Page 137 of Revenge Saints

She lies back against the pillows; she’s not scared. Her eyes never leave ours. And for a moment I feel like we are being tested. She is pushing our limits as we push hers.

Her chest rises slowly. Her skin glows, flushed and damp,covered in dried sweat and bite marks and bruises we left behind. Her eyes are glass-like, dazed when they meet mine.

He takes the knife, kneels beside the bed, and rests a hand over her ribs.

“We’ll go small,” he mutters, jaw tight. “So we don’t leave too much damage.”

He presses a kiss to her sternum.

Then he carves.

A soft slice. Just deep enough.

Small “k” just beneath her left collarbone.

She hisses, and her hand curls into the sheets, but she doesn’t look away; she watches him carve himself into her.

When it’s done, he leans down and kisses the spot, blood warm and shining against her skin.

“Your turn,” he says, handing the knife to Max.

Max sits beside her, his hand resting low on her stomach, steadying her breathing.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

“Do it,” she whispers.

Max’s letter,“m”,goes just under her right breast. The blade slices in slower. More hesitant. His hand trembles for a second, but then he locks in. When the cut is done, he presses his forehead to her shoulder, breathing her in.

Then he passes the knife to Ryker. Ryker’s hand shakes as he takes it; he doesn’t speak or smile. He kneels by her hip, pressing the blade just above her heart, and carves a small, sharp “R.”

She gasps and arches slightly but doesn’t stop him.

When he finishes, his hands are coated in blood, and his lips are parted like he wants to apologize, but she reaches for him, thumb brushing his cheek.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s you.”

Then they all look at me.

The knife’s passed into my palm.

My chest tightens. The weight of it doesn’t scare me. But the sight of her bleeding, her body now marked by all of us, makes something in me snap.

I carve the “D” between her breasts.

She flinches.

Then moans.

When I finish, I drop the knife onto the floor and lean in, licking the blood from one mark to the next. My tongue dragging across the sting of fresh pain. Her skin is hot and shaking.

“Dante,” she breathes.

Fuck it.

I press my body over hers, and the second the head of my cock drags over her entrance, I know.

I’m fucked.