The motor of the tattoo machine was a low, angry snarl in the heavy silence of the garage. It was a sound that belonged to the midnight hours, a mechanical heartbeat that seemed to pulse in sync with the tension vibrating through the room.
The Midnight Riders had formed a loose circle around the central table. Rough men with scarred knuckles and eyes like flint stood like statues in the shadows. They weren't just watching a tattoo; they were witnessing an initiation. They were waiting to see if the "Billionaire Princess," the girl who had spent her life behind glass and firewalls, would crumble when the steel met the bone.
Vance didn’t sit her in a chair. He stood her against the heavy timber of the workbench, his body a solid, warm wall blocking out the rest of the world. He didn’t go f
