His eyes opened, looking truly confused. “See what?”
“The tattoo,” I growled. “It’s your turn. Pay up.”
He rolled his eyes. “You really want to see it?”
“Show it to me already.”
Fastening the necklace around his neck first, he tookhis sweet time tucking it beneath his T-shirt and then putting his hands on thehem of his shirt.
I felt weird again.
Where was this tattoo?
“All right, you asked for it,” he mumbled.
He began lifting his shirt slowly, revealing a tanned,flat stomach. I quickly glanced around again, embarrassed by everything. Everysingle thing.
And yet too fascinated to tell him to stop.
He was so different looking than when I first met him.He was clean this time and he didn’t smell bad. Actually, he kind of smelledgood. His hair had been trimmed and he’d started to put on weight so he didn’tlook like a skeleton anymore.
There was a long scar over the plane of his stomach,reaching from his ribs, across his middle, straight through his belly button. Iwas fixated on that long, puckered line of white flesh. How had he gotten that?Had it been bad?
Whatever had caused it had to have been bad for it tobe that long and pronounced.
I was about to ask him about it, when his shirt liftedall the way over his chest to reveal an orthodox cross just over his heart. Iforgot all about his scar in an effort to take in all the details of thattattoo.
The lines were still red and raised and it was shinyfrom the salve he’d put over it. But it was breathtaking all the same. Darklybeautiful. The old style of cross looked so big on his thin frame, and toomature for his thirteen-year-old body.
It was the mark of the syndicate.
It was his mark as a thief.
He was theirs now, for life.
With one tattoo, he’d sealed his fate.
I had leaned forward without realizing it. Raising atrembling hand, I softly traced the lines of the cross, finding the number sixin the center. He sucked in a sharp breath at my touch, his chest jerking,bringing me fully awake to realize I was only a couple inches away from him andmy hands were on him.
Blinking up at him, I took a small step back. “Sorry,”I whispered. “It’s pretty.”
He leaned forward, erasing the space I’d just putbetween us. His blue eyes darkened with laughter. “Pretty?”
“Er, not pretty. I mean,cool. It looks cool.”
“I thought you hated it?” he asked. “I thought youhated this life.”
“I do.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and willed myfeet to stay still. “I, uh, I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
His head dropped toward mine. I lifted my facethinking he was going to tell me a secret. “Me too,” he whispered. “I have youto thank for that.”
Then he kissed me.
Kissed me!
My mouth was half open and my eyes were all the wayopen and I wasn’t expecting it at all. But he didn’t seem to care. His lipsbrushed mine, and then again, and then for longer. They were so much softerthan I expected. And wetter. And my stomach did this weird flipping thing and Ithought about kneeing him in the balls, and at the same time asking him to kissme again.
But before I could do any of that or get my thoughtstogether or just run away, he murmured, “See you round, Six,” in my ear andwalked away.
