Page 93 of Inked Desires
"You dare let another man touch you?" he roars.
His voice cracks through the air like a whip. His eyes blaze with a crazed light, stripped of all warmth. I search for any trace of the man I once loved. There’s nothing. Just cold rage and raw madness that freezes me in place.
"Jace... my love... I didn’t mean to... He thought I was single..."
My voice trembles, barely more than a breath. My hands shake too, so I press them to my body, desperate to hide my fear. He mustn’t see it. He mustn’t know how much he terrifies me. That would make it worse.
"And you couldn’t defend yourself?" he growls, fury swelling, unstoppable.
"It was a public event! The whole city saw him pressing his disgusting lips to your neck, you little whore!"
I back away, hands raised in a placating gesture. But it’s already too late.
"Jace..."
"Grab him."
The command cuts like a blade. Before I can react, iron hands seize me. Two men step out from the shadows, each gripping one of my arms. My heart leaps into my throat.
What’s he going to do to me this time?
"Lay him on the bed. Face down. Hold him."
"No... Jace, wait!"
They throw me onto the bed without care. The wrinkled sheets under my face feel suddenly cold. The guards pin me down, their hands like vices. I could struggle, try to fight, scream. But I know it won’t help. I know what happens when I resist.
Then a weight crashes onto my back. Heat smothers me. His thighs trap my hips, pinning me deeper into the mattress. I hold my breath.
Fingers brush my nape. Almost tenderly, blonde curls are pushed aside.
"I’ll make sure everyone knows who you belong to," he whispers in my ear.
"What are you going to do?" I spit.
He laughs. A low, menacing laugh that chills me to the bone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rummaging through the nightstand drawer. He pulls out a black marker and presses the tip against my skin.
"Bring me the tattoo gun," he says coolly.
The buzzing begins before my brain can even register what’s about to happen. One second later, a bolt of pain explodes at the base of my neck.
I scream. A high-pitched, piercing scream far too shrill to belong to any man in the room. It takes me a second to realize it came from me.
The needles dig in, slice, burn. I can’t breathe. My body isn’t mine anymore, reduced to a mass of flayed flesh. The pain radiates through my limbs, making every breath a torment.
I want to scream again, but nothing comes out. My vocal cords are wrecked by agony. So I cry in silence, tears spilling down my cheeks and soaking into the sheets.
Jace keeps going. Without pause. He holds my head firm with one hand, guiding the needle with the other, carving something permanent into my skin.
I disconnect. My mind drifts far from this bed, from this room, from him. The pain fades to a distant hum. I cling to better memories—days when his love didn’t hurt, when his hands weren’t weapons.
Then, abruptly, a yank pulls me back.
He grabs my hair and jerks my head back, forcing my gaze to meet his.
"Go wash up. Your makeup’s a mess," he says flatly.
