“I owe you a lot,” Don agreed with a nod. “But you know how much shit I’ll get in if Liv and Jeffers didn’t approve this. You’re putting me in a hard position, man.”
I sure as hell was putting him in a hard position, but he was right, he did owe me. Nearly everybody did; I made sure of that in case I ever needed to cash in. In the early days of Purgatory, I’d purposely thrown several fights in the pit, faked injuries and fatigue just to spare Don’s life. And now here I was, cashing in.
“I need you to brand her, and I’m not going to ask again,” I said in a low voice, my body tensing with growing anger.
Stepping closer to me, Don glanced from the girl and then back to me. Lowering his voice to a near whisper, he asked, “Since when do you brand women?”
“Yeah, E,” Adam cut in. “And who the hell is she? Never seen her before. Is that who they were looking for? What the fuck is up?”
I turned to Adam first and stared hard at him until he began to squirm in his chair. “Don’t you have something to do?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I saw you come in carrying her. Was wondering what was going on.”
Rolling my eyes, I looked back toward the female in question,the squirrel, who even after her dunk in the tub still looked as if she’d been rolling around with pigs. Her eyes were already on mine, waiting for my answer, the same as Don and Adam.
Again I felt pity at the sight of her, of those big, gray eyes on me. She didn’t have a clue. And now Liv was pissed at me, and if Liv was pissed enough, she could and would do everything in her power to make a person miserable.
But Jeffers didn’t take branding lightly. In fact, it had been him who’d insisted on the branding back in the beginning, giving married women and girlfriends a sense of safety in the chaos. And I was banking on using that knowledge—and Liv’s own brand against her—if she attempted to make this branding invalid.
Turning back to the men, I clenched my hands into fists and focused on Don. “The why isn’t any of your goddamn business. Now, brand her before I blow your fucking head off.”
“Jesus Christ,” Don muttered, and shook his head. Scrubbing a hand over his cheek, he took a deep breath. “Whaddya want on her, E?” he asked, his tone tinged with resignation.
“An eagle,” I said tersely. Pulling up my shirt, I revealed the eagle that had long ago been tattooed across my abdomen.
Don’s gaze flickered across the ink, quickly taking in the intricate detail with a practiced eye before nodding once and turning toward his stool. The tattoo was old, older than this goddamned apocalypse, but Don already knew it well and had touched it up a few times.
Pulling my shirt down, I rolled my shoulders and turned to the girl. “Ready?” I asked, but it wasn’t really a question. She had no choice but to be ready. Be ready or be ready to join the ranks as a whore.
Without waiting for her answer, I turned and hefted my body up onto a nearby table and waited for Don to get started.
Seated on his stool, Don wheeled a nearby tray closer to him and sorted through his equipment. Grabbing a piece of cloth, he turned toward her and gestured for her arm. She hesitated, looking from him to me, her throat convulsing nervously even as she glared at us both.
“It doesn’t hurt,” Don said gently. “Pain is all up here anyway.” He tapped on his temple.
When she didn’t respond, Don cut his eyes toward me and I responded with a shrug.
“Most women here would kill to be in your position,” Don continued as he again gestured for her arm.
She responded by slowly outstretching it, the thin limb trembling ever so slightly. Don lightly cupped her wrist and set to work methodically cleaning the area of skin just above her wrist, staring intently at her dirty skin as if memorizing every ridge and bump.
“Not many are branded, but they wish they were. And my man E, here, nobody fucks with him. You’re about to become the queen of hell.”
She looked over at me, her eyes full of questions, but remained silent. I said nothing, only stared back at her until eventually she turned away with a small sigh. My eyebrows peaked. This was progress. Sighing was better than screaming, growling, or biting.
Finished cleaning the area on her arm, Don picked up his tattoo machine, adjusted the needle, and turned it on. Swiveling back toward her, he again took hold of her arm and pressed the needle lightly against her skin. She flinched and emitted a loud squawk as she shot upright in her chair. Wrenching her arm away from Don, she pressed the limb to her chest and cradled it against her.
“Hey now,” Don said, sounding affronted. “I barely touched you.”
“Listen to me,” I growled, sliding down off the table and stalking toward her. “We don’t have time for this. Unless you want me to hand you over to Liv, who will hand you over to Dori, give the man your arm and get this done.” I jerked my chin toward Don and gritted out, “Now.”
“No,” she whispered, staring back at me, looking as squirrely as ever, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. But for the first time since laying eyes on her, I saw something other than just anger, defiance, and fear. There was a name for it, this emotion flitting across her features, but fuck if I knew what it was.
Bending down on one knee to bring me eye level with her, I searched her filthy face, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Calm the fuck down,” I said slowly and evenly, purposely gentling my voice.So much for not coddling her.
“You’re young,” I continued, “you’re an unclaimed female, and you’ve got nothing to trade but your body. You do this one thing, you get my brand, and you get my protection. Do you understand what that means?” I waited a moment, letting my words sink in before continuing. “It means no one, not one fucking person, can touch you.”
Slowly, her breathing steadied and her posture relaxed. “The blood,” she whispered. “The blood ... the biters ... they’ll smell it.”
