Page 149 of Outcast
Emory placed a hand on my opposite shoulder, squeezing gently. I never thought I’d have so much love in my life. I was so damn lucky to have a family—the one I’d lost and the one I’d found—standing by my side.
“Does it hurt?” Emory asked.
I smiled, my chest tight. “Only in the best way.”
Axel snorted. “He’s a pain slut, then. I didn’t need to know that.”
“As if you don’t get off on those endorphins,” Holden said.
My eyes shot to Holden. “How did you do with the tattoo? I’m surprised you can tolerate them.”
The Bro Code tat was not the only one Holden had. There was ink on his chest and along one forearm.
He shrugged. “It’s the one exception. I can’t really explain it, but I can handle that deep, tingling pressure of a tattoo gun so much better than skin-on-skin contact.” He shrugged. “My artist is pretty good about warning me every time he’s going to touch me, too, so I can prepare. It’s not easy or fun exactly, but it’s worth it because tattoo art is forever.”
“That it is,” Angel murmured. “Who does most of your work?”
“Cyrus.”
“Ah yeah.” She nodded. “He’s got such a mellow, calm vibe too.”
“He does,” Holden agreed. “There’s like waves of serenity pouring off the guy.”
She chuckled. “He’s a big believer in meditation. Have you tried it?”
Holden nodded. “I’ve tried a lot of things.”
She shot him a sympathetic smile. “You’re very open about it all.”
“Kind of hard not to be. Otherwise, people would be unknowingly sending me into panic attacks.”
“Fair.”
“I just found my next tattoo,” Axel declared, holding out the book to show us. There were several cards fanned out, held by a skeletal hand, and in the center of the card in front, a skull instead of a heart or spade.
Angel lifted the tattoo gun to reposition and cut a glance toward the image Axel held out. “You still want it over the ribs?”
“It’s the best spot, I think.”
“Won’t that hurt more?” Emory asked.
“A hell of a lot more,” Angel said.
“Worth it,” Axel said.
Bailey shook his head. “You’re all weird. Pain isbad.”
“Says the guy who cried over his ten-minute tattoo.”
Everyone laughed except Emory. He smiled at my baby brother.
“Hey, I’ve got no tattoos at all. I’d probably be a total wimp about it.”
“Nah, you’re tougher than you think,” I said.
I gave him a meaningful look, and he blushed brightly. Yeah, my sweet, innocent Emory had demanded rough sex just last night.
“Harder,” he’d kept insisting until I was ramming into his body with all my force, holding his throat in one hand to keep him where I wanted him. The headboard had banged into the wall, and Emory had given a feral scream as he came.
