Page 103 of Crown of Lies

“You got a tattoo gun here?”

Her eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting me to be so immediately willing. But she nods anyway.

My pulse races as I imagine marking her, claiming her in a way that’s permanent and visible. I can almost feel the buzz of the gun in my hand, see the ink sinking into her skin.

“Go get it.”

Quinn’s eyes light up with excitement as she jumps off the bed. She practically dances out of the room, her energy palpable. I can’t help but smirk at her enthusiasm.

A few minutes later, she returns, tattoo gun in hand. She sets it on the nightstand, along with ink and other supplies.

“Ready?” she asks, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in her voice.

I nod, picking up the gun. “Where do you want it?”

She shrugs out of her shirt, exposing the two existing tattoos. “Right here, next to the others.”

I position myself beside her, gun in hand. The buzz fills the air as I start, and Quinn watches intently as I work. Each line is precise, my hand steady as always. I feel a new sort of connection forming between us as the ink sinks into her skin.

When I finish, Quinn examines the fresh tattoo—my ring, now permanently etched right next to Atlas’s and Nico’s marks.

“It’s perfect,” she breathes, tracing the lines with her finger. “You know, since you got to tattoo me, I think it’s only fair that I get to put one on you someday.”

I give her a look that clearly says ‘not a chance in hell’, and she bursts out laughing as she looks down at her new tattoo again. I watch as she traces each line, her fingertips hovering just above the irritated skin. She seems hyper-aware of every detail, every curve and angle.

I tip Quinn’s chin up and there’s a moment of anticipation, a breath held between us, before I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s only the second time I’ve kissed her, and the novelty of it sends a fresh jolt through my system.

As our lips meet, I’m struck by the intensity of the connection. It’s like a current running between us, electric and alive. My hand moves to cup her face, feeling the softness of her skin against my calloused palm.

Quinn responds eagerly, her body pressing closer to mine. Her lips part, inviting me deeper, and I accept without hesitation. The taste of her, the warmth of her breath—it’s all intoxicating.

As we kiss, a thought crystallizes in my mind. I was right all along. Even without a tattoo, my mark was already on her. It’s there in the way she melts into me, in the soft sounds she makes as our tongues dance. It’s in the way her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer as if she can’t get enough.

This connection, this undeniable pull between us—it’s more permanent than any ink could ever be. The tattoo might be visible, but this? This runs deeper.

30

QUINN

I wakeup the next morning, my skin still tingling from the fresh tattoo. As I stretch, I catch sight of it in the mirror—three marks now, each representing one of my men. A smile tugs at my lips.

We’re gearing up for a mission today. The men have decided we’re sticking together from now on, given the recent attacks and the continuing threat of The Saint. It’s both comforting and slightly suffocating, but I understand their concern.

Our target? My uncle’s old cellmate, Ambrose Pearce. He’s out of jail now, and we’ve managed to track down his current address. It’s a long shot, but he might have information about my uncle—or even The Saint.

“Ready to roll?” Atlas calls from downstairs.

I get up and throw on some clothes, grab my jacket, and then head down. The men are waiting by the door, looking like a formidable trio. My car is still out of commission after the crash, so we’re taking their bikes today.

“How’re we splitting up?” I ask, eyeing the three motorcycles.

Nico grins. “You’re with me, mia cara.”

I climb on behind Nico, wrapping my arms around his waist. The engine roars to life, and we’re off, Atlas and Killian flankingus on their bikes. The wind whips through my hair as we weave through traffic, heading to the outskirts of town.

We pull up to an older house, nothing too fancy. Peeling paint and overgrown bushes give it a sort of rough, neglected look.

“This is it?” I ask, double-checking the address on my phone.

---