Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
His answering growl was pure possession. “Fuck yes we should.”
That was two new tattoos for Reeve to put on me, but I had a feeling I’d want a whole lot more in the future.
EPILOGUE
ONYX
The studio was quiet, dim except for the warm glow of the track lights above my booth. The door was locked, the closed sign flipped, and the rest of the crew had cleared out hours ago. This session wasn’t for just anyone.
Elena sat on my bench, one leg propped, and her skin smooth and pale under the light. Her gaze held mine, but I didn’t miss the way her fingers curled around the edge of the seat. It wasn’t fear though, more like reverence and anticipation.
I settled on the stool in front of her and adjusted the machine in my hand. “You ready?”
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Completely.”
I brushed my knuckles over her calf, just above where the old mark had once sat. We’d decided to have it lasered first—burned that brand off her skin like it had never existed. Leaving no trace of the past under the symbol of our future.
I would have been fine if she’d wanted to leave it at that. But that wasn’t us. We didn’t hide from the past, we replaced it with something real. Something we chose together.
“I still think you should’ve let me design the whole thing,” she teased, trying to keep her voice light, even though her eyes were already glossing with emotion. In truth, she’d asked me to design it, but I’d talked her into letting me design the rings tattooed on our fingers instead, and she agreed to do the symbols on our calves.
“You did design it, baby.” I clicked the machine to life, the buzz a low hum between us. Looking up at her beautiful face, I winked. “I just cleaned up the lines.”
Elena’s nose wrinkled adorably. “You adjusted like, three whole pixels.”
“Yeah.” I grinned salaciously. “And I adjusted the fuck outta those pixels.”
She snorted a laugh, but pink stained her cheeks as she relaxed just enough for me to start.
The first line sank into her skin, crisp and sure. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. My girl was tough, always had been. Contrary to our teasing, the symbol we were inking was one we built together—a fusion of two separate sketches. Her loops and flow. My structure and weight. It was a closed-circle pattern with interlocking segments, sharp at the edges but soft at the center. Balanced. Bound. And eternal.
She watched me work, her hand sliding into my hair and resting there, grounding me. Her thumb brushed over my temple while I shaded in the final section.
When I finished, I pulled back and wiped the skin clean. It was already stunning. Her skin pulled the ink in like it had always belonged there.
My voice came out rougher than I expected. “That’s yours now. No one else’s.”
Her fingers cupped my jaw and pulled me up. I set the machine aside and leaned into her, letting her kiss me like we didn’t have time to waste. And when she pulled back, her smile was electric.
She waited for me to add the salve and bandage, then she hopped off the table and grinned. “Your turn.”
“I know.” I cupped her hips and pulled her body into mine. “Don’t know how I’m gonna sit through this without fucking the hell out of you.”
She rolled her eyes as she pushed away, then patted the bench. “Sit your ass down, Hound.”
I grumbled good-naturedly as I sat, stretching my leg out like she had and tugging my jeans up just enough to give her access to the same spot.
“What do you think about Kevlar and that waitress at the diner?”
I shrugged. “She’s worked there for a month. He’s a Hound. If something was gonna happen, it already would’ve.”
She grabbed her own gun, already sterilized so we didn’t have to waste time cleaning mine until after she was done. Then she snapped on gloves and wiped down my skin with practiced care. Her touch was gentle but confident. She’d been apprenticing officially for a couple of months now and was already booking up weeks in advance.
Clients loved her. I got it. She had a calming vibe. And her hands were fucking magic. Although, I wasn’t happy with the way some clients expressed their appreciation for them.
“You nervous?” she asked, flipping on the machine.
I met her gaze and smirked. “You mess this up, I’m spanking you.”
“Promises, promises.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing and bent to focus.
When the needle hit my skin, I felt it all at once—heat, pressure, the drag of her presence wrapped up in the movement of her hand. She was claiming me right back, and there wasn’t a single fucking thing I wanted more. That was the difference. Every mark I’d ever worn before was about brotherhood or blood. This? This was her. Us.