Chapter 8
ELENA
Ifinished sterilizing the parts of the coil machine I’d used that day, checking for indicator changes before storing everything away. My hands kept moving out of habit, but my attention drifted to Reeve. He was focused on what he was doing in that intense way of his.
It reminded me of what Ink had told me when I asked about Reeve’s road name.
“Onyx didn’t get his name for bein’ pretty with a machine,” he explained, leaning back against the counter.
“He got it ’cause once he puts something on skin, it doesn’t fade.
Doesn’t blur. Doesn’t soften. Just sits there—dark and solid—like it’s part of you.
Someone said his work looked like it was cut from stone, like onyx, and that was it. Name stuck. Same way he does.”
I cleared my throat softly. “I’m all done.”
Reeve looked up immediately. “Almost ready to head out. Wait for me.”
“I don’t mind walking alone, really.” My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt, giving away the nerves I hoped he didn’t notice.
He shook his head. “Don’t leave without me.”
Something in his tone made resistance impossible. Butterflies swirled in my belly as I nodded and made my way to the front door.
I slipped outside into the evening air, stepping away from the entrance so I wouldn’t block it since the studio was still open.
It was much quieter out here. I leaned against the brick wall and let out a slow breath, my thoughts drifting straight to Reeve. Again.
That first kiss in the supply room, how he’d hauled me against him like he couldn’t hold himself back another second. The little touches and smoldering looks since then. More kisses. It all kept me on edge.
He wasn’t even hiding the possessive gleam in his dark eyes anymore, especially when I worked with male clients.
I should probably have been wary of that, but it made me feel safe. Protected in a way that was new and confusing. Addictive, too.
I tried to tell myself it was nothing. The Hounds of Hellfire guys were just protective of women. He was the manager of their tattoo shop. Maybe he’d walk any female employee home if she lived as close as I did.
But that didn’t stop me from looking forward to it. And on days I wasn’t at the studio, time felt as though it moved so much more slowly.
I shouldn’t have wanted his attention this much.
But I stood there waiting anyway, my heart doing the fluttery thing I only experienced around Reeve.
Sliding down the wall until I sat on the cool concrete, I pulled my sketchbook from my bag. The familiar weight of it settled my nerves, and I flipped through the pages without really thinking. Then I reached the sketch I did of Reeve.
I paused, my fingers tracing the edge of the page even though I hadn’t meant to stop there.
I’d drawn him a few days ago, late at night when sleep wouldn’t come.
It was just his profile, the strong line of his jaw, and the shadow of his throat where his tattoos disappeared beneath his shirt.
It was a simple line drawing, but somehow more intimate than anything else in my notebook.
Sketching Reeve hadn’t gotten him out of my head. If anything, it had only made things worse.
The last thing I needed was someone catching me sketching the guy who already consumed too much of my headspace, so I quickly flipped the page.
A strange prickle brushed along the back of my neck, and I glanced up, expecting to find someone standing there. But the sidewalk was mostly empty. A couple walked past without looking at me, and the cars on the street rolled by like normal. Nobody was paying attention to me.
I shook the lingering unease off, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The neighborhood was safe. The studio was right behind me. And Reeve would be done any minute. There was no reason to be worried.
A van eased up to the curb in front of me, rolling to a stop. I barely registered it at first because delivery trucks and rideshares used this stretch of road all the time. But after the passenger door opened and a man climbed out, another slid from the back seat a beat later.
“Hey there,” the first one called, walking toward me with an easy smile. “You happen to know where Cascade Cutz is?”
My fingers snapped my sketchbook shut without thinking. Then I slipped it into my bag and pushed to my feet. “Sorry, no.”
The second man flanked me before I’d even stood fully upright.
“That right?” he asked, stepping close enough that I had to tip my head back to look at him.
I took a tiny step to the side, but the first one shifted too, blocking the path to Hellbound’s front door. A prickle of unease went through me.
“You’re Elena, right?” the first man asked casually. “Jareth Marks is your mentor.”
My throat tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His chuckle held no humor. “Sure you don’t.”
The second man leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. “Tell your mentor he’s been really slow answering. Maybe he’ll get the message this time.”
I flinched back. “I think you have the wrong person.”
“Do we?” The first man’s hand shot out, clamping around my wrist.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins. “Let go!”
I tried to yank free, stumbling when my shoe caught on the groove in the sidewalk. My leggings snagged on the brick planter beside me and tore with a loud rip.
Both men glanced down at my leg and stilled. There was a beat of silence as they took in the ink on my calf.
“She’s marked,” the man holding my wrist murmured.
“It’s just a tattoo,” I blurted, trying again to pull back.
He laughed. “Didn’t see that coming. Bet the Hound sniffing around you isn’t gonna like this.”
“Now that we know what you are…” the second added with a grin.
I didn’t understand what they thought my tattoo meant, but every instinct screamed that something was way off.
Before I could make sense of what was happening, the studio door behind me slammed open. Reeve came barreling out, looking furious. I’d seen him intense before, but nothing like this. He seemed almost feral.
His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were nearly black with murderous intent.
“What the fuck?” Reeve’s words vibrated with barely controlled fury.
The man holding my wrist didn’t even have time to react.
Reeve’s hand shot out, ripping him backward with such force the guy stumbled, slamming hard into the side of the van.
Before he could recover, Reeve had a fistful of his shirt, yanking him up and snarling something low and vicious in his face—words I couldn’t make out over the blood rushing in my ears.
My knees almost buckled when the second man lunged toward us, but Reeve pivoted and shoved him back so violently his shoulder cracked against the brick wall. He choked out a curse, scrambling away.
They both looked at Reeve, and the first one out of the van spat on the ground near my shoe. “Now that we know how important you are, we’ll make it clearer next time.”
Then they bolted for the van, doors slamming shut as it peeled away from the curb.
Reeve didn’t move until the taillights disappeared around the corner. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, and his hands were fisted at his sides.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and my wrist throbbed where I’d been grabbed.
He turned to me slowly, his eyes still dark and wild. After closing the distance between us in two strides, his hand wrapped around my uninjured arm to tug me closer. Then his eyes raked over me like he expected to find blood.
“Did they touch you?” he demanded.
Underneath the fury in his voice, I heard fear. So I kept my tone as even as I could when I answered, “Just my wrist. I tore my leggings trying to get away.”
He crouched in front of me without another word, his hand sliding down my shin before he stopped at the exposed skin of my calf. His fingers were gentle, but the touch stole my breath anyway. His thumb brushed the edge of the tattoo, as if he were checking for an injury he couldn’t see.
A shiver shot through me that had nothing to do with fear. I shouldn’t have felt anything like desire after what had just happened. My adrenaline was still spiking, but Reeve’s touch cut through it.
He looked up at me then, his eyes dark and unreadable. All I knew was that even shaking, I leaned into his hand like it was the only steady thing in my world.