And yeah… I’m a bastard for it. For the small, ugly flicker of relief that settles in my chest when I conclude that it’s not Charlotte that has him twisted up like this.
It’s Isabelle.
But that doesn’t make this any better. Because a distracted man in his position? In a war like this?
That gets people killed. And we can’t afford that.
“Stop it!”
I jerk slightly at Charlotte’s voice, the sharp crack of it cutting straight through the noise around us.
And there it is.
Fuck.How the hell am I supposed to deal with the immediate twitch in my pants?
She’s been doing this a lot lately. Snapping at me. Reprimanding me like I’m some misbehaving kid she’s had enough of. And it does the exact opposite of what it should.
If anything, it makes me want more. Makes me want her to look at me like that again. Talk to me with that adorable scowl on her face. Every damn day.
It’s almost as if she knows exactly what it does to me.
Yeah right.Wishful fucking thinking.
Still doesn’t solve my problem.
Because I’m sitting in the middle of the main hall—with every brother within eyesight. Even a few out of the twenty-four of Mihai’s men have shown up. They usually ensure their presence isn’t overt enough to alarm Hell’s Army.
Or their plant.
I adjust in my seat quickly. The last thing I need is to look like I’ve lost control over something as basic as my own body. Especially not in front of Charlotte.
Fuck. Why is half my brain thinking,reprimand me some more?
Shut up, Ruin.
Then a thought hits. I don’t think I did anything to deserve that tone.
At least… not today. Have I?
“What?” I look up at her, all innocence.
“Stop picking,” she snarls, slapping my hand, “at your scab. You’re a tattoo artist. How do you not know this?”
Oh. I stare dumbly at the small drop of blood oozing out of the scab I just plucked off my forearm.
Fuck. She’s right.
The fact that I had a full month’s worth of work done on my hands in a matter of days, doesn’t help either. My tat is healing slower than usual. I should be more careful with it.
When I manage to look up again, I expect to see a huffing and puffing Charlotte with her fists on her waist. But she’s simply staring dazedly at my hands. Eyes never drifting from the ink swirling around.
I don’t dare make the mistake of moving. But a smile creeps up on my face anyway. Because I see it.
The awe gleaming in her eyes.
“Do you like them?” I blurt and instantly chastise myself for breaking the moment. Because her frown returns, gaze snapping to mine.
“I don’t want you lying in the infirmary with an infection, dumb-ster.”
