Chapter Twenty-three

GUNNER

I stifle my chuckle as the tiny, pink-haired, very girlie Rue drags three big ass men into the tattoo shop. A smile breaks free from Dustin when he sees us entering. He opens his mouth to speak but seems to lose his voice when he catches sight of Rue.

She's practically dancing in place when she reaches the counter, and it's the cutest fucking shit I've ever seen. Jace barely represses his own smile, the anal-retentive bastard.

"Ah…um…what can I help you with?" Dustin stutters, obviously not used to dealing with someone who looks like they are spun from cotton candy and sweetness. The man is nearly my size, but he's in his late thirties with a steady tire growing around his waist.

Oh, if it came to a fight, I would want the bald asshole on my side. The man can throw a punch that could break a jaw with one swing. With tattoos crawling across every inch of his tan skin, even over his face, he couldn't appear more opposite than Rue.

Usually, he makes his wife deal with the girls—a retired biker bitch who has a soft spot for strays like us—but Delores must be out since it's so early.

"Um…if I have an image, could you tattoo it for me?" Rue blinks up at Dustin, and I see the moment he turns to mush.

His face softens, and he does his best to gentle his low voice so as not to scare her off. "It depends on the design. Whatcha got?"

A brilliant smile crosses her face that has Dustin blinking at her as if he's wondering if she's real. When she lifts her shirt and reaches for her phone, Dustin immediately snaps upright and suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

I huff out a silent laugh, which earns me a side glare from Dustin, but he doesn't remove his gaze from the ceiling until Jace gives him the okay. It's not just because his wife would have his balls for looking at another girl, it's also a show of respect.

It's one of the reasons he's considered one of the best artists in the country. Jace was lucky enough to apprentice under him. Though he doesn't have a tattoo on him, claiming he's waiting to find the perfect one, the man's talent with tattoos is unparalleled. His ink looks like live artwork on skin. To get the job, Dustin demanded to see his work, and I volunteered to be his canvas.

Now, I won't let anyone else touch me.

"Here!" Rue thrusts her phone toward Dustin, and he carefully takes it from her, then studies the design in minute detail, looking at the screen for nearly five minutes.

"Did you draw this?" He looks up from the phone, his faded green eyes intense.

A cute little blush fills Rue's face, and she shrugs a bit bashfully. "Most of it. I updated it over the years, tweaking things here and there. This ended up being the final design. I even sourced the special ink needed."

Dustin grunts, an apologetic expression crossing his face. "The design is gorgeous, but the fine lines are not my forte. You need someone who specializes in that area."

Rue's face falls, and I want to reach over and pound Dustin into meat paste for upsetting her. When she reaches for the phone, Dustin holds it toward Jace instead. "If anyone can ink the design, it will be him."

Rue turns, and her eyes go wide. She glances at her phone almost protectively, looking ready to snatch it away, then she wrings her hands together and waits for his verdict. Curious, I lean over and peek over at the screen…then still.

I curl my hands into fists to stop myself from stealing the phone away. I'm leaning so close that I'm practically breathing on Jace, but he doesn't seem to notice as he studies the image. We're both looking at it so closely that only a few inches separate us.

It only takes a quick glance, and I'm lost. I don't need to see more to know I want her design on my skin, feeling possessive of the drawing in a way that I don't want anyone else to even see it and think they can take it from me.

A giant sword slices down the center of the image, the tip shattered and cracked. It pierces a heart through the middle, blood dripping from the mortal wound. It's so vividly drawn that it looks like it's still bleeding as a bead of red dribbles down the blade. Tiny symbols are etched into the blade, guard, and handle, giving it an ancient, bloodthirsty vibe.

Behind the image is a giant set of angel wings, the feathers so detailed they almost look like they are moving in an invisible breeze. I touch the screen, expecting to feel feathers, and only come back to myself when the cool surface meets my fingertips.

The edges of a couple of flight feathers appear to be disintegrating, fading into dust. They remind me of my sister and her strength, even as she faded away from us.

I glance at Rue, not even giving a fuck if my expression is pleading. "Tattoo me."

A brilliant smile crosses her features, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you even have room?"

I'm nodding before she even finishes her sentence. "I've been saving a spot across my back for something special. I didn't realize what I wanted until now."

It's more than just the tattoo.

It's her art, a piece of her soul on paper, and I want this little piece of her for myself, even if I have to lie, cheat, or steal to get it.

No, that's a lie.

I want everything from her. From her laughter to her tears, her demons and her orgasms. If it takes sharing her with these fuckers to put my claim on her, then so fucking be it.

Her humor fades, and she presses a hand to my chest. "It's yours. I think it's always been yours."

