This moment of honesty given to Ned even though it could be used against Cole, made Ned open his lips despite his mind telling him not to. “I have to tell you something—”
Cole swallowed and pushed the brim of his hat up, watching Ned with those intensely black eyes. Tension buzzed under the surface of Ned’s skin as he gravitated closer, his throat stuck.
The sudden bark of a gunshot spooked Nugget and made him rear back, but just as Cole’s hands gravitated to his sidearms, both he and Ned spotted Tom standing in the driver’s seat of his wagon and waving for them to come back.
Cole licked his lips, rubbed his hands together, as if he were warming them up, but ended up shaking his head. “Later.”
Ned acknowledged that with a nod, but there would be no later. What had he been thinking? Intoxicated by the intimacy of Cole’s confession, he’d wanted to tell him what his real role in the gang was. An unimaginable blunder. He had to keep his heart locked in his chest, or he’d risk losing his head.
This time, it was Butcher Tom who’d saved him, and Ned wasn’t sure how that sat with him.
Chapter 15
Ned hadn’t known what lust was before he’d met Cole. He’d understood the concept, of course, but used to think the kind of madness it implied couldn’t be real. That it was only a fanciful way of describing simpler desires, or a way of excusing one’s actions.
Until he’d met this man.
When he saw Cole dip a rag in the barrel of water and then squash it against his torso so droplets cascaded down his strong chest, he wished it was his fingers splayed on that warm breastbone and trailing lower, into dark body hair, flicking against brown nipples until they were hard.
Bonfires had transformed the encampment into a temporary home for the people swarming within the boundary of wagons and tents surrounding the empty space in the middle. It was a moonless night, and everything beyond the reach of the warm glow was black nothingness, smelling of dirt and grass rather than roasted meat and booze. But the barrels meant for washing stood at the very edge of the illuminated area. Over there, skin turned darker and shadows were the color of the night. Ned shouldn’t have stared, but Cole’s beauty took his mind off the pain stabbing his left forearm over and over again.
He would bear with it. Just like he’d borne watching the violation of his own mother. Just like he’d borne all the other things that had ensured his survival this far. He’d sacrificed his conscience and family already, so what was a tattoo compared to all that? Tom might’ve marked his people like cattle, but Ned would still take him on the horns and trample his skull once the time came.
This ugly image, the cleaver etched into his skin in black ink, didn’t matter. It was a stop on the path to the only end Ned accepted. Tom, Zeb, and Scotch with nooses around their necks. Whatever and whoever was in the way would die with them. He didn’t need the tattoo to know he’d already changed, hardened. Become something else than the boy who’d grown up on Uncle Liam’s ranch. That man would have never let Butcher Tom touch him, let alone mark him.
“Some people say it’s foolish to tattoo ourselves,” Tom said, pushing ink into Ned’s skin with a needle. “That it makes us easier to find, to recognize, and to sentence, but the point is, this tattoo means something. More than regular folks can ever understand. Loyalty for life, and dedication to others that goes beyond any rules imposed on us by the men in DC. Not only does this mark symbolize your belonging, your responsibilities and obligations, but it is a gift. Now, everyone else owes the same loyalty to you.”
Tom was almost done when he looked up into Ned’s eyes, still holding onto his wrist with six-fingered hands that had taken the lives of so many people. “You will never go hungry, unless all of us are. You will always have a place to rest, a friend to talk to, a family without blood bonds. As long as you stay true and work for the good of everyone else, you will reap the rewards. But there’ll be consequences if you don’t. Do you understand?”
Ned licked his lips. “I do. I’ve seen what happened to Adam.”
Tom got back to inking the blade of the cleaver outline, his tall forehead wrinkled, but Ned suspected it was because of focus, not sorrow over Adam’s fate. “Stick with Cole and you’ll learn everything you need to know. Cole dealt with Adam for us all. Sometimes the things you have to do hurt.” As if to make that point, he drove the needle in particularly deep that last time before pulling away. Only when he let go of Ned’s wrist could Ned breathe freely again.