Page 117 of The Tattoo Artist

“Ares, I want this, I want you…I’m ready.”

“I don’t want you to feel guilty, I don’t want you to regret this.”

“I won’t.” She shoots back.

“But how do you know that?”

“Because it’s you, don’t you get it?”

“I don’t…I don’t get it.”

And now her eyes are sad, the light slowly dies down and she shifts herself off me. I rush my fingers through my hair, the sounds of birds tweeting and dogs barking echo into the silence of our empty conversation.

She turns her head, a look of surprise evident on her face. “What?” she responds, clearly taken aback.

“Marry me,” I repeat, more determined this time.

“Ares...” she begins, hesitating.

“Be my wife,” I interrupt, my heart racing with anticipation. This is a big step Ares. But I know this is the best choice I will ever make.

Being her husband.

“Ares, we’re young...” she starts again, trying to reason.

“Age doesn’t matter,” I insist, desperation creeping into my voice. “I love you, and you love me, so be my wife.”

“All of this for sex?”

“All of this for us…you and I…what do you say stalker?” Without hesitation, she throws herself onto me, her lips crashing against mine in a passionate kiss. I smile through the kiss, feeling relief wash over me as she pulls back slightly.

“Yes,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “A thousand times yes.”

Her lips find mine.

“But I want a better proposal-with a ring.”

“I’ll do it all for you.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ALEXANDRA JONES

My eyes pry open reluctantly, heavy with the leftovers of sleep. A chill wind bites at my skin, causing goosebumps to rise in protest against the frigid air. Slowly, consciousness floods my senses, revealing the stark reality of my predicament. I find myself lying on my back, limbs bound tightly to the cold, unyielding surface of the train tracks. Panic surges through me, a primal instinct clawing at the edges of my realisation. The metal beneath me feels like ice against my skin, sending shivers coursing through my body.

With a racing heart, I struggle against the ropes, each futile attempt amplifying the terror that threatens to consume me. The world around me is a desolate wasteland, devoid of life and warmth. Tall grasses sway ominously in the breeze, their whispers a haunting soundtrack to my nightmare.

I strain against the restraints, desperate to scream for help, but my lips are sealed tightly shut, leaving me silent. I scan my surroundings, searching desperately for any sign of hope. And then, like a dark omen emerging from the shadows, a figure materializes in the distance, steadily making their way towards me.

It’s Luca.

My heart lurches in my chest as he crouches down beside me, his touch gentle yet suffocating. His thumb brushes against my cheek, a cruel mockery of tenderness.

“Good morning, princess,” he murmurs with a twisted smile. “Rise and shine.”

Tears stream down my face, silent witnesses to the horror unfolding before me. Luca’s words cut through the air like a knife, chilling me to the bone.

“Oh, don’t cry,” he taunts, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Save your tears for when the train comes, because Ares still hasn’t come.” He looks down at the watch wrapped around his wrist.

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