The fucking tattoo. In the storm of dead men and key rings, I’d forgotten all about it. How could I? It’s a big red heart with the name Raphael swirled through the middle of it. A ragged exhale slips from his lips and dances up my spine. “Is this a joke?” “Tayce…” I swallow. “It’s temporary.” Foil crinkles, latex snaps. “How very fitting,” he says quietly, before plunging into me without warning.
