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My heart pounded as I watched him come down from the arena. He was at least six-foot four, dark-haired, and breathtakingly beautiful. He had the same well-manicured beard as my rescuer from last night, and the same square-set jaw. He carried himself the same way too, with an almost identical air of menace and danger.
But it wasn’t him.
No, this man was olive-skinned, and about three inches taller. His eyes also held an unsettling darkness to them. It set me back a step.
“Ummm…”
He’d crossed the red line and was walking past me now. His head was down, his fists clenched. He was moving purposefully in some direction.
“Excuse me?”
The tattooed monster stopped, turned, and regarded me coldly. Or at least it felt that way. His beautifully-tanned skin shimmered with sweat from the overhead lights.
“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
He sized me up, scanning me top to bottom. It wasn’t the normal way a man might scan a woman, either. It was more of an assessment.
“About what?”
“About your tattoo.”
He grunted. Laughed. Scoffed. Then he turned away.
Shit, he has a hundred tattoos. I sound like a groupie.
Before he could leave I grabbed his wrist. It felt like gripping one of the thick steel bars on a subway train.
“Thistattoo,” I said, pointing downward.
His gaze followed my finger, which traced the dagger and crossed arrows. The banner beneath the tattoo had three words again, only this time I could read them:
DE OPPRESSO LIBER
For a moment I thought he’d yank his arm away. If he did, I’d be powerless to stop it. Instead, he raised a thick, curious eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because a man saved my life last night,” I said quickly. “A man who looks a lot like you.”
“Describe him.”
Did he believe me? Was he testing me?
“He wore an MMA shirt and a faded leather jacket. He was about three inches shorter than you, but just as big. And he could fight,” I added. “I mean he couldreallyfight.”
Still clutching his wrist, I tapped his warm, sweaty skin.
“And he had a tattoo exactly like this.”
The man paused, remaining silent. But his expression said everything.
“What do you want him for?” he asked.
I ran a half-dozen answers through my mind, trying to find the one I thought he wanted. In the end, I bit my lip. “I need his help.”
“Sounds like you already got his help.”
I ignored his comment for the deflection it was.
