Marcus stepped through the front door on a Tuesday afternoon, keeping his left arm tucked behind his backpack like he didn’t want me to notice it. He headed straight for his room. No eye contact. No usual chatter.
Marcus. Come here.”
He froze, then turned slowly, guilt written all over his face.
“Show me your arm.”
“Dad, I can explain—
“Show me.”
He slid his arm out. Plastic wrap was taped around his forearm. The tattoo underneath was fresh, still red.
My stomach tightened.
“You’re sixteen. What shop would—”
Then I saw the design through the plastic.
A motorcycle. Flames. A banner with three words: “Ride or Die.”
It was the exact same tattoo my brother Jake had worn on his forearm. Same flames. Same banner. Every line.
Jake had been gone for 18 years. A motorcycle accident. He was 24. I was 20.
I had never shown Marcus photos of Jake’s tattoos. We didn’t talk about Jake.
“Where did you get that design?”
Marcus blinked at me, confused. “A guy downtown. From a flash book. Why? What’s wrong?”
“That tattoo… my brother had it. Exactly that tattoo.”
“Uncle Jake?” Marcus went pale. “I didn’t know. I swear. I just saw it and it felt right.”
“What shop?”
“Fifth Street. Iron something. The artist’s name was Danny.”
Danny.
Danny Martinez. Jake’s best friend. The one riding behind Jake the night he died. The one who held Jake on Highway 9 while everything slipped away. The one who vanished after the funeral.
The one who blamed me.
“Stay here.”
I grabbed my keys and drove to Fifth Street. I found the place: Iron Legacy Tattoo.
About the Author
