me, that mattered more than anything.
Ama could be surprisingly stubborn, and where her art was concerned, she was used to pretty much doing what she wanted, so, yeah, I was curious as to how this would go down.
We left the sterilization room and headed into the parlor where I set up my area, explaining as I went the hows and whys of following health and safety protocol. It was boring stuff but important. If an inspector came in and saw that we weren’t anal with this shit, we’d get closed down—deservedly so. This was one law I didn’t want to fuck with. Passing around blood-borne diseases was not on my to-do list.
By the time Bridges arrived, I could tell Ama was relieved and her wide smile, wider than usual considering Bridges was a stranger and scowling at her when he’d expected only me, was evidence of how much information I’d thrown at her in ninety minutes.
She’d get used to it. She’d have to. I wasn’t about to be sloppy with this shit.
The parlor was only a single building. It was pretty narrow, around fifteen feet wide but over forty feet long. The front reception was set up with a comfortable booth seating area where I worked on designs with the client. Opposite it was a desk that Ama would be manning. There was a drawing of a hog on the front, one that was being ridden by a skeleton—Hell’s Rebels’ emblem. On the back wall, there were pictures of designs I’d done, and basic patterns that people could select if they didn’t want anything custom.
Nothing separated the reception area from where I worked—what was the point? I mostly manned this place alone unless a brother was hanging out, so I needed to be able to speak to people while I worked. It wasn’t all that professional, I guessed, but people hadn’t been complaining in all the years I’d been here. They hadn’t complained when Roper had run this place, either.
As the reception bled into the parlor, however, the walls were overtaken with a tribal pattern that I’d designed and had painted myself. The motherfucker was easier to paint onto a body than it was onto the walls, but it was worth it. Whenever I looked around the black and white walls, I got a sense of satisfaction that I’d created it and that everyone who walked in received a taste of my work.
Bridges ignored Ama for the most part, ignored me too as he headed straight for the booth and slouched back, with one arm on the back and one leg kicked up on the seat. When his eyes caught mine, I murmured, “Bridges, this is my apprentice Ama.”
Bridges’ glower deepened. “You never had an apprentice before.”
“She’s new. Started today.”
“Just my luck,” he mumbled, making my lips twitch and Ama scowl.
“Don’t worry, she’s just shadowing me. Now, you miserable bastard, what do you want this time?” I winked at Ama as I settled into the booth. There was a hidden drawer in the wall where I stored all the pads and pencils I needed to design, and I grabbed them the second I took a seat.
It was only now when I was showing Ama my routine, my world, that I realized how particular I was. Everything had a proper place and stayed in that place until I was ready for it. I guess it could be said I was anal-retentive but fuck, time in the army did that to a man.
When I settled back in the booth that had a vintage vibe thanks to the shell-like cutouts of the cushion, I motioned at Ama who scuttled in beside me.
Because this wasn’t Bridges’ first time with me, he’d waited until I’d grabbed my stuff from the drawer to say, “Need a picture of my momma.”
“A portrait? That’s unlike you.” He was into Japanese ink. His back was a masterpiece we’d crafted together of a Samurai warrior. The headpiece started at his nape before flowing down all the way to his upper ass cheeks.
Bridges frowned down at the table, but he rubbed his thumb against a ring that he wore suspended on a chain. “She died two weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ama whispered the same time I did.
I cut her a look, well aware that this was probably her specialty. Nobody could draw faces like she did.
“Do you have a picture?” I asked, holding out my hand. He passed it to me, showing me a woman in a simple dress