Page 73 of When Sinners Fall
“Dante, please. You don’t want this.”
“I don’t? You sure about that? I’ve spent plenty of time marking people’s skin. It means ownership, Wren.” He snatches the machine back, plugs a tube into the gun. “I’m damn sure we can manage something that gets your head straight. What do you say, a W? Or a rose? Better yet, an arrow through the fucking heart.”
“You’re being cruel. That’s not you, Dante.”
"You don't know shit about me being cruel.” He opens up little bottles of ink and stares at me. “Go get the chair from the other room. Now!” Fuck, he’s not bluffing. One thing I know about Dante is he doesn’t back down.
“But-”
“Do it!” he barks.
I go and retrieve the chair from the dining area and sit it next to where he’s setting up.
“I’ve given you more than anyone, Wren, yet you're still pushing.”
He grabs the gun and turns it on with a foot pedal, by the looks of it. It vibrates to life, emitting a precise buzzing that is terrifying. “Here,” he beckons. “Hold it. I’ll guide you.”
I keep my hands to myself. “Wh- what am I doing?”
“Whatever will make this bullshit stop from you.”
How can this man pull such polarised feelings from me?
Fine. If he’s going to be a jerk about this, I’ll do it.
My heart thunders in my chest, and my mouth goes dry until I visualise a W on his chest. My gaze creeps higher, lingering on the spot over his heart. Seems cliché, but nothing about this is that. It's angry, like him. Possessive even. Maybe I'm matching him now, making my own mark on his life.
“You put yourself wherever you want to on me."
He pulls the skin tight after I point and then dips the needle in the ink and waits for me to hold the gun. It springs to life in my hand, and I nearly drop it but for his grip around mine. We move it closer to the skin, and he controls the movement of my hand, stopping me from going too deep. It’s hard to stay focused as tears well again in my eyes. Is he so broken, so void of normal emotions and relationships, that this is his answer? Is it always so life or death, black or white?
I let my breath out as we pull up after the first stroke.
More ink, repeat.
More ink, repeat.
Eventually a shaky and pretty ugly W emerges. It doesn’t fill me with any sense of comfort or ease, but maybe that will come once I calm down – once I stop wanting to stab the needle into his chest.
There is a moment, though. A point where we’re just looking at each other, and it’s quiet, and he’s bleeding for me. That's love for him, isn’t it?
“You done with the bitching now?” he asks quietly as he tilts my chin up.
I don’t know.
“You better be, or it’ll be your ass that gets branded next. You won't like it.” I half smile at that absurdity, but it's as bitter as his was earlier. “Look at me.” My head slowly rises from looking at the scrawled blood on his chest. “My body knows who it belongs to, Wren. I love you. Don't ever question me on that kinda shit again.”
I nod and look back at what I’ve done to him. I don't know how I feel about any of it, but his sincerity seems clear.
“Wren? Who hurt you?” I glance up at him, unsure where that came from. “Who cheated on you?” I don't answer. Answering will give him a name to look into, and a name means Dante has someone to focus on, and I know what he’s after here. He wants vengeance for me in his own way, but his actions won’t just stop at pain for Paul. At least, I can’t guarantee Dante will stop.
I sigh and drift my fingers to the tattoo scored into him. Some part of my dark soul likes the thought of vengeance, but the other, the part that is still rooted in reality where people don't kill each other, hates it. “Answer me, Wren.”
My head shakes, and I look back at the W. “It doesn't matter.”
It doesn't. That time has gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE
