Forged with Ink (London Inked Boys Book 3)
FORGED WITH INK
LONDON INKED BOYS
BOOK THREE
Marissa Farrar
Copyright © 2018 Marissa Farrar
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
Publisher’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Forged with Ink (London Inked Boys, #3)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Three months later
About the Author
Other Contemporary Books by the Author
Hard-bodied, tattooed, and British... Meet the men of London tattoo studio, Carved in Ink.
For ten years, Rocco Rayne has tried to put his childhood best friend and first love Sophia out of his mind. She left him broken-hearted when she walked out of his life, and he never heard from her again.
He used those years without her to harden his heart, and transform himself from a skinny teenager to the tough, tattooed man he is now. But when she shows up in the tattoo studio where he works, he discovers all those feelings never went anywhere.
Except Sophia has had struggles of her own over the last ten years, and she's no longer the girl he once knew....
*Please note, each of the 'London Inked Boys' stories follows a different couple and can be read as a standalone, but they're probably best read in order.
Chapter One
“So what the fuck’s wrong with Kane this morning?” Rocco threw his bag down behind the reception desk of Carved in Ink, the London tattoo studio where he worked. “You sure he’s not just skiving off to spend more time in bed with the new woman?”
His boss, Art, was standing behind the desk, leaning over so he could use the computer and check that morning’s bookings. He didn’t bother glancing up at Rocco as he spoke. “Nah, he’s really sick. I could hear him in the bathroom when he called in.”
Rocco pulled a face. “Man, I bet that’s a sound you could have done without first thing in the morning.”
Art snorted. “Yeah, I might need to bleach my ears later. Anyway, sorry I had to call you in on your day off, but Kane had a full schedule. I’ve phoned around the clients to let them know Kane won’t be the one working on them today. A couple have rescheduled ’cause Kane was in the middle of a bigger piece and they didn’t want a different artist, but some of the smaller pieces were happy for you to do it instead.”
Rocco rubbed his hand over his goatee. “Lucky me.”
Art laughed. “Yeah, sorry, mate. I guess it would have been better for you if they all cancelled, but I can’t afford for the shop to lose that kind of money.”
Rocco shrugged. “Nah. I get it. You owe me a beer, though.”
“I can do that.”
Movement came from the back of the shop, and Art’s girlfriend, Tess, appeared carrying a mug of coffee. She and Art were managing Carved in Ink together now, since the two of them had hooked up and she was the one who owned the building. At first Rocco hadn’t been keen on the idea of having a woman around the place the whole time, but she’d soon become one of the gang. Things were a bit different with the woman Kane had met, however, as she had a son, but she’d hung out with everyone a few times now, and most importantly Kane seemed to be happy.
Rocco wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel like the odd one out. They used to have late nights with all the guys, drinking beer and talking crap, but now everyone was paired off and he was left on his own. He had other friends, but it wasn’t the same as with Art and Kane. The three of them got each other.
“Hey, Rocco,” Tess said in her American accent. “You wanna coffee? I was just making some.”
“Yeah, sure, Tess. Thanks.”
“Your first appointment should be here soon,” Art told him.
“Do they know what artwork they’re having?”
“Yeah, it’s a small, simple piece. Kane emailed all the files over this morning. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
“Great.”
He left the reception area to head into the room which acted as his own private studio. Each of the guys had their own studio with their own computers and printers for the artwork. He’d be able to access each of the images the clients wanted. Anything that was too specific to the stuff that Kane had drawn were people who would have rebooked for another day. Rocco could handle most pieces. He’d been to Art College, and even though he knew he looked tough with his beard and shaved head, he had a degree in Fine Art. His lecturers had thought he was insane to want to work in a tattoo studio in London, thinking he’d be working in art galleries all around the world instead, but this was where he felt the most comfortable. He loved art, and what could be more important than giving people artwork that they carried around with them for the rest of their lives? Many of the pieces he did were commemorative—things that would remind the person of someone they’d lost—and it was those pieces of work that really got to him, seeing the combined joy and bittersweet sorrow in the face of someone he’d just tattooed when they’d lost someone they loved.
A knock came at the door, and Tess’s dark, silky head popped around. “Brought you that coffee,” she said, stepping fully into the room. “And your first appointment has just arrived.”
“Already? They’re keen.” He hadn’t even had a chance to look at the artwork yet.
“Yeah, I told her that you’re getting set up. She knows she’s early.”
“Cool, thanks, Tess.”
“Sure.”
She set his coffee down on the side and left.
