Because what the fuck is that on my chest?
I trail my fingers all over the letters, feeling the aching beneath the tips. The ink’s done as neatly as possible, though it’s definitely not the work of a professional. The name is written in cursive, while the words above are done in a thinner, serif-type font. My heart starts beating rapidly against my ribcage, dread washing over me.
I try to wipe it all away, but it’s not budging. The skin around it is very red, and that’s when it finally dawns on me — the tattoo is fucking real. A myriad of emotions fills me, the dominant one being rage.
“Fucking cunt,” I breathe out, still in a state of disbelief. “Property of Sophia Sloane.”
I read the tattoo out loud, my eyes wide. For a moment, I stand there, with the toothpaste still in my mouth, water dripping from my hair, falling down my back. There are no words to describe what’s going on inside my head, except pure fucking disbelief.
“Hah!” A bitter, half-laugh comes from the depths of my throat. The bitch tattooed me while I was asleep. Why the fuck didn’t I wake up? I’ve always been a light sleeper, and something such as a needle piercing through my skin should’ve woken me up instantly. “This little bitch.”
Anger starts to consume me, and my breathing becomes labored. It takes me less than five minutes to put on a pair of boxers, sweatpants, and a plain, black, cotton shirt. I slide into my shoes, then force the door of the cabin open.
Sophia’s nowhere to be seen on the inside, and I just know she’ll do everything in her power to avoid me. She’ll likely try to spend as much time as possible with the employees of the camp, thinking they’ll prevent me from getting to her.
However, luck is not on her side. I slept longer than I’d normally sleep, and right about now, they’re all on their break, away from the camp where the two of us are.
The cold wind hits me as soon as I’m outside, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m being warmed by the pure rage that rushes through my veins, my blood boiling. My jaw’s clenched, my hands fists as I look around, trying to spot where the bitch might be hiding.
“Sophia!” I yell out, turning around. There’s no one around, and it seems almost deserted. Even if she hears me, she’s keeping quiet on purpose. “The moment I get my hands on you, I’ll fucking break you.”
The thinly veiled threat carries through the trees around, and another wave of wind blows right into my face. My feet are carrying me in a random direction, my pace quickening with each step I take. Sophia’s nowhere to be seen, and the only evidence of her being around is the numerous trash bags, filled to the brim.
Until I spot a lock of blonde hair, hiding behind a tree. The tree itself is very thick, and I never would’ve noticed her, had it not been for the wind blowing her hair and allowing me to spot her.
Slowly, and as silently as possible, I approach the tree. I take a peek around, and she’s crouching down, holding her palm over her mouth. She looks fucking terrified, and that makes a wide grin spread on my face.
“Found you, Princess.”
Her head snaps in my direction. Before she can react, I’m grabbing her by her forearms, slamming her against the tree. She gasps for air, and one of my hands wraps around her throat, pinning her in place and effectively controlling her oxygen intake.
“F-Ford,” she croaks out, and that pisses me off more. “I can’t breathe.”
“Evidently, you can,” I seeth, leaning in. “What the fuck did you do, Sloane?”
She swallows, and I feel it under my palm. The way she’s struggling to get out of my grip, the way she’s trying her hardest to escape me, only makes the anger stronger, my cock reacts to her pathetic attempts to free herself.
“I’m sorry.”
I slam her against the tree again, her eyes widening. “Are you?! Are you fucking sorry?! How did you do it, Sloane? I shouldn’t have been able to sleep through that.”
My hold on her throat lessens a little, just so she is able to speak without gasping for air. Her pretty lips are parted, her eyes wide in terror and fear.
“I spiked the alcohol,” she breathes out. “I put crushed sleeping pills in the whiskey.”
“All bottles?!”
She nods.
“Fucking cunt.”
Despite the situation, a small smirk tugs on the corners of her lips. My eyes narrow like slits, and the fury inside me is tightly coiled, like a snake waiting to strike its prey.
“You fucking tattooed me in my sleep,” I spit.
“Mhmm. Property of Sophia Sloane,” she quotes the tattoo, her smirk widening. “Now you know who your owner is. Bark for me, bitch.”
I can no longer control my anger. My body’s shaking, and I tighten the grip on her throat. She yelps when I slam her back against the tree again, this time lifting her off the ground. She’s much shorter than me, and it’s not hard to throw her around like a rag doll.
