I watch transfixed as the first Adept, a tall, built guy with deeply bronzed Middle Eastern skin, steps onto the dais and calls his Acolyte by name. The equally tall Acolyte—Liam—shakes his Adept’s hand firmly and then removes his shirt, revealing a wall of muscle. He sits on the edge of the first tattooing table, and Hamza applies the stencil to Liam’s chest. The tattoo gun buzzes to life, and Liam grits his teeth as Hamza begins to ink the dagger into his skin.
An Italian-looking guy named Gio who’s already covered in tattoos is next, rolling his sleeve up to the shoulder to get his mark on a blank spot on his triceps. The third Acolyte, an all-American blond quarterback type, gets his ink on his thigh. The fourth and fifth both get them on their arms.
“Carson King,” the man in the red robes murmurs.
Carson steps onto the dais, a somewhat manic grin on his face. “Gabriella De Luca,” he murmurs darkly. “It’s that time.”
Gabriella swallows thickly. She glances my way with a small smile before she slowly makes her way to the dais. She visibly shivers when Carson slides his hand over her hip as she brushes past him.
Oh, Idohave questions…
I watch as she lies face-down on the padded table and nods at something Carson says that I can’t hear. He unzips the back of her top and peels it away, exposing her bare shoulders and back. He lays the stencil on the back of her left shoulder blade, then turns on the tattoo gun.
The nerves I was expecting finally hit me all at once as I watch her face crumple a little, her teeth biting down on her lip as a halting whimper echoes from her throat. Carson takes his time, hovering over her and slowly tracing each line of the stencil in smooth, unhurried strokes, until the whole thing is laid down.
Gabby is shaking when she sits up, holding her top to her chest as Carson bandages her new ink and then whispers in her ear again, making her shudder.
Somany questions…
They leave the dais.
Silence bathes the dark ballroom, now empty except forme.
“Marquis,” the man in red growls through his mask. “Please call your Acolyte.”
Electricity ripples over me as Vaughn slowly comes down from the second-floor balcony in his black Bauta mask with green filigree and steps onto the dais.
“Evelina Nikitin,” he murmurs.
Our eyes meet as I walk toward him. He takes my hand as I step up, guiding me to the last padded table.
“I’ll be right here,” he growls against my shoulder.
There’s no last-minute “are you sure about this”. I love that.
I lie on my back and lift my shirt up to just under my left breast. He already knows that my mark is going to go high on my ribs. I know it’sreallygoing to fucking hurt, especially as it's my first tattoo.
That's okay. I want it to hurt.
I want it to matter.
Vaughn places the stencil, making my skin prickle. The mechanical whine of the gun hums through the room as he leans over me, his eyes locked with mine.
“I’m right here,” he says again. Then his eyes drop to the stencil as he brings the gun to my skin.
Holy fuck.
It fuckingkills. Tears well in my eyes, and every nerve in my body screams for mercy as Vaughn’s hand steadily drags the tattoo gun over my ribs.
But I don’t look away. I stare right into his eyes as he inks the mark of the Syndicate into my skin.
I can barely stand when it’s over. But he’s right there, just as he promised, steadying me as he gently bandages the fresh tattoo and then carefully pulls my shirt back down over it. His hand takes mine, and the other one cups my face.
Then he leans in and crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me fiercely.
“No going back now, princess.”
“Seriously,how fucking much did thathurt?! I mean,fuck!”
