The first tattoo machine Kip had ever held had belonged to his uncle. He’d been sixteen, just on the verge of really wanting to understand ink, and Dirk Jeroen had allowed him to the hold the surprisingly heavy machine with its red rubber grips and oxidised brass plate. The first machine he’d used should have been Matti’s, and though Matti had broken an unwritten rule of apprenticing by getting Kip to tattoo him, Kip had broken a far bigger one.
It had been his idea, inspired by watching a dark