Page 88 of Marked

“Mmm. Well, that one’s for family.”

She tilted up her head to watch his face. “One for you and each of your brothers?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his wrist. “Don’t tell them though.”

She snickered. “Really? They don’t know?”

He slid his gaze to her, his face emotionless. “No. Why would I tell them that?”

“Because it’s nice.” She propped herself up. “What do your other tattoos mean?” she said, her interest piqued. There was so much she didn’t know about this man. So much that came across as hard and menacing. But something vulnerable shone through.

He swept his palm behind his head and his free hand went to her breast, stroking her skin. “You don’t want to know about all that, babe. Trust me.”

“All what? Does every tattoo mean something?”

His mouth worked into a half grin. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

She compressed her lips in an impish smile. “And miss the opportunity to learn something about you? Heck no.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “What do you want to know? Can’t promise I’ll answer everything, but shoot.”

God, it’d be nice if he’d give her a full-blown smile. He’d laughed a couple of times, but only when he’d been caught off guard. The guy certainly couldn’t be called chipper.

His answer gave her free rein, but where to start? She couldn’t ask for his whole life story, and specific questions evaded her. She made herself comfortable, scooting into a sitting position next to him. His hand fell from her breast to the indent of her waist.

“What’s this tattoo?” she asked, pointing to a dagger on his ribs. Gosh, she hadn’t realized how scarred he was. The rough indents in his flesh indicated many battle wounds, but mixed in with his tattoos, they blended into the enigma Cole was.

He grunted. “That’s a reminder of the first people who stabbed me.”

Her jaw opened. “You mean literally?”

“No,” he said, a light laugh revealing his teeth. “Just the worst ones.”

She trailed her finger over the tatted blade. “The ones who hurt you the most?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened. “I guess.”

“Who hurt you?” The question came out on a wisp of air. Part of her wanted to gobble the words back in because there was no way he’d share his deepest pain with her.

But she wanted to know.

He didn’t take his eyes off her. He seemed to be weighing how much he wanted to divulge.

“Was it a woman?”

His laugh came out abrupt and derisive. “Hell no.”

She lifted a shoulder. “One of your brothers?”

“Never.”

“A friend?”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?” he asked, his tone petulant.

“I will if you want me to.” She withdrew her hand and knotted it into the sheets.

Rather than reach for her, his fingers moved from her side to rub the knife as if it were irritating his skin. “This one’s for my dad. Well, both my parents, actually.”

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