Rocco turned his attention to the computer and fired it up. Kane had already drawn the artwork, and it was a symbol, something Rocco could do with his eyes shut. All he needed to do was check the sizing and position with the client.
He realised he hadn’t even looked at what the client’s name was yet and so scrolled down through the computer until he came to the booking schedule.
His heart stopped.
Sophia Alexander.
No, that couldn’t be. Sophia Alexander had vanished from his life when he’d been seventeen years old, and he hadn’t seen or heard from her since. That was ten years ago now. She was the little girl he’d grown up with, the one he’d shared skinned knees, and games of tag, and melted ice creams on a hot summer’s day. She was also the girl he’d watched grow from a skinny little thing who was all sharp elbows and long limbs, to a beautiful teenager who’d stolen his heart.
Stolen was the right word. She’d taken his heart with her when her family had suddenly moved away, leaving him bereft. Those had been the ti
mes before every teenager had a mobile phone or was on Facebook, and he hadn’t known how to get in touch with her. She’d just announced one day that her parents were leaving, and the next day they were gone.
No, it couldn’t be the same girl, could it? There must be more than one Sophia Alexander around. Besides, it was ten years ago. His Sophia could be married by now and wouldn’t even have the surname Alexander. It wasn’t as though they were both from London either. They’d grown up together in a small coastal town in Cornwall, miles away from anywhere. Sophia wouldn’t be in London now.
Rocco realised he’d been sitting there, staring at her name, lost in memories. His coffee grew cold beside him. He didn’t have any choice. He was going to have to get up and go and see if the woman sitting out in the studio was the same girl from his childhood. He didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified. What was he going to say to her if it was her? And, even worse, how was he going to function for the rest of the day if it wasn’t?
Chapter Two
Sophia did her best to look comfortable in these alien surroundings, consciously making an effort not to bounce her leg up and down or chew her lower lip. She picked up a magazine on tattooing, but the shivering of the pages each time she turned one only made it obvious as to how badly her hand was shaking.
Her nerves hadn’t been helped by the information that the tattoo artist she’d originally met with to discuss her design was sick for the day, and she’d be getting someone else called Rocco. They’d given her the option to rebook for another time, but she’d worked herself up to this moment for the last month and had barely slept last night in anticipation. The American woman she’d spoken to had assured her that this Rocco was just as talented, if not more so, than the original artist Sophia had booked, though, the woman had added, Sophia wasn’t allowed to tell anyone she’d said that. Sophia couldn’t stand the thought of going through the build-up all over again, so she’d agreed to go ahead with the other artist.
A big, scary-looking guy with spiky dark hair and a silver hole through one of his ears, which she could see right through, was standing behind the reception desk. At first, she’d wondered if he was the one who’d be working on her, but he hadn’t said as much when she’d come in, and there were a number of rooms, so he obviously wasn’t the only artist here. He’d seemed friendly enough, but she still couldn’t stop herself from staring at the numerous tattoos crawling up his arms, and even up the side of his neck. As she’d been staring, a short woman with dark hair had come up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself into his back. Sophia’s heart had clenched at the sight, and she’d blushed and glanced away from the intimate moment. She wished she had that for herself, but the years of her adult life hadn’t been easy so far, and men who got involved with her tended to realise she wasn’t going to be as much fun as she looked. As soon as they figured out that being with her wasn’t going to be simple, they took off for the hills. She had her family, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t lonely sometimes.
“He won’t be too much longer,” the brunette behind reception called to her.
“Oh, thanks. No problem.” She smiled, trying to hide her nerves.
A door opened, and a voice she hadn’t heard for ten years spoke. “Sophia?”
Her heart lurched as she turned toward the voice.
It was only one word, and yet it tumbled her back in time to a place where she’d been the happiest in her life. To a time when she’d felt loved and cherished and adored. To a time when she’d had a scruffy boy, whose brown hair had always ended with blond highlights in the summer, but then had darkened in winter. A boy who’d always protected her and made her laugh and had been there for her every step of the way, until life had forced them apart.
Her gaze found his face, and her heart stopped again. It was him. He looked so different and yet somehow exactly the same. He’d filled out from when he was seventeen, his shoulders broad beneath his t-shirt. A short goatee hid his chin, and the brown locks she’d loved so much had been shorn right down to his head. But his eyes... His eyes were exactly the same. Deep brown, almost black in lower light, while golden honey and specked with amber flecks in the sunlight. He was ten years older, and bigger, and harder, but it was him, without a doubt.
She got to her feet, though her legs felt like they didn’t belong to her. “Richard?”