I'm not one for physical displays of affection. After being pushed away or slapped enough times as a child, you learn to keep your distance, but distance is the last thing I want with Rue. I gingerly reach out and envelop her in my arms. She's as light as a feather, barely a speck in my arms, and I'm careful not to crush her as I bury my face in her hair. Breathing in her light, smoky floral scent eases something in my chest, and I'm beginning to understand why people hug and touch each other so often.

It's addicting as fuck…or at least it is with Rue.

She wraps her arms around me slowly, and I suspect she was raised similarly to me, which has my heart breaking.

Maybe we can learn to trust others together, because one thing is abundantly clear—I'm not letting her go.

Ever.

"You want this as your back piece?" Jace asks, finally lifting his head from the phone. His eyes are slightly unfocused, already working on how to transfer the image to skin. "I think I should be able to do it, but it's going to take more than a few hours."

A giant grin takes over my face, and I'm already ripping my shirt over my head.

Jace sends a copy of the image to the computer to print out and begins tracing, glancing at Rue as he follows me behind the counter. "You said you have special ink?"

Interest sharpens his pale blue eyes, and I leave them to talk, stalking toward the empty chair and straddling it, determined not to leave until the tattoo is inked on my skin.

"Yes, the symbols on the sword need special ink. It's at my house. I?—"

"I'll have Ellis grab it and bring it to us." James is already on his phone. "Just tell me where to look for it."

"It's in a case under my bed." Rue looks dazed at the speed of events, her eyes turning toward Jace again. "You can change the rest of the tattoo, but those symbols have to be exact. Understand?"

Some hidden message passes between them. I'm curious, but I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to upset either of them until the tattoo is a done deal.

Nothing and no one is going to take this away from me.

As the others get to work, Dustin huffs and shoots us a rueful smile. "I guess I'll leave you to it. Rue, if you want to come behind the counter, you can sit with Gunner. I don't usually allow visitors in the work area, but since you're the artist, I'll make an exception."

Rue slips behind the counter, looking like a fairy-tale creature standing next to him. "Thank you. I promise I won't touch anything."

Dustin nods, his face softening as he gazes down at our girl. "You'll be fine. If you need anything, just ask. If these boys don't treat you right, you come to me, you hear?"

While part of me wants to rip that fucker's head off for even offering, another part of me softens at knowing he would protect her with his life. I wave her over to my side. "Come here, princess."

Her nose crinkles adorably at my nickname, but she does as told, taking a seat on the stool next to me. When her eyes drop to scan my tattoos, I hold completely still, allowing her to look her fill. Normally, when people stare at me, I find the attention intrusive. I usually snarl to scare them away or knock the fuckers out—either is effective.

It's different when Rue looks at me, her gaze more of a caress than judgment. I allow her time to look, basking in her nearness. After the beating I took, I look like a fucking thug more than ever, but she doesn't even flinch. When her eyes land on mine, a little furrow appears between her eyebrows. I barely resist the urge to smooth it out. "What's wrong?"

"You do know that the tattoo was always meant to be yours, right?" Her fingers twitch before she forces them still, like she's been trained not draw attention to herself—another thing that we have in common with our childhood.

While I had my aunt and uncle, my heart bleeds with the knowledge that she had no one.

"I got the others jewelry, but I didn't want to risk you wearing anything during a fight. If you change your mind, though, I can order you?—"

"You did good, princess." I rest my hands lightly over hers, patting her awkwardly. It takes a physical effort to touch her and not flinch as I wait for a smack. "But when did you have time to design it?"

She shrugs, her fingers lightly tracing over the calluses and scars on my fingers. Her digits are so dainty against mine that I almost pull away for fear of sullying her, but one thing stops me—she is mine .

It's better if she gets used to my rough calluses and brutish ways now, because there is no fucking way that I'm letting her go.

Her touch does wicked things to me, like she's reaching into my pants to stroke my cock, and it's all I can do not to pull her into my lap and show her what I want to do with her. I can already imagine a pretty blush filling her pale cheeks as I whisper dirty, wicked things into her ears.

I grunt and shift on the seat, glad the reverse chair keeps her from seeing my reaction to her.

No, she needs to be eased into loving me.

I'll get her used to my presence in small doses, starting with gentle touches and frequent kisses.

Before long, I'll have her craving my touch.

Then I'll make her mine.

It's only when Rue speaks that I realize I got lost in my mental list of things I need to do to entice her into loving me. "What did you say?"

A tiny smile flickers across her luscious mouth, like she knew where my thoughts wandered, but she's nice enough not to tease me…not yet, anyway.

Soon, she'll learn that I love to be teased and driven mad by her.

"I said I have been drawing images for years. It's only after I met you that I realized those images belonged together." She peers down at her hands, adjusting her rings in a nervous gesture. "When I saw your tattoos this morning, things connected in my mind. Walking by a tattoo shop just seemed like fate."

