Page 178 of Gloves Off

“I’m in,” Streicher adds.

“Shit, really, Streicher?” Miller grins at him.

Streicher nods again. “I was already thinking about it.”

The guys look to me.

“You okay to wait, buddy?” Miller asks.

“No.” I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. “Because I’m getting one, too.”

Owens crows, trying to put me in a headlock, and I shove him off, but I’m smiling.

Hours later, we leave the tattoo parlor.

Streicher got a minimalist outline of a guitar, identical to the one he bought Pippa the first year they were together. Her dream guitar, that she wrote and recorded her debut album with.

Miller got another dragon. That’s what he calls Hazel, his tiny fire-breathing dragon.

Owens got a sword up the back of his calf, fromThe Northern Swordbook series he and Darcy love.

I shift my shoulder back and forth, sore from keeping still for so long. My tattoo took a lot longer than the others, but they were happy to wait, talking and laughing and keeping me company while I lay on the table.

“What do you think, Volkov?” Owens asks. “You feel like you made the right choice?”

It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, maybe because I thought about my wife the entire time.

“Without a doubt.”

CHAPTER 83

GEORGIA

The next afternoon,Alexei’s on the phone in the other room, talking to his lawyer about some last immigration details, when I walk out in the dress he bought me. He’s shirtless with his back to me, and I take a moment to admire the strong planes of his back.

My husband is so freaking hot.

He notices me standing there and stops talking, eyes flaring. He hangs up without saying goodbye, never taking his gaze off me.

“Hi.” I smile.

“Hi, Hellfire.” He hasn’t seen this dress yet. “Jesus, fuck, my wife is hot.”

I roll my eyes, smiling, and my gaze catches on the bandage across his chest. My stomach drops through the floor. He’s hurt?

“Oh my god. Alexei, what happened?” When did this happen? I was half-asleep when he got home last night, and when I woke this morning, he was already awake, dressed, and giving me a quick kiss before he stepped out to get us breakfast.

I reach for the bandage but his hands wrap around my wrists.

“Let me take the bandage off,” I insist, but he’s way too strong.

“No.” His gaze is steady on me, voice firm. “I didn’t get hurt, but you can’t see it.”

I drop my wrists, confused.

“It’s a tattoo.”

“What?” I blanche. “You got a tattoo.Yougot a tattoo.”

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