“Then let me go,” she sniffles, holding my gaze steadily despite the wobble in her voice “Please, Raf, I’ll stay out of your way. You’ll never even know I’m here. Just…let me go.”
For the briefest moment, the shadows recede, her pleading eyes cracking open something buried deep inside me. I shut it down quickly, refusing to allow myself the luxury of sympathy.
“Not until I fucking destroy you, like you destroyed me,” I snarl. “You’re our property, Ava, and I think it’s about time you got a tag of ownership so there’s no more confusion about that.”
I pull back and signal to Wes and Ford with a jerk of my chin, the two of them flipping Ava over onto her belly and holding her down. She screams and flails as I trade places with Ford, who takes his sweet ass time setting up his tattoo supplies just beyond her view. I imagine the anticipation of what we’ve got in store is eating her alive right now, but when nothing happens after a few minutes, the fight drains out of her marginally. She buries her face in the comforter, regaining control of her breathing.
When Ford flicks on his tattoo gun, however, she springs right back into panic mode, requiring considerable effort on mine and Wes’ part to keep her still. Ford huffs in annoyance as she squirms and yells like a drowned cat as he flips her skirt up, flicking me an irritated glance. He hesitates, holding the buzzing needle over her naked ass.
The man has annoying perfectionist tendencies when it comes to his art. Despite the fact that this tattoo is only intended to be a lesson for Ava and a message to any man who dares to get close to her, Ford can’t cope with his work being sloppy.
Reaching for Ava’s face, I grab her chin in a hand and roughly turn her head to look at me, those wide brown eyes locking with mine. “Unless you want Wes to shut you up by stuffing his cock in your mouth, you’ll relax and let Ford work,” I growl, my harsh tone brokering no room for argument.
“It’s just a tattoo, Ava,” Wes adds, a little too gently for my liking. “Calm the fuck down.”
She sinks her teeth into her quivering lower lip, and I see the look of resignation cross her face as she finally stops struggling and allows her body to go slack against the mattress. I let go of her chin, giving Ford a nod, and she turns her head to bury her face in the comforter again.
While she flinches the first few times the tattoo needle makes contact with her skin, she’s remarkably compliant for the duration of her branding. She’s so still, in fact, that if it wasn’t for the muffled sound of her little whimpered sobs every few minutes, I’d wonder if she fell asleep.
Ford takes his time with the tattoo, brow furrowed in concentration and his tongue idly rubbing the corner of his lips as he works. It’s an expression I’ve seen on him countless times as he’s inked my own skin; completely focused and in the zone. When he finally announces that he’s finished, Wes and I eagerly lean over to get a good look at the tag on Ava’s left ass cheek, satisfaction spearing through me at the brand of ownership.
Ford affixes a bandage over top of the tattoo, then taps her opposite ass cheek with an open palm. “All done, babe,” he announces.
She lifts her head, eyes red-rimmed and face splotchy. She slowly pushes up and twists into a seated position on the bed, wincing when she puts weight on her left side.
“Leave that bandage on overnight,” Ford instructs as he starts cleaning up his equipment. “You’ll want to clean it twice a day with soap and water, and keep it lubed up with lotion for the first few days so it doesn’t scab. Unscented, none of that frilly girly shit.”
Ava just stares at him numbly, her eyes vacant.
“One more thing,” I add, shifting her attention from Ford to me. “We need the name of the guy you were with.”
Life bleeds back into her expression instantly. She shakes her head, eyes widening in a mix of fear and fury. “No, leave him out of this!”
“Why, wanna protect your boyfriend?” Wes sneers. I swear I detect a thread of jealousy in his tone, arching a curious brow his way.
“He’s just a friend!” Ava defends, holding up her hands in surrender.
“Yeah right,” I scoff. “You expect me to believe that after your whole ‘I can fuck whoever I want’ tirade?”
She whips her head around to glare at me. “It’s true, we’rejustfriends, I swear.”
“Mhmm, not gonna work,” Ford hums, still busy tidying up his tattoo supplies. “You’re not allowed to be friends with anyone who wants to stick their dick in you.”
“He doesn’t!” Ava insists desperately. “He’s gay!”
Well shit, that’s a twist I didn’t see coming.
I furrow my brow as I glance over at Wes, his gray eyes suddenly bright with realization. There are only a few openly gay guys on campus, so if what she’s saying is true, it narrows down the pool of suspects considerably.
“Wait, is it Bryce Hamilton?” Wes asks, swiping a hand over his chin.
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“Like I said, we’rejustfriends,” Ava repeats, wincing as she shifts her weight on the bed, trying to take pressure off the tender skin bearing fresh ink. “Please don’t hurt him, he didn’t do anything wrong…”
Ford, Wes, and I exchange glances, engaging in a silent conversation through the looks we throw at one another. Deciding we can discuss how to handle that piece of this puzzle privately, I tip my head toward the door, indicating, and both of my friends nod in response.
“We’ll see you in the morning, Ava baby,” Ford remarks gleefully, still riding the high of releasing his inner demons through his art. He’s said before that the ritual of tattooing is cathartic to him, and from the way it dulls his psychotic tendencies, I believe it.
