Page 67 of Sins of the Hidden

"W-W-What are you doing?!" I stuttered. I covered my eyes, but left a gap between my fingers. The tap turned on. Water began to fill the tub.

V said nothing. He stood before me, hand sliding slowly down his abdomen until it reached his waistband.

My heart raced as he unbuckled his belt. The clasp clicked softly above the water's roar. His fingers worked the leather free, the belt sliding silently from his waist.

Every instinct screamed for me to turn away, yet I couldn't tear my gaze from him as he methodically stripped. Yet I remained, peering through my fingers as his hands moved to the button of his jeans.

His fingers worked with surprising delicacy, performing this intimate act with unexpected grace. The button released. Then, with excruciating slowness, he lowered the zipper, the soft rasp of metal teeth parting sending an illicit shiver down my spine that I couldn't suppress.

His eyes never left mine, even as I pretended not to watch. The weight of his gaze pinned me in place as effectively as physical restraint, leaving me breathless with anticipation andfear. The denim slid lower on his hips, revealing a sharp V-cut of muscle disappearing beneath dark fabric that made my mouth go desert-dry.

I swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in my ears.

With the same deliberate pace, he hooked his thumbs into his waistband—a brief pause, as if offering me one last chance to turn away. Then, with fluid grace that belied his massive frame, he pushed the remaining clothing down and stepped free.

My barrier of fingers trembled. Lowering my hands fully, I drew in a ragged breath that seemed to fill my entire body with fire. He pulled his muscle tank over his head, revealing his torso for the first time. My eyes widened at the sight, taking in every detail of his exposed form, which now meant...

Oh my God.

V stood naked before me, his imposing height making even this standard bathroom feel small. Only his face remained concealed, creating a stark contrast with his exposed body. A network of scars crisscrossed his muscular torso like a violent map, disappearing below his waist only to continue down his powerful thighs. My entire body seized. Heat crashed through me in a violent wave, my lungs forgetting how to function, my heart stuttering mid-beat. The room tilted dangerously around me.

I wanted to look away. I needed to look away. But something deeper, more visceral, kept my eyes fixed on him. My lungs seized, caught between desire and terror. I shouldn't want to see him—this man who terrified and controlled me. Yet I couldn't tear my gaze from the hard planes of his body, the untamed power contained in every inch of him. Something molten unfurled low in my belly, contradicting the panic clawing at my throat.

His body was a map of raw strength—unyielding, scarred, and impossible to look away from. The marks that crossed historso continued down his powerful thighs, evidence of a past that had tried and failed to destroy him. My gaze traveled lower, and I inhaled sharply. He was impressive and intimidating, like the rest of him. The sight sent a jolt of heat through my core, my body responding instinctively to his naked power. There was terrible beauty in him—dangerous yet mesmerizing in his physicality.

I moved away slightly, just to see if I could. But his hand shot out, catching my wrist with unrelenting force. Not harsh—never harsh—but absolute. A reminder that escape was an illusion I no longer possessed. The silent gesture vibrated through me with more power than any words could have, and the feeling coiled around my throat like a silk noose. My pulse fluttered beneath his grip, a caged bird recognizing its captor.

The compulsion to shield my eyes again clawed at me, yet I remained transfixed. Warmth bloomed across my face, spreading down my neck in a telling flush that I couldn't control. The rising steam from the tub only intensified the heat beneath my skin, making it impossible to hide my reaction. My gaze traced the landscape of his torso where scars disrupted the terrain of his deep brown skin. An ache bloomed in my fingertips, yearning to map each mark. What disaster had scorched this across him? V had mentioned surgery, but this resembled the aftermath of something demonic unleashed upon human flesh. My inspection traveled to the skin above his heart, where his measured breathing and scorching stare couldn't distract me from what lay beneath.

My lungs ceased functioning. The bathroom tilted around me as I froze, understanding crystallizing with devastating clarity.

"What's that?" My voice thinned. My fingers hovered just shy of contact, the truth too sharp to touch, afraid that making contact would make this reality too concrete to deny.

Time suspended between us. The water stilled. The steam paused in its lazy drift. Even the persistent drip from the faucet—the one I'd been meaning to fix for months stopped.

An uneven, jagged circle etched into his chest caught my attention—a crude, imperfect "O" scored directly over his heart. The skin there puckered and raised, long healed but still prominent. This wasn't ink. This was a scar—something he'd cut into his own flesh. My stomach dropped at the thought of him marking himself this way.

His finger tapped the marking twice, the gesture unexpectedly deliberate. "O." His voice dropped to a register I'd never heard before, something stripped and unguarded beneath his usual coldness. "For Oakley."

My fingertip traced the crude letter, feeling each ridge where the knife had torn through his flesh. I stared at the mark, understanding hitting me like a physical impact. He had cut himself, etched my initial into his skin. The reality left me speechless.

I didn't even know I mattered enough to hurt for. And yet... he bled for me before I ever looked his way.

This wasn't just obsession. This was devotion written in scars. He had marked me into his body before I'd even spoken to him. Before I was his. And if this was what he did before knowing me...

A vow written in flesh and pain before I even knew I belonged to him. The thought made my veins turn to ice... and then, inexplicably, to fire. Because if he had marked himself for me before I was his, what would he do now that I was?

"When did you decide to do this?" My question held many layers. When had this man decided I belonged to him? When had he cut my initial into his own chest? When had he become so fixated on me?

Nyla and Joslyn had revealed the brotherhood pact—each man tattooed their partner's initial over their heart. With V's paralyzing fear of needles, this marking seemed impossible. "When did you get it?" His palm pressed over the O, covering it possessively.

"The day we met." His gaze didn't waver as he spoke, the confession delivered with the same certainty as if he were stating that water was wet or that night followed day.

"You've had it for that long?" My voice cracked with the weight of this revelation. My mind conjured unbidden images: V alone at Hellbound, hand quaking as he carved me into his flesh before he even knew me. The revelation overwhelmed my senses. Had he been this devoted to me all along, with no way to demonstrate it? Had he felt this connection from the very first moment, something so profound that only blood and pain could express it?

My mind filled with vivid images—the blade against his skin, the determination in his eyes as he scored himself permanently with my initial. I swallowed hard, unable to reconcile the devotion of such an act with the short time he'd known me.

His dark eyes held mine, unflinching in their intensity, as though daring me to comprehend the depth of what he'd done. The steam from the bath rose between us, carrying with it the weight of this revelation.

---