“Bloody fuckin’ hell—you can’t be serious,” Simon huffed, looking out the window as they pulled right up to the front of a neat shop. It was black and white—with a simple word at the top: INK’D.

“A tattoo shop?” Simon said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are fucking with me.”

“You and Gaz were told you’d have to do something risky,” Soap piped up from the back, his legs spread wide in a comfortable position. “I’m just here to watch and laugh at ye bastards.”

“Fucks sake, mate—didn’t think it’d be permanent,” Gaz added from the drivers seat, his eyes narrowed as he focused at the parlor.

It was supposed to be a simple dare. A couple drinks got the testosterone flowing, and now the trio were walking into the tattoo and piercing shop the next day after Soap found the best place in the area to test their bravery. The sound of buzzing from the tattoo guns filled the air, along with the sounds of music playing over the speakers. It was a neat shop, clean and cozy.

Soap patted Simon and Gaz’s shoulders, then: pushing them close to the front desk, to the lady who had a face full of metal—and thick glasses on her nose.

“These lads are lookin’ to get somethin’ done,” Soap said with a cocky grin.

The lady raised a pierced brow. “Okay—well, scan this code right here—sign the waiver right here, and look through the piercers and tattoo artists we have on our website. You can find someone that’ll be a good fit for you and what you’re looking for.”

A couple moments later, the muscular men squeezed on to the little black couch in the main waiting area. Gaz and Simon were cursing under their breath as they looked through the website.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, some of these people are—“ Soap began.

“—Scary,” Gaz muttered under his breath, finishing the sentence.

And then finally, the door swung open and in walked you.