Page 21

TWENTY

CROSS

ROYCE

T alk about fucking déjà vu.

Almost two hours ago, I was in the back offices of the Playground, having a meet with Tanner and Link. Tanner’s l long gone by now, Link hurrying back to be with Ava, but while the soundproofing means it’s quiet as I let Nicolette in, I know we’re not alone.

Tanner’s set-up is here, but another one of the offices belongs to Carlos “Cross” da Silva. The artist for our crew, it’s his responsibility to ink any Sinner with Devil’s mark. Like a right of passage for each of our members, once you’re a Sinner, you get branded with the devil horns and the tail.

My tat is different. When Link lined me up to be his second, I wanted to show him that I was loyal to him and his vision. I didn’t just get the horns and the tail. Oh, no. I had Cross draw me a full-on devil that stretched from my left hip up to my pec. It’s detailed, with a swarthy face, black hooves, and even a pitchfork. Then, because I’m “Rolls”, I had him add a pair of dice beneath it, showing off snake eyes.

It fucking hurt . I decided then and there that I would never get another tat, and I haven’t. Besides, with the devil and the dice, it got the two most prominent facets of my personality right there: the life and gambling. What else would I need to ink on my skin?

So while I don’t visit Cross in his office often, I’m usually the one who brings new recruits down to get branded. I’ve also known Cross since we were in high school together, long before either of us ended up in organized crime. I was the popular golden boy, he was the loner artist, but we lived on the same block and developed a fast friendship.

I’m the one who brought him into the gang when Link was building it up. Because of that, he’s in the inner circle with us, even though the only reason he stays a Sinner is because it gives him plenty of canvases to practice his craft on.

When I texted him and told him I needed a cover-up tat done stat , I didn’t expect any excuses. I didn’t get any, either. He told me to head on over and he’d be ready to take care of it.

Cross is a quiet guy. He’s not the type to ask questions, or show any hint of curiosity. So when I lead Nicolette into the room, he nods at me, looks her over, nods at her, then gestures to the chair.

“So, Rolls tells me you’re interested in a cover-up. Where is the old tat?”

Oh, fuck.

Why is it just occurring to me now that, in order to get rid of the old tattoo, Cross has to have full access to her chest?

I know I’m being irrational. I know I’m being jealous and overprotective.

That doesn’t stop me from snapping, “She keeps the bra on.”

Cross nods. “On the boob. Got it. Still gonna need to see it, and if that means the bra comes off?—”

“The bra doesn’t come off.”

Nicolette reaches out, laying her hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Royce.”

Cross glances over at me before turning his attention to Nicolette. “For you maybe, miss. I think Rolls is having a hard time thinking of me looking at your chest.” His dark eyes are back on me. “You’ve seen one rack, you’ve seen ‘em all. It’s just skin to me, buddy.”

I wish I could believe that.

“Royce,” murmurs Nicolette, taking her hand back, folding her fingers together in her lap. “I don’t have to do this if you don’t want me to.”

Damn it. Can I really deprive Nic of something she so desperately wants—and that I need —because I don’t want Cross getting a peek at her tits?

I glare at him, then soften my expression as I face Nicolette again. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m being an ass. You’re the one who has to be topless for him to do this. If you’re okay with it, I am.”

I’m not .

She nods. “If he’s willing to get rid of the fucking thing on me, I don’t care.” Then, to prove it, she shrugs off her jacket, slips off her t-shirt, and unhooks her bra in quick succession.

Cross, to be fair, barely notices. He’s busy prepping his station, and when Nic murmurs, “Ready,” he grabs a tube of something from his tray and wheels his chair closer to her.

He reaches out to get a look at her old ink.

I growl under my breath.

“Rolls,” he says, more patiently than I probably deserve, “I can’t do the cover-up if you won’t even let me touch her.”

Does he think I don’t know that?

I wave my hand at the tube in his hand, buying time to get a hold of myself. “It’s a tat, Cross. What do you need that ointment for?”

“It’s a numbing cream,” Cross answers, and I know him well enough to tell that I’m testing his last nerve. “I find it’s good for clients not used to getting ink. I put it on, wait about twenty minutes, then when I start the outline, they don’t feel anything.”

I tap my side. “You didn’t offer it to me when you did mine.”

Sometimes, Cross has this tiny smile of his that says he finds the whole fucking world funny. I get that now as he says, “Because I only offer it to those I don’t want to watch squirm.”

“Dickhead.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. But I like to think of it as payback.”

“Payback? For what?”

“For stealing my fruit cups senior year. You don’t even like peaches, Rolls.”

I glance over at Nic, who is currently watching this exchange between me and my old friend with rapt attention. I wink at her. “True, but you can definitely say I love me some cream .”

Cross rolls his eyes as he opens the ointment and plops a dollop of that shit on his glove. “Stay classy, sunshine,” he mutters.

To his credit, he quickly and efficiently swipes the cream over the tattoo. Only a small amount goes on her actual tit, and Cross gets it done, then scoots his rolling chair back toward his station. After wiping his gloved finger off, he picks up an iPad and an Apple pencil.

