Page 7 of Knot So Sweet (Leather and Lace #1)

Chapter 6

Candi

T he constant, rhythmic buzz of the tattoo gun silenced my demons, turning my scars into something beautiful. It was more than just a needle piercing skin.

It was ink therapy.

The sharp burn against my flesh, the hum of the motor, and the faint scent of disinfectant filled the air, creating a cocoon that almost relaxed me. Almost.

This ink session wasn't calming the storm raging inside me like they usually did. I planned to go to the Steel Serpents clubhouse tonight. To make sure Viper was still fulfilling his end of the bargain and arrange for security cameras to be installed sooner rather than later.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach at the thought of seeing Viper and Ghost again.

Well, in person at least.

The two alphas had become phantoms in my nightmares.

As the needle dug into my skin, I tried to focus on the present, to let the ink searing into my skin distract me from my racing thoughts. But every time I closed my eyes, it was Ghost's hands that skated across my skin and Viper's growl that vibrated through me. It was as if my subconscious was so fucking obsessed with them I couldn’t close my eyes without envisioning one of them… or both.

FUCK.

I didn’t need to be picturing either of them right now. But I couldn't stop, and my omega instincts flared as I lost myself in Viper’s eyes. They were like two pools of darkness threatening to swallow me whole, and if he did…

I swear I would beg for more.

I just knew that Ghost’s hands would grab at the strands of my hair, the pull possessive—a bite of pain that would drive me wild. He would pull me back, exposing the column of my neck, his nose rubbing his pine scent all over me. I swear there were times I could smell him, even now.

In my dreams, I submitted to them, and it was getting harder to deny the pull they had on me.

My eyes shot open as Benson, my tattoo artist, dug just a little too deep on a line. I grunted in pain, but secretly I was grateful for the distraction.

"Sorry," Ben grumbled as he briefly glanced up at me, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he gave me a shy smile. His striking green eyes were rimmed with black liner. But my mind envisioned a different set of mossy green eyes. I shook off the comparison and cringed when I realized Benson must have been able to smell me perfuming.

How fucking embarrassing?

The alphas who had been haunting my thoughts for the past week were making my perfume go all crazy. I could feel the heat building between my thighs, an itch Ben would normally scratch, but not today.

I didn’t have time to shower before heading to the Steel Serpent compound, and the thought of showing up smelling like some beta wasn’t appealing. Though if I were honest, I didn’t want Ben like I used to.

I sighed, resting back in the chair, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lighting. As the needle dug into my skin, I focused on the gun’s steady hum, desperately trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling back to my relentless dreams and the alphas who haunted them.

The tattoo was supposed to symbolize strength. But right now, it felt like nothing but a bandage over a wound that was only getting deeper. The ink was a temporary escape, but the real battle was inside me, and no amount of art on my skin could hide that.

"Why on your stomach, Candi?" Ben asked, his gaze still fixed on his work. He wasn’t questioning my design choice—a sleek snake coiling around a dagger—but why I had cut myself there.

Of all places.

"Because my wrist was taken?" I replied bitterly, forcing a chuckle that came out hollow, even to me. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, afraid of the pity I might find there. But after meeting my scent matches. Two of them. The urge wouldn't leave me alone.

I had been struggling with cutting since high school, using it as a coping mechanism for feeling out of control in my life.

And right now, the lack of control over my instincts was too unsettling.

The burning sensation of my blade was an addicting escape that I hadn’t been able to give up.

After a few awkward seconds of silence, he returned to my tattoo, the gun humming back to life with a simple tap of his foot on the pedal. He carefully wiped away the excess ink before diving back into shading the delicate design on my stomach. The pain was sharp, but I welcomed it, letting it anchor me in the moment, distracting me from the storm raging inside my head, and the awkwardness between me and Benson.

He was just worried about me. He wasn't judging .

I tried to silence my demons and focus on the rhythmic buzz of the gun, the scent of ink, and the presence of the one person who never asked for more than I was willing to give.

The one person I knew I could trust.