His perfect lips twisted. “I don’t go by that any more. Everyone calls me Rocco.”
She nodded, in a stunned daze. “Rocco,” she said, tasting the name on her tongue. “It suits you.”
He took a step towards her and then stopped, as though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. Hug her? Kiss her? Shake her hand? So instead they just stood opposite each other, staring, while the two people behind the counter watched the awkward interaction with curious confusion.
“How...? How have you been?” he asked.
She nodded, forcing a smile. “Okay. I’ve been okay.” She didn’t want to get into all of that now, not standing here, in the middle of a tattoo studio.
Richard—Rocco—must have become aware of their audience as he turned to the other two people, who were watching with amused expressions. “We knew each other as kids. I mean, we were friends. We basically grew up together.”
It was more than that, she wanted to say. We grew up as the same person. We shared each other’s skin. Every experience one of us went through, the other was there right by their side. Her first memory was of them at a birthday party, sitting on a rug outside on the grass with a birthday cake in front of them. She couldn’t have said whose birthday it had been, but she remembered him right there, next to her, and how they’d both blown out the candles at the same time.
At the same time. That was how it had been for them. They’d done everything together. They’d learned to swim together in the Cornish sea during the long, hot summers where the population of their small town seemed to quadruple with the number of tourists. They’d learned to ride their bikes together, and how to fall off together, too. And then they’d grown older, and things had changed between them.
The man behind the counter cleared his throat. “Are you going to take her through, then, Rocco? You’ve got work to do.”
“Oh yeah. Course. Come through.”
Sophia flashed the other man a grateful smile. She felt as though they would have been standing there staring at each other for hours if someone hadn’t intervened. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Richard’s—no, Rocco’s—back as he led her through to his studio. He’d certainly filled out in the last ten years. He’d been a strong, lean teenager from years of outside activity, but nothing like he was now. She noted all the tattoos running across his arms and wondered how much of his skin he had tattooed. The idea sent mixed emotions through her. She’d loved his skin when they’d been teenagers. They’d always been outside, on the beach, mainly, and he’d always tanned to a deep, honeyed brown. They’d often laughed, putting their forearms side by side to compare the difference in their skin tone. With her auburn hair and pale skin, she never went anything more than a slightly darker shade of pale. Then she would press her nose and lips against his smooth shoulder, salty from the sea and warm from the sun, and inhale the scent of him.
Sophia stepped into the room that was his studio and looked around. Would this place tell her more about the man he’d grown into? She checked the desk which held the computer, wondering if there would be framed photographs of him with a girlfriend, or maybe even a couple of kids smiling back at them, but there was nothing like that.
“Sit down, please,” he said, pointing to a plastic chair opposite his own.
She gave a nervous smile and dropped into it, placing her bag on the floor beside her.
He put both his hands to his face, hiding his mouth from her, and shook his head. “Fucking hell, Sophia. I can’t believe it’s really you. I mean, I saw your name on the computer, and I was trying to convince myself there must be plenty of Sophia
Alexanders in the world. But then I walked out, and it was you.” He gestured to her. “I mean, clearly it’s you.”
“I know. I can’t believe it either. You look so different.” She shook her head. “It’s weird, ’cause you kind of look exactly the same, but you look really different, too.”
He laughed. “Well, you do look exactly the same. What happened to you, Sophia? All those years ago, you just upped and left, and I never heard from you again.”
She rubbed her arms, subconsciously hugging herself. “It was my parents. They moved away suddenly, and I had to go with them.”
“But you could have come back. You were seventeen. You could have visited. I had no idea where you’d gone.”
She remembered the night when she’d got back home after a day on the beach to find her house in boxes. Her parents had announced they were moving, that her dad’s job was under threat unless he was able to start at the new location the very next week. She remembered screaming and crying and threatening, but it had done no good. And she remembered running over to his house, throwing herself into his arms and crying against his chest as she’d told him she was leaving.
“I know, and I’m sorry. Other stuff happened, and life just kind of got away on me.”
His lips twisted. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, though,” she said, trying to make her voice brighter. She didn’t want him to know what the years had been like for her.
He nodded. “Things have been all right. How about you? What have you been doing all these years?”
“Oh, not much.” She gave a tight smile and glanced away, not knowing how to answer his question. She wanted to change the subject. “Are we going to do it, then?” she said instead.
His deep-brown eyes widened at her words. “Do it?”
“The tattoo,” she reminded him, her cheeks flushing as she realised his mind had jumped to something else.
He gave his head a slight shake. “Oh yeah, of course.”