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I knew I liked this girl. My attention drops to the gun. “It’s temporary ink, right?”
“Uh-huh. Will fade in a couple weeks.”
“All right, then I’m happy for you to go rogue.”
She cocks a brow. “Are you sure?” Leaning in, she adds, “Because when I go rogue, I go…rogue.”
The mischief dancing in her eyes gives me pause. “Okay, maybe put it somewhere I can’t see, just in case.”
She chuckles. “Good idea, red-head.”
We agree on the small of my back. I pretend like Tayce telling me it’s an area with thicker skin and fewer nerves is what convinces me, but really, it’s because I know Rafe will see it when he next fucks me from behind. The thought of his stomach tensing against my ass and his hot hand grazing over it sends a lethargic excitement through my core.
Tayce was right; the scratching morphs into a light burning sensation. She works meticulously, silently, the ends of her hair brushing against my spine.
When the hum of the gun cuts out, I pop my eyes open. She wipes something cold and wet over the area, then rises to her feet. To my surprise, when I twist around to look at her, she’s making a slow retreat.
I frown. “Is it done? Where are you going?”
She nods to the hand mirror on the table. “Take a look.”
Rory stops dancing and squints at my lower back. As her eyes widen and her jaw drops, suspicion trickles into my veins.
“Tayce…” she whispers, biting back a laugh.
“What?” I snap. I snatch up the mirror and twist awkwardly to see her artwork. When a familiar name in a heart stares back at me, my blood runs cold.
Five heavy seconds pass. I lift my eyes to Tayce, who’s staring at me like a deer caught in headlights. “You told me to go rogue,” she whispers.
I drop the mirror to the sofa. Pull down my top.
“Yeah. And now I’m telling you to run.”
She’s out the door before I can finish my sentence. I sprint after her, Rory and Wren hot on my heels.
Tayce’s laughter floats up the spiral staircase. “I’m sorry, okay! You can tattoo anything you want on me as payback!”
“I’m going to draw a massive dick!”
“That’s fine, just not on my face, all right?”
She’s within arms-reach by the time we run through Rafe’s study. Glancing over her shoulder, she yanks open the door to the library. I follow her in and come to a crashing stop.
My breathing slows, but my heart picks up pace.
“Jeez, what an ugly bookshelf,” Tayce mutters, following my gaze.
Rory comes up beside me. “Are they theFor Dummiesbooks? Looks like the whole collection? I can’t imagine Rafe reading those.”
“He doesn’t,” I whisper, my throat going thick.
“Well, who does then?”
I swallow. “Me.”
In the silence, the wind roars. The grandfather clock ticks on the mantelpiece. My eyes trail the splintered wood, the hammer on the desk, and the Swedish instructions torn into two and dumped next to the trash can.
Wren sighs and clutches her chest.
