Page 149 of Devour

“You ready?” He asks, motioning for one of the chairs at the dining table.

I run my hands along my bare chest. I didn’t bother putting on a shirt since I knew I was just going to have to remove it. “I’ve been ready.”

Saylor drew her name on my chest again this morning so Crew could make sure it was done in her handwriting exactly where she wants it. I’ve already talked to Crew about tattooing our wedding rings too. The engagement ring that currently sits on her finger is to make sure every other fuck out there knows she’s taken, but the tattoos that will be beneath our rings will be just for us.

Crew snaps on his gloves and picks up the gun. “There’s no going back after this, dude.”

Saylor pulls the blanket tighter around herself on the couch, nuzzling Betty. “There was no going back once he tattooed his name on me. Twice.”

“Damn right.” I settle back in the chair as Crew positions himself and presses the needle to my chest. The buzz fills the room, and the sting hits my skin. I’ve been tattooed enough that I’m not bothered by the pain.

Crew inks the curve of the S first. His hands are steady, and his focus is on his work. He’s always been the best with a gun out of all of us, which is why he’s done all the ink on my body.

Saylor shifts on the couch and tucks her legs tighter beneath her. I catch her eye, and she gives me a sexy grin, and I’m already thinking about her lips wrapped around my dick.

“Did Dane tell you what this meeting next week is about?” Crew asks without looking up from the needle.

“Not yet.” I glance down at his work thus far. “Only what he told me in the hospital.”

The gun buzzes against my chest, and I glance at his face. He’s focused, like he has been since all this bullshit went down. Every time I’ve tried to corner him to get answers, he manages to have an excuse to leave. But right now he’s stuck.

“Tell me what Hawthorne said to you.”

His hand stills with the needle for a second. He glances at Saylor, then he continues. “If I wanted to talk about it, I would fucking talk about it.”

“Good thing I’m not asking.” I hold still so he doesn’t fuck up the line, but I keep my eyes on his face. “You’ve been dodging us all for weeks, Crew. It’s bullshit.”

He exhales hard through his nose, and the gun keeps moving. His jaw is set so tight I can see the muscle working under his skin.

Saylor is quiet on the couch. She doesn’t know what I’m pushing at, but she knows well enough to stay out of it.

“You can’t leave until my girl’s name is finished on my chest.” I try to lighten his mood. “So you might as well fucking talk.”

Crew wipes the ink and leans back to check his spacing, then comes back in for the next letter.

“I don’t know if it’s true yet.” He doesn’t stop working. “I’ve been looking into it.”

I wait, staring at him, expecting him to say more. “Tell me what it is and you know I’ll help you.”

He stops and turns the gun off. His hand drops to his knee, and he stares at the half-finished ink on my chest.

“I think my mom may be alive, Axl.” He runs one of his gloved hands through his hair. “That’s what he said. That my mom is alive and I’ll never fucking find her.”

I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that. He stares back at me, and I see the sadness there.

“But didn’t your father say she died? There was a funeral, right?” Crew was just a young boy when his mother died, and it was hard on him. I didn’t know him then, but he doesn’t like to talk about her.

Crew nods in response to my questions. “I’ve never had reason to question him. Or even look into the death certificate. But there’s something off about it. And now I think Hawthorne might’ve been telling the truth.”

I won’t say what I know we’re both thinking. If Hawthorne is right, there’s a good possibility we already know what kind of life Crew’s mother has had. And that might be worse than her having been dead all this time.

“Whatever it is, we’re going to figure it out.” I grip his shoulder. “You, me, Priest, and Kase. Same as always.”

Crew is quiet for a long time. He stares at the tattoo gun on his knee, and he’s deciding how much more he’s willing to give me right now. I’m not going to push harder. He told me, and that’s enough for now.

He clears his throat and snaps the gun back on. “Can we just finish your fucking tattoo?”

“You’re the one who stopped.” I lean back in the chair and rest my arms on the sides.