Page 50 of Unbroken

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

Then she turns, slow and unbothered, and lifts her shirt again—baring her back like she doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does.

Hell, maybe that’s the point.

And I freeze.

The gentle curve of her lower back catches the light—subtle muscle, smooth skin. The slope of her spine disappears into the waistband of those too-tight shorts, and I swear I can see her pulse flickering beneath the surface.

But it’s the ink that kills me.

I reach for her without thinking. My fingertips barely graze her, tracing the black lines carved into her skin.

The tattoos are fucking stunning.

Delicate, fierce, feminine—like her.

Wings unfurling from her shoulder blades, a dagger entwined in roses down her spine, thorns curling around words I can’t fully read from here.

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe out. “They’re fucking gorgeous.”

She hums, smug. “You gonna kiss them or just stare like a creep?”

I don’t answer. Because now all I can think about is where the ink ends.

“Do you have any others?” I ask, my voice rough.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She glances over her shoulder, her grin lazy and lethal.

“Yes,sir. In placesyou’renot allowed to see,” she says coyly.

And I want to kiss her.

I'mconsumedwith the desire to kiss her. I want to gather her in my arms, bury my fingers in her hair, and taste her lips. Quiet the fire. Every step I take brings me closer to her, and I want to take that next step more than anything.

But I don't. I can't. It's wrong.

What the hell is wrong with me?

She speaks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Go check on Luka. I'll get dressed. It would be kind of awkward if we left the room at the same time, anyway, wouldn't it?"

"I don't give a fuck. Those are my brothers."

“I think… I’d feel better not planting suggestions.”

Fair enough.

I push out of bed and pull on a pair of gray sweats.

"Did someone put those there as a prank?" she says from the bed, eyeing them with a raised brow.

I glance at her, confused. "What?"

"Nothing," she says, rolling her eyes and heading to the bathroom. "Gray sweats are just the male equivalent of lingerie."

What the fuck is she talking about?

She disappears into the bathroom, taking care of whatever she needs to, and I head out to the main room.