Javier kissed her hand, staring intently at her with the sharp, yellow-green eyes that won her over to begin with. “I hope I’m always a part of you, Eden,” he said with conviction. “You’ll forever be a part of me. A world without you in it is a song without the music. You need both to make it whole.”
She felt her cheeks flush. Javier could be terribly romantic, and the strange part was he was always sincere. He lived his life bravely and with passion, so much so that when he was dispatched by Travis—the man who started it all, the man she had yet to see—he made savagery an art. It made it easy for the girl to forget the type of man she was dealing with, because when he was dealing with her, she was a sacred jewel—his queen.
It wasn’t until later, when it was almost too late, that she rediscovered the snake. He was starting to slip through his cage. And it was frightening.
The girl took in a deep, steadying breath, and leaning on Javier for support, entered the parlor. An hour later they came out with their marks forever on each other, sinking into their skin. Her arm was heavily bandaged and soaked through; his song had made her bleed more than normal.
It was her first warning.
Now
To say that the tattoo hurt was an understatement; it hurt so much that I needed something to bite down on. The hotel towel looked like it had been chewed up by a disobedient dog, but it was better than screaming, which I felt like doing on more than one occasion.
Most of the time I just looked straight out the window, imagining I was floating high above the gaudy people at the pool below. Sometimes though, I would sneak a look at Camden. He almost dissolved into the tattoo, into my body, that’s how involved he looked. He was like a sculptor, whittling away my ugliness, leaving trails of beauty behind. What started off as a bare branch growing from the roots of my foot soon unfolded into a leg full of cherry blossoms. Camden made the criss-crossing lines into a tangle of green growth; he coaxed my dead skin into living flowers.
When he was finally done, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead and snapping off his gloves, I felt like crying. Not just that the pain was over but that something amazing had been birthed from my tragedy. For the first time in my life, I was able to stare at my leg with something other than disgust, anger, and shame. I felt awe and I felt pride. And, whether I wanted to accept it or not, I felt gratitude. Camden…
I couldn’t even complete the thought. I stared at him, unable to say anything except “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Ellie,” he said. “And thank you. Now you can see what I’ve always seen.”
My throat felt thick and I swallowed hard. Noting this, he got up and came back with a glass of water from the bathroom for me. I drank it down but still couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“Are you done admiring my work?” he asked with a wink. The truth was, I didn’t think I’d ever be. The pink cherry blossoms were so full, vivid, and life-like. It really looked like a tree had grown around my leg. “I’m going to have to wrap you up now.”
I nodded and winced as he began to wrap my leg with layers of bandages. He worked quickly and gently, his strong hands treating me like I was precious to touch. It was humbling having him dote on me like that, and for once it felt good to be taken care of. I didn’t want to brush him off and tell him I could handle it myself—I wanted him to handle it. I needed him, his touch, his attention. All of it.
When he was all done he ordered me to stay put. By now the sun was setting and casting the Vegas sky coral above the glitzy lights. He thought I should stay off my leg for a little while if I was going to be walking around for the rest of the night.
As he propped my leg up with a pillow, I said, “What about the clothes? I need some nice clothes and shoes for tonight and we’re running out of time.”
He looked up at me and shot me a cheeky smile. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”
Pfffht. As if I’d let him shop for me. “You don’t know my size. And I don’t trust your taste.”
He gave my toe a sharp squeeze and laughed. “Wow, so I pick out leopard print leggings for you one time and suddenly you think I have bad taste. Hey, just trust me. And I know your size. I’ve felt you up.”
A flash of his hands all over me flooded me with warmth. I ignored it, ignored the fact that I was lying in bed in front of him, stripped to my underwear, legs slightly askew. “Shoes?”
He leaned over and picked up my boot from the floor, peering at the sole. “Size eight.”
“But I hate high heels. I can’t walk in them.”
“So I won’t get you high heels.”
“You’ll be able to see the bandages on the top of my foot.”
“So then people will see the bandages. People get tattoos all the time here, I’m sure even the high rollers.”
“I have to have—”