Page 66 of Craving Danger

Letting go of Samantha’s hand, I watch as she positions herself on the chair before I move closer so I can stand next to her.

“Great,” Dante murmurs. “I was told you want a tattoo of shaded bricks with a flower growing out of them.”

Samantha nods. “And I want the words ‘stronger than ever’ over the bricks as if it’s graffiti.”

Dante nods, then asks, “Where do you want the tattoo?”

Her features tighten, and she looks more nervous than usual as she gestures at her side.

When I realize it will be a couple of inches beneath her breast, there’s a burst of jealousy in my chest because Dante will be working close to what I consider mine.

Mine?

Christ, I’m falling too fucking fast for this woman.

“Okay.” He gives her a questioning look as he takes a seat on a stool. “Can you lift your shirt so I can clean the area?”

She hesitates, and I figure it’s because she’s nervous about Dante touching her, so I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m right here.”

She nods and swallows hard before gripping the hem of her shirt, slowly pulling it up.

I notice haphazard scars on her skin as the fabric moves up, and a frown forms on my forehead.

Then I get to see more of the scars, and it spells out a name.

Todd.

The rage hits me so hard that I take a step back as if I’ve taken an actual punch to the gut. My lips part with shock, and my vision tunnels on the name carved into her skin.

The fucker branded her.

I’m going to check Samantha’s personnel file to see which hospital she used to work at in Houston. Then I’m going to find out which fucking neurosurgeon’s name is Todd.

And then I’ll kill the fucker.

Dante masks his reaction a hell of a lot better than I do. I’m just thankful I’m wearing the balaclava because the last thing Samantha needs to see right now is the anger on my face.

She tucks the fabric neatly beneath her breasts, then turns her head so she’s looking at me.

I grab the extra stool, and taking a seat near her head, I take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles before I lock eyes with her.

“How are you holding up?” I ask.

She sucks in a deep breath, and instead of answering my question, she whispers, “Don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” I assure her before I nod at Dante to begin.

The moment he wipes the area clean, she jerks and her fingers tighten around mine.

I see panic flare in her eyes, and bracing my other arm at the top of her head, I move so close to her that I can feel her breath warming the balaclava.

“You’re doing great, baby.”

She nods, and I notice she’s holding her breath.

“Breathe,” I murmur close to her mouth.

Dante pulls away from her, and she sucks in a deep breath.

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