Page 35 of Inked Desires

I nod. He needs to be able to protect himself. I want him safe. That bastard is still out there. Andrew lives like prey, constantly looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll get you a weapon.”

Tears burn in his eyes and blend with the shower spray. I open the door and step in. It tears me apart to see him like this. He lets himself fall into my arms. His skin against mine sends a warm tremor through my nerves. He’s my tattoo machine—my only silence.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

The hot water cascades over us. I hold him tighter, my hand on his nape.

“Don’t thank me. Learning to shoot is one thing. Pulling the trigger is another. It goes against every instinct. But if your life’s on the line, youhaveto do it. Promise me, Andrew. Promise me you’ll pull that trigger if you have to.”

I know what I’m saying. Firing on a human being for the first time requires brutal mental strength. And it changes you. Over time, it becomes a necessary evil. I just pray he never has to face that.

“I promise,” he says, but I know he’ll hesitate.

Everyone does.

I exhale and release him reluctantly, grabbing the shower gel.

“Good. Let’s get ready for work.”

“I need to stop by the boarding house. I don’t have clean clothes here.”

I nod, running water over my face.

“I’ll drive you. Pick up your stuff. No need to keep paying for that room.”

“What do you mean?”

“You work for me—and at night, I’ll be taking care of that sensitive spot between your thighs.”

“Mmmh.”

“Am I wrong?”

Andrew lets out an irritated growl, which makes me smile. God, it’s been so long since I smiled. It feels strange—but freeing.

“So why pay for a room you’re not using?”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No.”

CHAPTER 9

ANDREW

“You're not getting in that thing,” Ares says, nodding toward my car.

I roll my eyes and open the passenger door to toss my backpack onto the seat.“Don’t diss my car. She took me all the way from South Dakota to Wisconsin.”

“And that’s already a miracle,” he shoots back.

I glance at the white Honda Civic. Sure, it’s only three years older than I am, but that’s no reason to send it to the scrapyard. If we followedthatlogic, I should’ve been turned into sausage a long time ago.

“No one should drive a car older than they are—and falling apart at that.”

“She isnotfalling apart!” I exclaim, indignant.“She might be a clunker, but she saved my life.”