Chapter 48 #3
I want to press for more—to understand what the hell any of it means—but the soft smile Bridget gives me, her eyes steady and unblinking, tells me it’s not my place.
“Did you…” The words stick in my throat as my mind drifts to Zac’s inked arms, his chest, his abs.
I haven’t had the pleasure of taking them in or admiring them in their entirety, but from what I have seen, the way the dark lines ripple over muscle, and the urge I’ve felt to trace them with my fingers, to follow the edges to find out where they lead, the dangerous aura that clings to them…
the thought tightens something low in my core. I swallow hard. “Did you tattoo Zac?”
“I did.” Riley grins, leaning against the bar. “Most of them, anyway. He had one before the war.”
“Riley’s good,” Bridget says, as though it pains her to do so. He grins, but nods once and downs the glass of whiskey in his hand.
“Will you do me?”
He blinks over the rim of the glass. “Excuse me?”
“A tattoo,” I clarify. “Would you do one for me?”
“Em,” Bridget exclaims, eyes wide as they meet mine.
“What?”
“Zac will kill you,” she hisses. “No, wait! Claudia will.”
“It’s my body. And I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” I say.
“Do you know what the State does to people with new tattoos? You weren’t old enough to get one before the war, so how do you plan on explaining that?”
I lean back, pressing my lips together. “I could ask you the same thing.”
A small crease appears between her brows. “It’s different.”
“How?”
“I…” she trails off, her eyes softening. “Look, you have to be careful.”
“You hide them at work, right? And in public? The same as Zac does.” I shrug. “Why can’t I do the same?”
Her gaze softens even more, shoulders dropping. “Em—”
“Sure,” Riley cuts Bridget off. “I’ll give you one, if you’re sure.”
I don’t hesitate. “I am.”
He sets the empty glass down on the bar. “I’m free now,” he says, eyeing me carefully.
My brows lift, and slowly, I nod, processing the idea. I’ve drunk some alcohol… and that should numb it. Before the war, I’d planned to get inked the minute I was legal. Mum and I even had it planned—a matching set, four little birds in a line up our spines. Four birds for four Burtons. My family.
And ever since the first day I saw hints of Zac’s own ink, art scrawled across his torso like armour and temptation all at once, the urge was reinvigorated. I just didn’t think it was possible.
“I can do now,” I hear myself say, voice steady.
Bridget’s mouth falls open, eyes wide. “You’re kidding!”
I just lift the bottle to my lips, tipping back the beer and forcing past the bubbles and the dull burn, guzzling the liquid until there’s nothing left. The bottle slams onto the counter, and I nod at the tattoo artist.
Bridget’s fingers lightly rest on my arm. “Em, are you sure? Maybe you should think about this.”
Riley pushes away from the bar, nodding for me to follow.
“I’m sure,” I say to Bridget, a warm fuzz of anticipation coiling in my chest. She opens her mouth, ready to argue again, but I cut her off, striding after Riley. “Are you coming?”
Her eyes flick from me to the rest of the room, but Claudia and Jordan are nowhere in sight. I grin as she groans, dragging her feet towards me.
“I’m so dead,” she moans.
A laugh spills through my lips as I hook my arm through hers and lead her away from the bar.
Exhaling, my eyes open.
The tattoo gun buzzes relentlessly, digging into the skin of my upper thigh, a deep, dragging scratch of pain that makes my fingers curl tighter around the neck of the rum bottle.
Riley’s hand presses firmly against my leg, his brow furrowed as he drags the needle along my skin.
Across the room, Bridget sits sideways in a battered brown leather chair, one leg thrown over the armrest. She looks ridiculously entertained by the whole thing.
The gun lifts from my skin, and Riley wipes the area with a cloth before leaning back in. I grit my teeth, bracing myself as the needle starts again.
Riley glances up at me, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “You okay there, Mrs Hastings?”
“Don’t call me that,” I say instantly. I lift the rum bottle to my lips and take a long gulp, the liquid burning.
Riley smirks, shaking his head as he goes back to my leg. “You know,” he says casually, “I think it’s cute. The whole matching tattoo thing.”
“What?”
Confusion ripples through me, and Riley’s smirk deepens as he returns his attention to the lettering on my thigh.
The gun buzzes. “When Zac came to me,” he says, voice light, “eight months ago—all beaten bloody by the Enforcers after he crushed one of their trucks in a snowstorm—and asked me to put a phoenix on him, I tried to refuse.”
My breath catches. My mind jumps instantly to the quick glance I’d stolen of the bird inked across Zac’s torso.
I’ve never had time to really look at it. But even so… I remember. The wings. The flames. The dark lines that sat atop his muscles.
I swallow, fingers tightening around the rum bottle.
“Told him he wasn’t in his right mind.” Riley continues, clearly oblivious to the fact that Zac and I don’t have the type of relationship he’s imagining. “But he insisted.”
My eyes drift up to the white strip light on the ceiling.
“Told me he wasn’t going to take their shit much longer,” Riley says, his tone hardening.
“That the ink would remind him every fucking day that he was stronger than they thought.” Pausing, he leans back to wipe my skin once more.
“That he would use his fire. His flames. His strength.” He glances up at me and grins as I look back down. “To rise from the ashes.”
I can’t speak.
All I can see is Zac in my head—bloodied and furious, standing in the doorway beyond, demanding that Riley brand him with a phoenix.
My chest aches.
Riley leans back, placing the gun down on his side table as he studies the line of ink etched into my thigh. “Feels like you’re going for the same vibe here, right?” he says with a crooked grin. “Little Miss Rebel.”
I force a small smile and nod. “Yeah,” I lie, voice coming out hoarser than I’d like. “Something like that.”
Across the room, Bridget is watching. Her legs are tucked into her chest now, arms wrapped around them. There’s a small smile on her lips, but her dark eyes are softer than before.
She knows I don’t know what to say, so she tilts her head slightly and shrugs. “Zac’s always been a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy.”
Riley snorts. “When he’s angry, maybe. Normally, he’s a pain in my ass, wanting to work every damn plan out to the millisecond.”
His words sink into me like a boulder, dragging my shoulders down by their weight. I stare down at the rum bottle, picking at the edge of the peeling label.
And before I can stop it, what slips out is, “Doesn’t it worry you?” They both look at me. “His anger,” I clarify. “In there?”
Bridget frowns, but Riley just shakes his head. “Zac’s smart,” he says simply, straightening on his stool. “He knows how to outsmart them all.” An amused smirk quirks his lips. “He won’t act stupid in there. Won’t risk his life just to lay a single punch on one of those godforsaken cunts.”
He sounds so confident, so sure, that I’m almost convinced.
“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Riley says. “Zac’ll be back in no time.”