I glance across the room. Nobody looks away.
His fingers skim my shoulder, then catch the collar of my jacket and peel it from me in one smooth pull. He drapes it across the bar. Cool air brushes my skin. Thin straps of this ridiculous top are all that remain.
My breath catches.
Of course.
He dressed me for this.
Easy access to my shoulder. Nothing more. The rest of me stays covered. Kept. Hidden from every man here except in the one place he’s chosen to bare.
Possessive bastard.
His fingers slide beneath one strap, then the other, dragging them down my arms just enough to expose the curve of my shoulder blade.
His mouth brushes my ear. “Now you understand.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
His hand settles at my waist.
Vaska steps forward.
“She comes here by choice,” he says, his gaze moving over me before returning to the men. “She stands under the Pakhan’s roof. Under his protection. Under his name. She has bled. She has survived. She has been tested and did not break.”
The words move through the room like smoke. Like something old enough to matter.
Vaska looks at me. “If you take this mark, you take this family with it. Our silence. Our loyalty. Our enemies. You do not betray what shelters you. You do not turn your face from war when it comes for ours.”
I hold his gaze.
“What stands above all?”
My voice comes out steady. “Loyalty.”
“And if blood is called?”
“I do not run.”
Something shifts in the room then. Subtle. Heavy.Acceptance.
Vaska steps back.
Maksim’s hand leaves my waist. Metal clicks softly against wood.
The tattoo gun.
I brace both palms on the bar. My straps hang low on my arms. My shoulder blade is bared in one precise place and nowhere else. The air feels colder there.
Maksim’s hand spreads over my back, large and steady. “Last chance,” he murmurs at my ear, his voice gone low and rough. No mockery in it. No push. Just the weight of a choice already made.
I turn my head enough to look at him. “Do it.”
Something dark flashes across his face. Satisfaction. Hunger. Pride. I don’t know. Maybe all of it.
The machine buzzes to life.
The first bite of the needle is sharp enough to pull the breath out of me. I tighten my grip on the bar. Maksim’s free hand slides to the side of my neck, holding me there while the sound fills the room.
