Chapter14
762 Words
Kayla
I stared at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand like it was a live wire. The drawing was rough—clunky lines, zero perspective—but the intention behind it was screaming. A bird, half-mangled, forcing its way through bars. It wasn't the kind of "pretty" tattoo girls like her usually asked for. No tiny infinity symbols or delicate cursive names of dead pets. This was a cry for help.
I looked back at her. She was standing there, shivering in her soaked-through trench coat, her eyes wide and dark and desperate. She looked like she was standing on the edge of a cliff and was asking me to push her.
"Sit down," I said, my voice harsher than I intended.
I didn't wait to see if she obeyed. I walked over to the supply cabinet, my head spinning. This was a bad idea. Every instinct I had, the ones honed by years of dealing with Diana’s drama and the city’s bullshit, was screaming at me to show her the door. She was high-maintenance. She was a liability. She was the kind of woman who would regret this tomorrow and sue me by Monday.
But then I saw the way she was looking at the chair. She wasn't looking at it like a piece of furniture; she was looking at it like an altar.
"Take off the coat and the blazer," I commanded, snapping on a pair of black gloves. The sound of the latex hitting my wrists was a sharp thwack in the quiet room. "I can't get to your skin through four layers of expensive wool."
Sera hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly peeled off the wet coat. She set it carefully over a chair, then moved to the blazer. Underneath, she was wearing a sleeveless silk blouse that looked like it cost more than my motorcycle. Her skin was pale, flawless, and currently covered in goosebumps.
"Where?" I asked, prepping the stencil.
"My ribs," she whispered. "On the left. Close to my heart."
I stopped mid-motion. The ribs. Of course. One of the most painful spots on the body, especially for someone who had never felt the bite of a needle before.
"You're trying to punish yourself for something, aren't you?" I asked, finally meeting her gaze. I walked over to her, the stencil in one hand and a bottle of green soap in the other.
"I'm trying to feel something that belongs to me," she countered. Her voice didn't shake this time. She stepped toward the table, her hip brushing against the edge. "Is that a problem for you, Kayla? Or are you afraid you can't handle a girl who actually wants to bleed?"
I felt a jolt of heat go through me at the way she used my full name. It wasn't a taunt this time; it was a challenge.
"I can handle it," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "The question is, can you?"
I guided her to the table. As she laid back, the silk of her blouse rode up, exposing the soft, smooth curve of her side. I tried to keep my professional mask on, but seeing her like this—vulnerable, stripped of her corporate armor, lying in the middle of my world—was doing things to my head that I couldn't ignore.
I leaned over her, my face inches from hers as I prepped the area. I could feel her breath on my cheek, quick and shallow. The scent of jasmine was even stronger now, mixed with the dampness of the rain.
"This isn't a game, Sera," I murmured, my eyes locking onto hers. I picked up the machine, the weight of it familiar and heavy in my hand. "It’s going to burn. It’s going to feel like a hot wire dragging across your skin. And I'm not going to stop just because you ask me to."
"Don't stop," she breathed, her eyes never leaving mine. "Don't you dare stop."
I flipped the switch. The machine roared to life, a high-pitched snarl that filled the space between us. I saw her pupils dilate, her fingers gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles went white.
I dipped the needle into the black ink and leaned in. I placed my non-dominant hand on her waist to steady her, the heat of her skin searing through my glove. She let out a tiny, sharp gasp at the touch, her body arching slightly toward me.
"Steady," I whispered.
Then, I pressed the needle into her skin.
- Writer
