Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC 5)

“Done,” Lex grunted, moving my attention outwards.

He wiped the ink and blood off my arm to reveal my latest piece. I stared at it, as did Gabriel.

“Wow,” I muttered.

It looked awesome. On the inside of my arm, above my very first tattoo, was an intricate and beautiful picture of a girl, a princess. Everything innocent and beautiful about her face, right down to the crown—on one half, at least. On the other side of her head, the crown wasn’t shiny and glistening; it was tarnished and cracked, dark and sharp. Her face was no longer innocent but half a skeleton, decaying but still somehow beautiful.

Right above my favorite vein was me. I wasn’t the skeleton, and I sure as shit wasn’t the princess. I was both. A reminder of what I’d turned into from the moment I injected it.

“Fuck,” Gabriel exclaimed, rubbing his mouth roughly. He glanced to Lex, who was rustling and putting his shit away. “You’re a genius, bro. Didn’t think you could make that skin any more beautiful, but you did.”

Lex nodded. “It’s my job.”

Gabriel grinned. “Well, as soon as I find a blank space on this beautiful canvas”—he gestured down to his body—“I want that.” He nodded to my arm.

I sucked in a breath. “You want this?” I held up my red and aching arm.

He nodded. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

I glared at this. “But this is my tattoo. This is me. Why the fuck do you think I’m going to let you get it?” I hissed, anger bubbling from my words.

“I’m just gonna wait outside,” Lex declared.

Gabriel’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “Yeah, good call, bro. Assume brace positions.”

I scowled at him even deeper, pushing up and wrenching from his grip. “I can’t believe you want to take my tattoo from me,” I seethed, pacing the room.

He stood, striding over to me. His hands settled at my hips, stilling me. “I’m not takin’ it away from you, Becky,” he murmured.

I bit my lip. “That’s what it feels like.”

He reached up to stroke my face. “Yeah, well, it’s not that. It’s me havin’ a piece of you where I can see it. Remind myself that you’re here. That you’re fighting. That you made it through. I’ve got all that tattooed on the inside, but it’s gnarly and ugly.” His hand skimmed past the tattoo to hold my wrist. “I need somethin’ different on the outside. Just like you do.”

My anger fizzled away quickly as his words touched me. And his hands touched me. And it didn’t feel dirty or wrong.

It was right.

Maybe slightly fucked-up, but it was right.

The next day, Gabriel got the tattoo.

The fucking next day. And he got it on the only blank space he had—above his heart, where the scar of the bullet wound marred his smooth skin. He’d insisted I be there, to hold his hand.

But really, I needed him there to hold mine as I watched Lex cover the evidence of the past. Of both of our little deaths.

We’d gone back to my place, me on the back of his bike. I could do that now, ride on the back. Have my whole body pressed against his without drowning in the filth of the contact. It was still there, but I could paddle in it.

His fingers twined in mine as we opened the door to Rosie’s place. Once he knew I could handle that contact, he made sure to keep us connected almost every second we were together.

Which was a lot these days. He came over every night and watched movies, or watched me watch movies. His gaze was electric and weary, like he was waiting for something. For me to break, maybe. Or for someone to try and break me again. I didn’t miss the way his eyes scouted all public spaces we went to together, how he insist he do a ‘walk-through’ of Rosie’s before I went in. Which was what he released my hands to do now.

I knew they were on the revenge train. It was kind of hard to miss the previous week’s news that the entire Tucker family had died in a ‘tragic fire’ at their family compound.

I hadn’t mentioned it to Gabriel. Not yet. Because they were very intent on getting revenge for me. I was even more intent on getting it for myself. I just didn’t know how to do that. Luckily, Rosie ‘knew people’ and had ‘put out feelers.’

I had a feeling that chick had a lot more to her than ever-changing outfits and a revolving dating door.

A lot.

So I was playing the part. The one of the woman who needed the men in cuts to fight her battles for her. One in particular. I knew he needed it to somehow find comfort in the darkness, just like me. Because he was healing too, and I wanted to give him that. But I wanted to take it for myself.