Page 115 of Wild Card
His gaze swept over my torso, and he brushed his fingers over my ribs. “This is where we’re thinking?”
“Yep. Emory gave you the artwork?”
“Yeah. Got it all prepped,” he said. “Em did gorgeous work.”
I wouldn’t call a skeletal hand holding poker cardsgorgeous, but I knew what Fox meant. Emory was a heck of an artist.
“Hey, Ax.” Emory drew closer, a broom still in his hand. “Finally getting that poker tat?”
“Yeah. It’s going to look awesome. Thanks for drawing it for me.”
Pink tinted his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.”
Fox nudged him. “Why don’t you get Axel started since it’s your design?”
He brightened. “Really? Cool.”
Emory set aside the broom and pulled on latex gloves. “This is going to look so amazing with all your other ink.”
I winked up at him. “Too bad you saw Gray first, huh? You could be drooling over me every night instead.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. You’d have been one and done. Dalton is a braver man than me.”
“Dalton?” Fox asked, hovering behind and watching over Emory as he used thermal paper and a liquid solution to transfer the stenciled design to my ribs.
“Deputy Harvey,” Emory said. “Axel’s got him wrapped around his pinky finger.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I muttered, thinking about the way Dalton refused to keep his distance. Dalton was plenty assertive, and he knew just how to get me where he wanted me.
“How’s that?” Emory asked, peeling away the paper.
Fox leaned in. “Not bad. This edge didn’t transfer quite enough, see? But I can freehand that small bit.”
“Are you sure?” Emory said, sounding concerned.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want to do it with a larger part of the design—it’s your art, and I want to respect that—but this is no problem. Just pointing it out so you learn a little something.”
Emory flashed an uncertain smile. “I’ll do better next time.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Fox picked up his tattoo gun and rolled over on his stool. His eyes met mine. “Ready?”
“Do your worst.”
He lowered the gun, and a stinging sensation spread across my side. It was a deep, tingling sensation that I normally handled pretty easily.
I closed my eyes, trying to let the pain sweep into a tide of pleasure.
He shifted the gun, right over my rib now.
“Son of a bitch!” The pain intensified, and my limbs were starting to fucking tremble in response to the surge of adrenaline.
Emory made a sympathetic noise. “Is it too much?”
I gritted my teeth. “It’s a lot.” I blew out a big breath. “I can take it.”
Fox lifted the gun, giving me a moment of reprieve. “Let’s take five. Em, why don’t you get back to that project of yours? This will take a while.”
“Okay.” Emory patted my thigh. “Hang in there.”
