Page 17 of Rebound My Alpha
"That is a whole dental record on your throat, and I want a name."
"You want a lot of things. Turn around before Rhys has to hit the brakes and you go through the windshield."
Rhys, to his credit, keeps his mouth shut. His eyes flick to the rearview mirror, catching mine for a fraction of a second—calm,steady, and reading way more than I'd like—before returning to the road.
Shay is sitting next to me in the back, and he hasn't said a damn word. He saw it this morning when I walked into the kitchen. His eyes landed on the mark, lingered for exactly two seconds, and then his jaw tightened. He turned around and poured his coffee. He knows. He knows who, and he knows why, and his silence is currently a lot louder than Jude's yelling.
The bite throbs. It’s a dull, heavy pulse right at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Every time I try to forget about it, my traitorous biology hums with a sickeningly satisfied warmth. I saw it in the bathroom mirror this morning—angry, red, the distinct ridges of teeth bruised into my skin like a fucking signature. I threw on a high-collared shirt. Not because I'm ashamed. Because I'm pissed, and I don't owe anyone an explanation.
"At least I didn't get a secret tattoo and hide it for six months," I snap, deploying the only weapon I have: distraction.
Jude practically vibrates out of his seat. "A WHAT?"
"Benji," Shay says. His voice could freeze vodka. "I will end you."
"You have a tattoo?" Jude shrieks. "Where? What is it? Since when? Why am I the last to know everything?"
"You're not the last," Shay mutters, glaring at the back of Rhys’s headrest. "No one was supposed to know."
"I know because I have eyes and you wore a crop top to Milo's barbecue," I say.
"That was a tucked shirt that rode up."
"Same difference. My condolences."
Jude looks like he's about to hyperventilate from the sheer volume of withheld gossip, but Rhys pulls into a parking spot and shifts the car into park. "We're here," he announces, sounding like a man who has accepted his fate. Jude's outrageinstantly evaporates, replaced by the manic energy of a guy about to get his first tattoo.
The shop is called Iron Works. Jude shoves the glass door open, and the smell hits me immediately—green soap, ink, and sterilized metal. It's a familiar scent. Comforting, usually. A coil machine buzzes from the back, competing with the rock music playing from a corner speaker. The flash art on the walls is actually good. I'm inspecting a blackwork sleeve design when Jude marches up to the front counter.
The beta behind it—a massive, forty-something guy with traditional sailor ink creeping up his jawline—looks at Jude like he’s a very loud, very annoying bird. "Park?" the guy asks, glancing at an iPad.
"That's me. I'm ready. I've been ready for months. Let's do this."
The beta—Mars, according to the name stitched on his apron—grunts and points toward a station in the back. Jude practically skips toward it.
I’m still looking at the flash art when Shay’s hand clamps around my forearm. Hard.
I turn to tell him to back off, but the look on his face stops me. It’s not just anger. It’s a sharp, hyper-focused recognition, and he’s not looking at me.
I follow his gaze.
Knox is standing at a station in the middle of the room. He’s wiping down a leather tattoo chair with a paper towel. He’s wearing a black apron over a dark tee, sleeves pushed up, his own ink on full display. No beanie today. He looks... normal. Like a guy who goes to work and buys groceries and exists in the daylight. Last night he was shaking, burying his face in my neck. Today he’s disinfecting a workstation.
Then he looks up.
His eyes lock onto me like I'm the only thing in the room. The paper towel goes still in his hand. For a split second, he just looks wrecked—recognition, hunger, and a heavy shadow of guilt. My scent spikes before I can lock it down. The mark on my neck burns.
Knox’s gaze drops to my throat. Just a flicker. But whatever he sees there makes his jaw clench, and a phantom pulse shoots straight from the bite down to my toes.
"You have got to be kidding me," Shay hisses, his grip on my arm tightening. He looks from Knox to my neck, the math clicking into place behind his eyes.
Jude is already settling into Mars's chair when he notices the staring contest. He looks at me, looks at Knox, looks at the bite.
"That's HIM?" Jude yells. Every head in the shop turns.
"Jude," Rhys says quietly, putting a heavy hand on his mate's shoulder.
"The tattoo guy?" Jude points, completely ignoring Rhys. "Benji, the alpha who ghosted you and bit your neck, is the guy working at the shop where I'm getting tattooed right now?"
