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“You got it, boss.”
Grabbing a tube from his case, he puts a dollop of cream on his finger, then starts applying it to my finger before I can snatch my hand back.
“What’s that?” I ask. “It tingles.”
“That’s good. Means it’s working.” Cross tosses the tube back into the case, then tugs off his glove. As he pulls on a fresh pair, he explains, “It’ss numbing cream. I use it for clients who aren’t used to getting ink. I put it on and, twenty minutes later, you won’t feel a thing when I get to work.” His eyes flicker toward Link. “He insisted.”
“I want her to have a permanent ring, Cross, not be in pain.”
How kind of him, I think ruefully, glancing down at my bare finger, knowing it won’t be like that much longer. I never thought I’d get a tattoo, and it seems almost unreal that I am—and that it’s my punishment for the oversized ring slipping off my finger.
Link might not see it that way, but I do. He thinks I did it on purpose, and his solution is tobrandme like I’m a fucking animal, all because he thinks making me his wife means that I’m his property.
Too bad there’s not a damn thing I can do about it unless I’d rather turn myself into the police—or see if Damien Libellula still is looking for me.
While we wait for the cream to take effect, Link paces around the room, giving me some space while also obviously unwilling to leave me and Cross alone. I doubt it’s a jealous thing; more likely, he’s convinced I’ll be able to talk my way out of getting this tattoo. Cross has his head bowed over a notepad, doodling ideas for the design that he only shows to Link to get his approval, and I just sit there, waiting for my finger to go numb.
Eventually it does, and Cross picks up his tattoo gun.
He’s talented, I’ll give him that. He draws his design free-hand, pausing only to wipe away the excess ink with his paper towel squares, and apart from the vague sensation that something is repeatedly tapping my skin, I don’t feel a thing as he inksLincolnaround my ring finger in a gothic-style swirl.
From a distance, it’ll look like I have a black ring inked into my skin, impossible to remove. Up close, though? It says I’m Lincoln’s, which surprises me. I would have thought he’d mark me asDevil’s—but that’s okay.
I insist on that myself.
“Don’t put your machine away yet,” I tell Cross. It’s the first time I’ve spoken up since I asked about the numbing cream. “I need another tattoo.”
Link firms his jaw. “No, you don’t.”
Oh, yes. I do.
“What the devil marks as his own… that’s what you said to me. I didn’t think you meant it literally, but after tonight… I know better now.” I jut my chin out. “I’m your pet, Devil. Right? Have him mark me.”
“If this is about what happened at the Playground—”
It haseverythingto do with that, but at the same time, if I want to play Link’s game, I have to figure out the rules first.
“He grabbed me because I didn’t have your mark. I’m your wife. I can’t be anymore yours, so why shouldn’t I have your symbol on my skin? That way everyone knows I’m Lincoln’s and Devil’s.”
I thought he would argue more. I thought he would shut my idea down, reminding me that he was in charge.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he nods at Cross. “Do it.”
Putting down his machine, Cross reaches for the numbing cream.
No.
“I don’t want the goop this time,” I tell him.
“You’ll feel it then.”
I meet Link’s dark eyes. “I want to feel it.”
Cross glances over at myhusband, looking for his answer.
After a moment, Link nods. “If that’s what my wife wants, do it.”
