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There were a few times I thought she’d discovered it but no more so than the day she caught me with my almost complete tattoo.
I’d managed to keep a shirt on as my wounds healed, and then during the course of my first few sessions on the table of the artist in town, but I let my guard down that day I didn’t shut my door properly.
I hated myself for it as her stare made my already sore skin prickle even more.
But it worked. She was too distracted by the intricate artwork to notice the ugliness it was covering.
I pause in front of the black-framed mirror hanging above the dresser and look at myself.
The need to inspect the damage before now has been strong, but I haven’t done it.
But now…
I twist around, my skin pulling uncomfortably as my eyes drop to my back.
My breath catches at the mess.
The punishment from Victor wasn’t the inspiration for my back piece. I already had my hawk. It’s part of our initiation that we’re branded. It doesn’t matter how big, or what kind of form the ink takes, but somewhere, we have to do it.
Back when I initiated, I was fully invested in my life as a Hawk and I went all in with a massive bird across my shoulder blades with a wide wingspan that stretched well onto my arms. Just like my father’s.
I remember looking at it as a kid and being totally enthralled by it.
For as long as I can remember, I coveted the same design.
I thought I’d made it the day I got it.
Little did I know what was just around the corner.
It wasn’t long before I hated it.
Once I learned the truth, and saw the ugliness of the world I’d wanted to be a part of so badly, I wanted to peel my own skin from my body to rid myself of the toxicity.
Once Alana came into my life, she inspired me to turn something so tainted into something beautiful. I spent a long time planning what to add to my hawk to turn it around, and I loved the result.
But Victor, Kurt, and my father have a way of ruining anything good and beautiful, and just look at it now.
I’ve no doubt I can get it fixed. But that’s not the point.
They’ve once again ripped through something I care about and forever tarnished it.
With irritation surging through my veins, I rip the bedroom door open and go in search of the woman who knows exactly how to calm the storm that’s raging inside me.
As I descend the stairs, I don’t want to be grateful to the man who owns this house for anything, but the moment the scent of food hits me, I remember why living with him is bearable.
He’s an annoyingly good cook.
Asshole.
Voices float down to me, but it’s mostly the low rumble of male voices and as I step into the living room, I discover why.
Reid and Griff are sitting on the couches, deep in conversation about something serious, judging by the scowls on their faces.
Alana and Aubrey are sitting at the table with glasses of wine. JD, predictably, is pinned to Alana’s side, staring at her like she just hung the moon.
“Any chance of getting something to eat?” I ask, walking into the room and turning all eyes on me.
“Mav.” Alana gasps, shooting to her feet and leaving JD behind.