"Fate…" I nod my head, nudging her chin up so her teal eyes are on me again. Like an addict, I can't get enough of her looking at me. "I like the idea that we're fated."

A gorgeous blush climbs in her cheeks, and I barely stifle a groan as my cock threatens to bust out of my pants. Fuck, I've never been so damn hard in my life, and I'm afraid to move and shoot my load at the beautiful picture of her blushing for me.

My eyes drop to the fading bruises on her delicate skin, and my mood sours. They are almost gone, thank fuck. It's hard to control myself at knowing someone would dare touch her in anger. I don't want to ruin the moment, but I need to know if she's afraid of me after what she saw last night.

It would kill me if she ever looked at me with fear.

"Does my fighting scare you?" I ask, terrified to speak above a whisper, worried it will make my worst fear real. My emotions are a tangled knot in my chest, threatening to strangle me as I wait for her answer like my life depends on it.

And maybe it does.

I'm not sure I have a life without her and the guys.

I stare down at my hands, flexing my bruised knuckles, unable to look at her and see her recoil as I spill the secrets of my past. She needs to know the full truth before our relationship goes any further.

I won't trap her with a monster she'll come to hate.

"My whole life revolved around violence. I was born with only one purpose—replacement parts for my dying sister." I absently rub the surgery scars hidden under my tattoos. "When she died, despite doing my best to keep her alive, the rest of the family fell apart. My mother resorted to pills, while my father fell into a bottle. The only way they communicated was through violence.

"After my father killed my mother and went to prison, the only way to survive was to fight. With each match, I make a little more money. I'm good at using my fists." I hesitate, then shake my head. "No, that's not the whole truth. Money isn't the only reason. Fighting helps me keep my demons contained."

I reach up to tug at the collar of my shirt when it feels too tight, only to realize that I stripped it off.

Fuck.

I drag my hands through my hair, then roll my shoulders as I fight the need to run. "Fighting helps keep my temper in check. It stops me from lashing out. It would kill me if I hurt the people I care about most."

I drop my hands to my sides, my throat too tight to speak more.

I can't look at her as I wait for her verdict, I couldn't bare to see her face twist in disgust.

"The instant I start liking it, I'll quit," I tell her earnestly, interrupting her before she can speak, one last bid to change her mind before she dumps my ass. I lick my lips and swallow hard. "I swore it on my sister's grave."

Rue takes her time to answer, which has my stomach churning with dread, and I suddenly find the grease under my nails fascinating. My head fills with static and doubts, but I'm glad she's taking this seriously. The last thing I want is for her to answer in haste and regret it later, even if her hesitation doesn't bode well for me.

"Fighting isn't inherently good or bad," she says, her words measured, and my heart lodges in my throat, anticipation and dread stealing the air from my lungs. "It's how people use their fists. Some people use them to beat people down, while a rare few actually use them to save others."

She's talking about herself.

My heart shatters as darkness haunts her eyes. Needing to banish them as much as I need to breathe, I grab her hand and squeeze it tightly. She blinks, then grips my hand just as hard. The darkness clears, her teal eyes lightening, and a gentle smile breaks across her face. "People touched by violence know the difference. We know the difference. You would never lay a finger on me or anyone else who didn't deserve it. It's never about inflicting pain on the innocent for you. I believe that with my whole being."

"Never," I respond instantly, my word a vow, and I wince at the gravelly tone of my voice, hating that I sound like a thug. Heart slamming against my ribs, I search her eyes, looking for a hint of doubt.

And find nothing.

I wilt like air being let out of a tire, and my arms ache to drag her close.

Rue nods, then leans forward, and I stop breathing. I swear I can almost taste her on my lips when she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know."

"I'm going to have to apply the sketch in sections. I need to get the placement just right," Jace mutters, walking to the ink station as he sorts through a few pages of transfer paper. "By the time they are placed, Ellis should be here with the ink. Rue did such a nice job with the sketch that very few alterations were needed."

I'm not sure if I want to nut punch him for interrupting our first kiss or breathe a sigh of relief. Since I'm desperate for any crumb of affection, I'm not sure I could have controlled myself if she kissed me right now. My emotions feel wild and dangerous. I thought I buried them with my sister, but they are returning with a vengeance.

They are dangerous and addicting, and I want more.

Jace touches my back, and I still as he begins the arduous process of applying the transfer, my mind falling into a trance as he picks up his needle. With Rue near, I barely feel anything but the touch of her concerned gaze. As her mark is inked into my skin for everyone to see, I feel fucking thrilled.

No matter what happens, no one will take that—or her—from me.

I won't let them.