Page 24 of Warrior

“She’s only awake because of Reese and me,” Saint snaps. “Get. Out.”

I pause. Artemis being awake is new information that I latch on to. Of course she’s awake—he wouldn’t be here otherwise. He’d still be in the hospital with her, right? Unless he trusts Reese enough…

That rankles.

“Is she okay?”

He stares at me for a long moment, then dips his head. “Yeah, she’s recovering. She got home this afternoon.”

Home.

The condo that they both live in… and I imagine Reese is holing up there, too. I keep going by the apartment he was renting, expecting to find some trace of him now that he’s awake, too. He can’t hold things against me forever.

I haven’t had a home in a long time—the word is a novelty. There are houses, there are places I rest my head at night, shelters from the oncoming storms. But a home?

“And you left her to come here?” I question.

He looks around his tattoo shop, his jaw muscle jumping. “I have responsibilities. Artemis will be okay lounging for a few hours.”

Except I’ve never known her to sit still. Not that I’ve known her for very long. If Saint thinks she’s going to stay put, I’ll take his word for it.

Or not.

Still, I came here for a reason. I gesture to the chair his last client just vacated.

“Tattoo me.”

He scoffs.

“I’m serious.” I peel off my shirt, feeling the sense of déjà vu, and throw it at his face. “Are you a coward?”

He doesn’t answer, but his gaze seems stuck on my chest. I let him look while I take a seat. It’s still in the reclined position, so I kick my feet up and cross my ankles.

Finally, he ventures closer and sits on the stool. He wheels over to his counter, taking several minutes to change over the equipment. New needles, ink in little plastic wells, a razor, and a dollop of coconut oil on the side of the tray. He soaks some paper towels and comes closer, gesturing to my body.

I tap my chest.

His eyes narrow, but he cleans the area without comment. Sweeps the razor over the skin, then wipes away the residue.

“Any requests?”

“Something inspired by Atlas.”

He pauses. His blue eyes swing back to mine, seeming to analyze me for my sincerity. I keep a straight face while my mind whirs.

Why did I saythat, of all things?

On my chest?

Picking Atlas when I prepared to go to Olympus wasn’t easy. I wanted something that would vaguely represent my struggle, and the Titan called to me in a way that no other did. He helped the gods in their fight against their creator, and in doing so, condemned himself to a lifetime of punishment.

His sentence?

Holding apart the heavens and the earth.

Saint wheels closer.

My abdomen tightens, flexing the kind of muscles I used to envy as a kid. I am fully aware that I’m showing off my body—and right now, all I want is to see if Saint will blush. He pauses, andyes, there’s the red creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks.

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