Page 49 of For All My Effort

Zeke smiled widely, not the cocky kind that came with confidence, one that showed I’d made him happy. It was a cycle of happiness between us, reminding me that this was why I refused to go to the media and explain my side. This wasn’t something I wanted to risk.

“We’re not done yet,” he admitted.

We left the garden, and Zeke started the long drive back toward the city. He stopped for a quick meal which we ate in the car, enjoying the greasy, filling deliciousness.

As soon as I finished, though, I asked, “Now where are we going?”

“It’s another surprise.”

I groaned, the sound long and loud and put-out.

Zeke chuckled. “I thought you enjoyed your first surprise.”

“I did.”

“You’ll enjoy this one, too.”

I grumbled under my breath about bossy, demanding alphas, which only made my mate smile. The drive brought us back into familiar territory, or at least, somewhat familiar. Most everything was the same, except a few restaurants or shops that we’d pass weren’t the ones I remembered. It didn’t feel too much like a big deal, stores closed down all the time randomly, or moved to a new location.

At least, that was what I told myself.

Zeke parked in a surprisingly empty public lot that had shade coverage, not that we needed it with how cold it was. The shops we passed didn’t give a hint as to where we were going since they were all different. A vibrant shop that sold large cookies, a deco store that was a mix between a coffee shop and a place to play games, a bar that was only for betas.

I was led into a shop whose name I missed, but their selling point was immediately clear once I managed to blink through the blindingly white lights. It was a tattoo shop. The desk in front was decorated in artist drawings, the walls also covered in them. Different styles from bubble art to drawings that looked like a photograph to artwork so colorful and cartoonish that it was amazing to me that someone actually drew it.

A few people were waiting on the bench that we passed, Zeke pulling me further into the room. Six stations in total, the building was longer than it was wide, fitting each station against the wall with a thin aisle to walk down. All the artists gave Zeke a quick greeting, none of them bothering to question what he was doing there or with me.

Three artists were working. Two on large pieces, another on a small design around a bellybutton. Zeke took me to a station that was obviously his by the comfortability he had with it, patting the large chair for me to sit on.

The workplace had a little printer, which I thought was odd until he picked up a tablet and turned that on. There were also more familiar parts for a tattooist like the cart with the needle and machine, box of tight gloves, and towelettes. His desk drawers were labeled for the colors like, ‘bright’, ‘pastel’, and ‘dark’.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, whispering so I didn’t interrupt the concentration of the other tattooists. Technically music was playing in the background, but I didn’t know if interrupting the song would bother anyone.

“You don’t need to whisper,” Zeke said, also whispering.

I glared at him.

“Let me get everything set up.”

“Am I getting a tattoo?”

“Do you want one?”

I thought about it. I had no idea what I’d get, but it sounded like fun. Maybe something small and cute, just a random design. I could even get something around my wrist or ankle like faux jewelry.

“Let’s do this first, and if you want something after, I’ll do it for you,” Zeke said.

I wanted to ask what ‘this’ was, but I was also conscious of the other people in the building. Alphas and betas. No omegas here.

It took a while for Zeke to do everything. Printing something out, then cutting it down to shape before setting it on the cart. Then he started pulling out ink and pouring little drops into tiny cups.

All of this seemed normal until he had me get off the chair and switch spots.

“Uh…” the sound I made was purely hesitant.

When he tried taking off his sweater, which was also his shirt, my instincts panicked. I grabbed his hands, stopping him from exposing himself in front of others. A growl started in the back of my throat, a warning that I wasn’t happy.

“Okay, not all the way off,” he agreed. Instead, he worked just one arm out, and I did my best to keep his stomach and chest covered to any prying gazes. With his shoulder exposed, I saw that the back of his arm had a blank space that he was prepping.