“Do we?” The first man’s hand shot out, clamping around my wrist.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins. “Let go!”
I tried to yank free, stumbling when my shoe caught on the groove in the sidewalk. My leggings snagged on the brick planter beside me and tore with a loud rip.
Both men glanced down at my leg and stilled. There was a beat of silence as they took in the ink on my calf.
“She’s marked,” the man holding my wrist murmured.
“It’s just a tattoo,” I blurted, trying again to pull back.
He laughed. “Didn’t see that coming. Bet the Hound sniffing around you isn’t gonna like this.”
“Now that we know what you are…” the second added with a grin.
I didn’t understand what they thought my tattoo meant, but every instinct screamed that something was way off.
Before I could make sense of what was happening, the studio door behind me slammed open. Reeve came barreling out, looking furious. I’d seen him intense before, but nothing like this. He seemed almost feral.
His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were nearly black with murderous intent.
“What the fuck?” Reeve’s words vibrated with barely controlled fury.
The man holding my wrist didn’t even have time to react. Reeve’s hand shot out, ripping him backward with such force the guy stumbled, slamming hard into the side of the van. Before he could recover, Reeve had a fistful of his shirt, yanking him up and snarling something low and vicious in his face—words I couldn’t make out over the blood rushing in my ears.
My knees almost buckled when the second man lunged toward us, but Reeve pivoted and shoved him back so violently his shoulder cracked against the brick wall. He choked out a curse, scrambling away.
They both looked at Reeve, and the first one out of the van spat on the ground near my shoe. “Now that we know how important you are, we’ll make it clearer next time.”
Then they bolted for the van, doors slamming shut as it peeled away from the curb.
Reeve didn’t move until the taillights disappeared around the corner. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, and his hands were fisted at his sides.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and my wrist throbbed where I’d been grabbed.
He turned to me slowly, his eyes still dark and wild. After closing the distance between us in two strides, his hand wrapped around my uninjured arm to tug me closer. Then his eyes raked over me like he expected to find blood.
“Did they touch you?” he demanded.
Underneath the fury in his voice, I heard fear. So I kept my tone as even as I could when I answered, “Just my wrist. I tore my leggings trying to get away.”
He crouched in front of me without another word, his hand sliding down my shin before he stopped at the exposed skin of my calf. His fingers were gentle, but the touch stole my breath anyway. His thumb brushed the edge of the tattoo, as if he were checking for an injury he couldn’t see.
A shiver shot through me that had nothing to do with fear. I shouldn’t have felt anything like desire after what had just happened. My adrenaline was still spiking, but Reeve’s touch cut through it.
He looked up at me then, his eyes dark and unreadable. All I knew was that even shaking, I leaned into his hand like it was the only steady thing in my world.
9
ONYX
My thumb grazed the edge of her calf tattoo again, my jaw tightening as the edges of that symbol snapped into place in my head. An ownership mark. Not like the ink the Hounds had. This didn’t signal love, loyalty, or even protection. It coldly declared possession. A flag in the dirt that told anyone with the eyes to see it that she belonged to someone. That she was property.
And she had no fucking idea.
I’d seen syndicate shit like this before. Criminal branding meant to signal ownership, not just of loyalty, but of her body as well. It was a warning that she was off-limits in every way.
She’d been walking around wearing someone else’s fucking claim, and Marks had never told her. Hadn’t explained what it meant or warned her that every time she wore shorts, the wrong kind of eyes might see it and make assumptions that could get her killed.
