breath caught in her throat, but before she could respond, Ryder stood abruptly, pulling his jacket over his fresh tattoo. His face was hard again, his walls back up. “I need to go.”
“Wait—”
But he was already halfway to the door, his footsteps heavy against the shop floor. The bell jingled as he disappeared into the night, leaving Skye standing there, her heart pounding in her chest and her mind racing with questions.
What if he was a monster?
And worse... what if she was falling for him anyway?
