Page 83 of Warrior

With one gloved finger, he traces the hoop in my nipple.

I almost fly out of the chair.

It’s his turn to smirk, but it fades fast. “Tell me about Terror.”

Oh.

My mouth dries. “Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Because I should understand, and I don’t.”

“No oneshouldunderstand.”

“Gabriel does.” He’s not even facing at me anymore. Black ink in the little wells, a few different needle sizes.

My palms sweat.

“Gabriel does,” I agree. “He had a different experience, but… yeah.”

“So?” he questions. “Please, Tem.”

Oh, there he goes, using the name only friends call me. I wouldn’t say we’re that—but he did admit to craving me, didn’t he?

The tattoo machine in his hand comes alive with a sudden buzz, and he picks up ink from the well. He scoots closer. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse.

He touches my skin with his left hand, steadying me, and I try to relax for the first prick of the needle.

It hurts more and less than I thought it would.

I know that makes no sense, but…

It’s all I can focus on. And it’s by choice, so it makes it better.

After the first line, the first taste of this kind of pain… maybe I have an addictive personality. Maybe Gabriel knew, and now Saint will, too. Because I’m not sure how one tattoo will be enough.

The only way to keep myself sane is through punishment. And that’s why I start talking.

19ARTEMIS

Ten years ago

After Reese,I was transferred.

They call this one a brothel, because there’s less pomp and circumstance.

A lot of the women here are drugged. The men who roam the halls always have stuff on them, using it to tempt the women into submission—or threaten the sober ones.

Sometimes I crave the unknown substance. It makes them malleable, like dolls. They don’t seem to care what the men do to them.

If we’re not in a private room with a client, we’re out in the open on the first floor of the house. There’s not much to do except wallow in self-pity. Doing anything else would draw the attention of the guards.

In quiet moments, my mind strays to the guard who gave me his name. Antonio. There was sadness in his eyes when he locked my cell, a certain sort of helplessness that I hadn’t seen before.Iwas helpless.Iwas trapped. But… his expression made me think maybe he was trapped in his role, too.

And also Reese. The way he touched me to make my body shake and quiver—and not out of fear. I think about his eyes when the world gets too hard, and try as I might, I can’t figure out if he’s a good guy or bad.

If he bought me and raped me without complaint, or if he was forced into it, too.

---