“Rolls told me you want a seahorse. I’m going to draw you up a mock-up here, see if that’s what you’re thinking. We can make adjustments as we go, talk about coloring and shading… but give me an hour, hour and a half, and that dragonfly will be history.”

“Thank you,” she breathes out, her chest rising and falling with the motion. “I appreciate it.”

I nod at Cross. “Can she put her shirt back on while you do that?”

“Only if you want to wipe the cream off. Kinda defeats the purpose of putting it on, and then she’ll feel more pain than necessary.”

I mutter a curse under my breath.

Cross peers up at me. “You want to wait outside while we do this?”

And leave him alone with her? “No.”

Nic shifts in the seat. She gives me a small smile of her own before saying, “I’ve got an idea. The cover up is on my right side. If you don’t want my tits hanging out while he’s working, why don’t you come on over here and cover my left one for me.”

Hang on?—

“You mean hold it in my palm so Cross can’t see it?”

“Hold it. Fondle it. Play with my nip… whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Cross snorts as he sketches away on his iPad. “No sucking,” he says, not even bothering to look up. “Probably no fondling, either. Last thing you want is her wiggling when I got my gun going.”

He’s got a point. Dropping my mouth next to Nicolette’s ear, I murmur, “When we get back to my place, I’m making up for lost time,” before I move to the other side. The weight of her tit is perfect against my palm as I take it, firmly grasping the swell as I cover her nipples from view.

This time, Cross does look up from his drawing. “You don’t have to do that yet. I haven’t even finished the outline.”

I shrug, and don’t let go of Nic. “That’s okay. I’m perfectly happy to wait.”

By the time Cross is done with Nicolette’s tat, it’s closing in on three in the morning. That’s nothing to the syndicate’s artist. I’ve never known a guy who runs on less sleep than Cross does. Poor guy’s the poster child for insomnia and energy drinks, and it’s a fucking miracle how he can keep a steady hand with how little he gets of one and how much he downs of the other.

I bring Nic back to my place when he’s done. Thanks to the cream, she’s not hurting now, but Cross told me it would wear off soon, and she was yawning as he finished giving us the instructions on aftercare. From experience, I know that the ribs are a tender spot to get inked, too. Add in the fact that he really made sure to cover up that dragonfly and she’s gonna feel it later. It’s probably better for her to go home and rest.

Of course, to me ‘home’ means my apartment.

She doesn’t argue. On the way to the Playground, she repeated that that was the last of the secrets she held close. Afraid that I’d believe that she was a willing Dragonfly all along—and ashamed that she let Alfieri brand her like that—she didn’t want me to see it when we first got together. After that, it just never seemed like the right time, and I got that.

I was the one who waited weeks to mention Heather, wasn’t I?

But now it’s all out there. She knows my demons, and I’m prepared to help her fight hers. Covering up Alfieri’s mark on her was a step in the right direction. Keeping her secure in my place so that he can’t get to her again is a no-brainer.

She has a problem. I’ll fix it.

That’s what I do.

I tuck her into my bed, laying on top of the comforter next to her until she’s snuffling gently.

Somno might be another one of Link’s kinks, but it’s not mine. So while I can’t help but look at this woman and want to bury my dick so deep inside of her that she’ll never get rid of me, I won’t do that while she’s sleeping.

Besides, I need my dick kinda clean for what I’m about to do.

I won’t be gone long. I make sure to lock up my place, typing a quick text to Cross as I head back out to my car. He said he planned on having a drink or two at the Playground before he headed back to his place, but I let him know as we were leaving that he’d better be sober for the next hour. Now I shoot him a message that I’m on my way back and to be ready for me.

He’s in the same small studio when I let myself into the back offices, playing a game on his phone. He holds up a finger when I enter, muttering, “I almost got this level done.”

Two seconds later, he snaps a ‘fuck’ under his breath before tossing his phone to the side, then grabbing a pair of gloves.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Lost?”

“I’ll beat it next time. I got your message.” Gesturing at the tray set-up, he shows he has the tattoo gun ready, new ink poured out, and the outline all prepped for me. “I’m ready when you are.”

I remove my jacket, tossing it over the chair. Then, daring him to say something, I flick open the button on my pants and pull the zipper down just enough to reveal my groin. I purposely went commando once I decided to do this so there’s a patch of skin and a few stray pubes greeting him.

Cross just grabs the numbing cream from the tray. “You want this, sunshine?”

“Fuck you.”

The artist laughs. “Just checking. You seemed so put-out that I didn’t give you the stuff when you got your devil tat done. Believe me, the needle digging into your dick is gonna hurt a lot more than your ribs.”

He should know. Despite being buds with him for almost fifteen years, I’ve never seen Cross naked, but rumors run that he’s almost completely covered from the neck down. Well, except for his hands, which are unmarked, and a spot on his chest next to his trademark cross that gave him his nickname.

“Don’t put that tattoo gun anywhere near my junk. That belongs to Nic now.” I tap the spot near my pubic bone. “Right here. Give me the seahorse right here.”

“You got it, Rolls.”

And when he finishes coloring it about forty minutes later, I have only my second tattoo ever.

It’s a piece for Nicolette Williams, and my way of showing the world that I’m her property.

Hopefully, this makes this lovesick idiot one step closer to being just hers.