A solid lump gathers in my throat.
“Quickly, Ember. We don’t have time for you to deliberate.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “Forearm.”
His nostrils flare, the sapphire in his irises churning with anger. “Lay down. We’re getting it out.”
“Here?”
“You got a better plan, princess?” Raye quips sarcastically.
“We’re in a moving vehicle.”
“Fuck, Blaine,” she grumbles. “I can’t believe we’re risking everything for this dumb bitch.”
Lips thinning, I narrow my eyes on her while dropping myself to the van floor. Her dyed-blue brows lift as she watches me lay down without another word.
“Just do it,” I grit out. “Before I break your fucking nose for calling me a dumb bitch, you miserable cunt.”
Bursting into laughter, Blaine moves to kneel beside me. “You are a miserable cunt, Raye. She’s got you there.”
“She has not.” Raye scowls while selecting a scalpel to disinfect.
“Right. We don’t have any sedatives.” Blaine quickly sobers, returning his gaze to me. “And this ain’t gonna tickle.”
“I can handle it.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Let’s take this back off.”
He helps me to remove the sweatshirt, exposing my right arm. The tracking device was surgically implanted not long after I was sold to the cartel. It bulges beneath a puckered scar.
Accepting the antibacterial swab that Raye passes to him, Blaine deftly cleans the incision site. An inch or so below it, closer to the crease of my elbow, lies another scar.
The mangled skin is far darker and messier, twisted from a severe burn. But no ordinary burn. It was delivered by what can only be compared to a cattle brand, the warped iron glowing with heat.
“What the fuck is that?” Blaine’s voice is low and dangerous.
Memories I’ve long held back threaten to break free from their prison. The brand. My sobbing. Gael’s whip slicing deeply into my back. It takes all my willpower to hold the horrors at bay and stuff them back into their prison cell.
“My name.” I stare up at the ceiling. “768.”
There’s a muttered curse.
“Yourinteldidn’t tell you about that?” My laugh is forced.
“No.”
A muscle in Blaine’s neck convulses, his jaw clenched tight. Even the vein at his temple seems to throb, visibly pulsing beneath his skin.
“You’re the first person to use my old name in a very long time,” I admit croakily.
An unknown emotion seems to cast a shadow over his features as he contemplates. “Your name is Ember. Not 768.”
“I stopped being that person the day they took me.” I watch him finish cleaning my arm. “If she survived the kidnapping, she died in the years that followed.”
Blaine halts to glance at me. “Someone told me you have 210 undefeated fights under your belt.”
“More or less. I have plenty of defeats too.”
