Page 15 of Our Secrets and Scars

“He won’t go near you again.”

I chuckle lightly. “Unlikely.”

“I’m serious.”

I look up at him, licking the corner of my lips slowly as I do. His eyes trace the movement. “What? You gonna be my bodyguard or something?”

“If need be,” he says simply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.

“Bold of you to assume I’d let you.”

“Bold of you to assume you’d have a choice.”

I gape at him, speechless. The confidence of this man is staggering. “You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t need to.” He brushes past me and reaches out to touch the face of the girl in the drawing I was looking at. “So, what are you getting then?”

“I told you, I’m not getting anything.”

“What about this one?” He takes the picture from the wall and holds it out to me with his large hands. I don’t move to take it from him. “No? Probably for the best, it’s a bit soon for us to get matching tattoos, I guess.”

He winks, and I blink back at him in confusion.

“I said I’m not getting anything. Can you not hear me or something?”

“I heard.” He grins. “But I also heard you say that you’re not scared of anything.”

“I’m not.”

“Then prove me wrong, little one. Pick a design.” I see the challenge sparkling in his eyes. I know what he’s doing, and yet, I still find myself rising to it.

He bites his lip as he stares me down, and I catch the slightest glint of a tongue piercing in his mouth.

“Fine,” I huff and stomp in the direction that Isla was led earlier, having no real idea where I’m going.

“Second door on the left.”

I growl at his instruction, despite knowing that I’d have inevitably ended up in the wrong room without it, and glare at him with evil in my eyes when I hear him chuckle.

“You didn’t pick a design,” he says, as he grabs the door handle before I have a chance and opens it, stepping aside to let me into the room first.

“Didn’t need to.”

I take in the dark, edgy décor and the black walls covered in doodles that look to have been drawn in chalk.

“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the leather massage-type bed in the center of the room. He wheels a stool over and sits with his legs spread wide, completely at ease.

Whereas I, on the other hand, am a complete mess. Worst thing is, he knows it too.

“So, what do you want?”

I frown because I don’twantanything, but somehow, I’ve allowed him to bully me into this situation, and I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction of backing out now.

“Three words at the top of my ribs.”

He nods, pulling a cart filled with whatever it is one needs to mark someone’s skin forever. Then he passes me some consent forms that he watches me fill out with a cocky lift of his eyebrow and laughs when I throw the pen at his head.

“Okay, little one. Lie on your side and get comfy. And, er,” he coughs into a closed fist, “pull up your shirt for me. You might have to take off your bra.”

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