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I take the towels from him and start wiping the ultrasound goo off my stomach. Holy is spiraling into a jealous rage, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “But I don’t want any of those men,” I point out in a cranky tone. “I want you.”
Holy is too lost in his stream of conscious thought to hear me. “My seed is growing inside of you. What man could possibly think he has a chance with you? What man dares to challenge me?”
It’s all caveman shit. He’s swinging around his club and daring any man within a five-mile radius to fight him. It’s exhausting. Once upon a time, I would have found it attractive. But now I’m just tired, and I want to go home. My home. Where my bed is. Where there are no men, just peace and quiet. I want to be alone and think about the future of my baby boy. I love Holy, but this is supposed to be a happy moment, not a jealous one.
“I wish there were a way that I could, could brand you,” he growls, “a sign to every over man that you’re mine. Forever.”
Frustrated, I chuck a towel at him and say, “Fine. Then do it. But can you help me off this fucking table first?”
Holy is pulled from his trance, and his face softens. “What?”
I swing my legs over the side and hold out a hand for him to help me down. In a second, Holy is at my side, holding my weight and lowering me to the floor. “Mark me, if that’s what it takes, whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better.”
With his hands on my hips, Holy tightens his grip in desperation. “You can’t mean that,” he says in a low whisper. “You’re just saying it to shut me up.”
But as I look into his beautiful eyes and see hope and love staring back at me, I know that even though he is right, I mean it now. I would do anything for Holy. I would let him etch his name into my skin with a knife if that’s what it took to satisfy him. “Tattoo me,” I tell him. “Write your name on my body forever so everyone knows I’m yours.”
Holy sweeps me into his arms and swings me around the room. I can’t help but squeal with shared excitement. “My love,” he grins, “my forever love.”
Hearing those words on his lips comforts me. “And you, mine.”
28
HOLY
Black Mammoth Tattoo is run by my buddy, Joker. But even though we’ve known each other for over a decade, he looks unsure of my request.
“She’s about to pop,” Joker insists as he gestures toward Danielle’s stomach. “What if her water breaks while I’m tattooing her?”
Danielle’s jaw drops as she holds her belly protectively. She is rightfully offended. “Excuse you,” she glares at him. “I’m only twenty-two weeks pregnant.”
Joker throws his hands up defensively. “My bad,” he apologizes. “I don’t get a lot of pregnant women in here. I’m not familiar with the whole baby bump thing.” The side eye he gives the curve of her stomach seconds his admission.
“Stop staring.” I smack Joker in the arm, drawing his attention to me instead of Danielle. “Can you tattoo her or not?”
I came to Joker because he’s the best guy in the business. Or at least in the state of Kansas. He’s been perfecting his craft since he was sixteen years old. No one would give him a chance back then, but he didn’t care. He opened a shop out of his garage at eighteen and has been tattooing ever since.
Joker crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head forty-five degrees to the right. It takes him a long minute to think it over, but finally, he says, “I don’t usually tattoo pregnant women during the start of their pregnancy.”
I feel like smacking him in the head or maybe banging my head into a wall. I can’t tell which would be more effective at this moment. “She isn’t at the start of her pregnancy either, genius. She’s midway.”
“I don’t know about these womanly things.” Joker does a good impression of Jack Sparrow with his fingers, jiggling them in Danielle’s direction to make his point. A second later, he turns on the ball of his foot and walks away from us.
“What the fuck, Joker!” I yell after him.
“I’m going to get my stuff.” He doesn’t even turn back; he just waves at the two booths. “Pick a seat, any seat.”
Danielle looks ill at ease when I lead her to the booth on the right. She watches Joker’s disappearing frame and shakes her head when he’s out of eyesight. “Is that man okay?”
I’m hesitant to tell her about Joker. Not because I don’t trust her to be kind and sensitive, but because he could return at any moment. I don’t want him to come back and find me gossiping. “He’s one of the Kings,” I tell her, a careful eye on the back room door. “No one knows for sure what’s wrong with him. We’ve theorized some form of autism or maybe ADHD because he’s the type to hyper-fixate on something, sort of like he did your stomach. He’s good at what he does, though. Damn good.”
Understanding dawns on her features. As I help her onto the tattoo bed and help her get comfortable, she mulls over what I told her. Danielle doesn’t add or detract from Joker’s backstory. She doesn’t say she knows someone like him. She simply nods her head after a few moments and asks where I plan to mark her.
“Well, it’s quite simple.” I step away from Danielle to grab a curtain shoved up against the wall. It races along the track hooked up to the ceiling, creating a circle of privacy around us. A light hangs overhead, highlighting Danielle in its glow. She is radiant, as usual. “My first thought was right here,” I gesture to my collarbone. “In big, giant letters. HOLY. Right across your chest.”
Danielle giggles and folds her hands over her stomach. Her eyes sparkle with delight, and it’s impossible not to share her attitude. “Oh, really?” She bites her bottom lip to keep from bursting out into laughter. “And what changed your mind?”
I place one hand on each side of the black leather tattoo table, so close to her that I can feel the heat of her breath on my chest. “Who says I changed my mind?”
