Claude’s brows arched. “That depends on where you put it. If it’s private, then every male will leave this room.”
“Except Wyatt,” I pointed out.
Shepherd cracked his knuckles. “He doesn’t count.”
Wyatt tucked some of his hair into his hat. He still had on the kilt and T-shirt from the night before. “I’ll wear a blindfold.”
When he bent over to pick up the pen, I spotted a bottle of liquid fire on the counter.
“If you want the tat in a visible place, it’s no big deal,” Wyatt said. “But just pick a spot where you normally wear clothes. So if you like tank tops, don’t put it on your shoulder. If you wear shorts, don’t put it on your thigh. That kind of thing.”
“I guess here,” I said, tapping my right hip.
“Lie down.”
The cold metal table chilled my arms as I lay there and let Wyatt pull down my pants.
Claude quickly left the room.
“Do you want it above your panties or…”
“Depends on the panties,” I said, grinning at Christian. “Beneath.”
Wyatt scratched his cheek. “You’ll have to pull them down.”
Claude reentered the room with a blanket. He draped it over my legs and flicked a glance between Christian and Wyatt, who flanked either side of me.
I lifted my hips and pulled down my pants and underwear to my knees. Then I adjusted the blanket so it covered half my body, leaving the right side exposed to give Wyatt full access.
Shepherd rubbed his eye with one finger and averted his gaze.
“What’s that?” Wyatt asked, adjusting the height of his stool as he peered at my hip.
“Scars.”
Everyone craned their necks for a closer look.
“Can you cover them up?” I asked. “That’ll make it bigger than Gem’s, but those are from an old Chitah bite, and I’d rather get rid of the reminder.”
“No problem. Size doesn’t matter.”
Shepherd smoothed out his buzz cut. “Says you.”
Christian leaned over to look at them, as did Claude, who looked ashamed by the fact that a Chitah had bitten me. I let them get a gander since it would be the last time they’d be visible. I expected a barrage of questions that never came. Keystone didn’t pry, and that was what I liked about them.
I laced my fingers behind my head while Wyatt drew out the design with a pen. That wasn’t how most tattoo artists did it, but Wyatt wasn’t exactly a professional. Claude and Gem were talking quietly and playing rock-paper-scissors while Shepherd puffed on a cigarette.
“So, let’s get this straight,” Shepherd began. As he spoke, smoke poured of his mouth like a dragon. “You’re immune to impalement wood, stunners,andChitah bites?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you tell Viktor?” Blue asked.
“A girl has to have a little mystery.”
Christian sat in the chair to my left. “You’re not a mystery. You’re the fecking Bermuda Triangle.”
“Word spreads fast around here,” I said, giving him an icy stare. I didn’t remember anyone overhearing our conversation at Patrick’s house, so Christian must have filled everyone in.
