The Tattoo Artist - PAPERBACK ON AMAZON!

Chapter Thirteen | 'Give someone the benefit of the doubt'

"You finally believe me." Hang on, the news reporter said Greek. Ares is Greek. Maybe he knows more about the sword than I do. I grab my bag, and Cathy's hands as I drag her out of school. Of course, she willingly follows, "what are you doing? You have a class."

"I need to talk to Ares." I shoot out.

"Why? Are you going to finally make a move?"

"No, I'm not. I just have a few questions to ask him." Cathy and I both get into the car. She starts the car by inserting her keys. My gaze never left the pendant that rested in-between my breasts as she continued the long trek to the tattoo shop.

Why me, Diávolos? What is the point of kissing me? Why are you protecting me? Why are you sacrificing your life for my sake? What is your name? Please show me your face. Trust me. "I'm sorry for not believing you Ali, I really thought you were going crazy. I mean can you blame me? You have been going after him since you were sixteen!"

"It's okay Cathy, I forgive you."

We arrive at Temple Tattoo; I push open the car door and go down. Opening the tattoo shop door, the same lady stares at me but i ignore her making my way down the tight hallway. I push open Ares' door and see him sitting there sketching in his book. He looks up at me. "Ali."

"Ares, I need to ask you a few questions," he looks up at me from his sketch book and nods his head.

"What does this mean?" I lift the pendent up from my neck, and he stares at it for a second.

"Who gave that to you?" He asks.

"Diávolos, he came to my room last night." I refrained on telling him the part that he was injured because Ares is clever. He would figure it out. I settle down beside him, on the bed. "And he gave it to me and said prosterna? Something along the lines."

Ares stands up and steps between my knees, looming above me. He raises the necklace and examines it. And, for some reason, the way he looked at me made me feel the same way Diávolos did. The way he looked at me or analysed something about me. It seemed familiar.

"Prostasia."

"Yes! That word, he said that to me."

"It means he's protecting you with his life, whatever you don't take it off." He mumbles.

"Why? Why not?"

"It's not good. A Greek tradition." I nod my head and watch as he looks down at me.

"He kissed me yesterday," I wanted to see his reaction. I wanted to see how he would respond. His jaw tenses. He turns back to his sketch book and begins drawing. Ignoring my existence.

"Good for you." He whispers. "Go home Ali, before it gets dark. I have work to do."

.  .  .

Something inside of me felt almost guilty, I should not have said that to him. There was no reason too. I stay besides my balcony door, waiting almost for Diávolos to come back. I stood at the corner of it, leaning over to get a better view of the alley.

The rainy day comes with a confident wind, rousing the trees into a vortex of dance. It splatters down my hair but i refused to move. I know he is coming, something inside of me knows. So, I allow the rain to endure me, and allow my hair to flatten against my back. Darkening.

But for some reason, I felt something inside me, something telling me to turn. I turn around and there he stood, Diávolos. He watched me from the corner, staring at my eyes, he takes out a pack of cigarettes and rests one on his lips without smoking it. "Did you kill him?" I whisper, he had eyes that spoke of all things new-born in the spring, of a soul that remained ever young. He nods his head as an answer.