Page 100 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

I stiffen as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. Before I can react, a hand clamps down on the bartender’s wrist, yanking it away from my face.

Atlas looms over us, his eyes blazing with fury. In one swift motion, he grabs the bartender by the shirt collar, practically lifting him off the floor before slamming his head against the bar.

“Touch her again,” Atlas snarls, his voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll cut off your fucking hand.”

The bartender’s eyes widen in fear, his face paling as he twists helplessly, trying to lift his head. “Hey man, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it?—”

Atlas presses down harder, cutting off the man’s words. “I saw the way you were looking at her. The way you were talking. I should cut your fucking tongue out right here and now. How does that sound? Or do you think you can keep your goddamn mouth shut for fucking once?”

The bartender nods frantically as best he can, and relief floods his face when Atlas finally releases him. He straightens and stumbles back, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Gritting my teeth, I grab Atlas’s arm, yanking him away from the terrified bartender. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Atlas’s eyes are still blazing as I drag him out of the bar. The cool evening air hits us, but I barely notice it over the red-hot tension crackling between us.

“What the fuck was that?” I hiss, but he just clenches his jaw, refusing to meet my gaze.

We mount our bikes in forced silence, the roar of the engines drowning out any attempt at conversation. I lead the way, my mind racing as fast as my bike. The names the bartender mentioned swim through my head, mixing with the image of Atlas’s fury.

Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the tattoo parlor. It’s late, the neon ‘CLOSED’ sign flickering in the window. But I need answers, and I have a hunch they might be hiding in the back room.

I dismount, fumbling with my keys. Atlas follows, his footsteps heavy behind me. As soon as we’re inside, I whirl to face him.

“Seriously, what the hell was that back there?” I demand, my voice echoing in the empty shop. “You nearly ripped that guy’s arm off!”

His eyes narrow. “He touched you. He was being a creep.”

“I can handle myself,” I snap. “I don’t need you playing white knight. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he growls, taking a step closer.

I stand my ground, glaring up at him. “Protect me? Or control me? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you’re trying to keep me on a short leash.”

His face contorts with anger and something else I can’t quite place. “You don’t understand?—”

“Then make me understand!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “Because right now, all I see is the guy who’s supposed to be helping me acting like a possessive asshole!”

He takes a step closer, his voice low and intense. “You’re married, vicious. Whether you want to admit it or not. No man should be talking to you or looking at you like that.”

I feel my own anger rising, matching his intensity. “You’re not even my husband,” I spit out, the words a little more sharp and biting than I intend.

It’s still true though.

The effect is immediate. Atlas recoils as if I’ve physically struck him, his face a mask of shock and hurt.

Then something shifts in his eyes. A dangerous glint appears, and before I can react, he’s moving toward me. My heart races as he closes the distance between us in two long strides.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my chin roughly. He tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. I can feel the heat of his skin, the strength in his fingers as they grip my jaw.

“Is that the only way I get to be fucking pissed if a slimeball bartender tries to hit on you?” he growls, his face inches from mine. “If you were wearing my mark?”

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. The air between us feels electric, charged with tension and something else I’m afraid to name. His eyes bore into mine, demanding an answer.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Something dark and possessive flashes in his eyes, and before I can react, he drags me across the room to one of the tattoo stations. He pushes me down onto the floor, his weight pinning me in place.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, my heart thudding heavily as he starts tugging at my shirt.

“I’m marking you,” he growls, his eyes wild and intense. “Making sure every other man knows you’re taken. That you’re still mine.”

I swallow hard, my pulse pounding in my veins. “You can’t just?—”

He cuts me off, his voice rough and urgent. “I can, and I will. It’s never not going to piss me off when some asshole hits on you. That’s not going to change. So I’m choosing the other option.”

His fingers find the hem of my shirt, lifting it to reveal my stomach and bra. I can feel his gaze on my exposed skin, burning me with its intensity. My breath catches as he reaches for the tattoo gun on the station next to us.

“I’m claiming you,” he says, his fingers skillfully maneuvering the gun. “Making sure everyone knows you belong to me.”

“Nico—” I gasp out, my heart hammering in my chest.

His eyes flick to the tattoo on my breast, a silent reminder that I already bear one man’s mark. His jaw clenches, but he says nothing, focusing instead on pushing my bra down and giving himself room to work.

I stop struggling. The pain from the needle is sharp, but I don’t want him to stop and I can’t tear my eyes away from his face. The fierce concentration, the anger, and something deeper—a raw, primal need that I’ve rarely seen from him.

It’s like a switch has flipped inside him.

I can see the beast in his eyes now, unleashed and wild.

He’s no longer holding back, no longer denying what he wants.

Every stroke of the tattoo gun feels like a brand, a claim on me.

And it turns me on in a way I can’t explain, the heat spreading through me, mixing with the sting of the needle until I’m not sure where the boundary is between pleasure and pain anymore.

The tattoo gun hums as he finishes, his fingers brushing against my skin with a gentleness that contradicts the roughness of his actions. He sets the gun aside but doesn’t move away, still pinning me down with his weight.

My chest stings from the fresh ink, but it’s a sweet pain, mingling with the desire coursing through me. We’re both breathing hard, our eyes locked in a suspended moment that feels like it could stretch on forever.

I can’t take it anymore. Reaching up, I hook my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down for a hard kiss. Our lips crash together with a force that leaves me breathless. There’s nothing gentle or tender about this moment. It’s hard and desperate and consuming.

Atlas groans into my mouth, his hands tightening on my body as he kisses me back with an intensity that’s just as fierce.

Like he’s needed this.

Like he’s been dying slowly without it.

Fuck. I know how he feels .