his shoulder
where his arm was bent up under his head. It was puckered and was wider than my hand; it looked like it
still hurt. He had an ugly red welt all along the opposite side on his ribs that was about ten inches long and
looked like it was healing. There was a nasty white line that zigged and zagged under his belly button and
disappeared into the top of his jeans and that was only what I could see on his very impressive front side.
I was used to being around men and women who marked their body to define their individuality, to
claim their skin as their own. Seeing those scars, those marks that he most definitely had never asked for, I
had to wonder how he felt about being permanently marked up against his will. His skin also reflected his
life, the choice he made to go off and become a warrior, a man who fought for the freedom of others, and
now he would carry those reminders for the rest of his life. It was body modification on an entirely
different level than tattooing, with a different purpose.
I gave my head a quick shake and told myself to stop being a creeper. He clearly needed the sleep since
he didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash as I got out an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in. I
wasn’t exactly stealthy as I banged around in the bathroom and got ready for bed. It was early for a
Saturday night but no one was out and Ayden didn’t like to party while Jet was gone, so it was just going to
be me and cable until I zonked out. I was back in my room, trying to unplug my phone charger from the
nightstand next to Rome’s head. I wasn’t worried about bothering him since he seemed like he was out like
a light—that is, until I suddenly had a massive hand curled around my bicep.
“Hey!” The startled word didn’t get any force behind it as I was yanked down and my back met the
mattress with a thud. I let out a startled shriek as the arm he had dangling over the edge of the bed curled
around me and pulled me half under him as he rolled over. He weighed a freaking ton and no amount of
pushing at his broad shoulders seemed to have an effect on him. His dark head buried itself in the curve of
my neck, his ridiculously long eyelashes were still pressed closed and brushed against my skin. His breath
was coming in a steady stream as his chest rose and fell with no sign of alertness or wakefulness, even as I
wiggled and squirmed to get free of his iron hold.
“Rome?” I tapped him on the side of the head lightly and felt him frown against my neck. “Hey, big
guy, I need to get up.”
I tried to shake him once more and he muttered something under his breath and settled more fully on
top of me. One of his denim-clad legs slid between mine and the thick arm he had wrapped around me
locked even more in place and that wide palm settled fully across the curve of my backside. He turned his
head and rubbed his cheek against the side of my temple and sighed. It made me stop struggling for a
second and I looked up so I could peer questioningly at him because the sound was just so defeated. It hurt
me to hear it.
He felt like his motor was running at a thousand degrees and he had to weigh over double what I did,
but he was holding on to me like I was a lifeline. Like I was a living breathing teddy bear, and whatever it
was that was keeping him up at night, holding me would make it stay away. I huffed out a breath and tried
to decide what the best course of action was. In hindsight I should have just given the bartender Rule’s
number and let him be caught up in this mess, but as usual I had to meddle. No good deed went
unpunished.
There was no way I was getting free unless I kneed him in the junk or punched him in the face to wake
him up, and that just seemed a little too extreme. I felt bad for the guy. He was obviously struggling, and
clearly a bad day didn’t begin to cover what he was trying to drink away. I figured it wouldn’t kill me to
just lie still until
where his arm was bent up under his head. It was puckered and was wider than my hand; it looked like it
still hurt. He had an ugly red welt all along the opposite side on his ribs that was about ten inches long and
looked like it was healing. There was a nasty white line that zigged and zagged under his belly button and
disappeared into the top of his jeans and that was only what I could see on his very impressive front side.
I was used to being around men and women who marked their body to define their individuality, to
claim their skin as their own. Seeing those scars, those marks that he most definitely had never asked for, I
had to wonder how he felt about being permanently marked up against his will. His skin also reflected his
life, the choice he made to go off and become a warrior, a man who fought for the freedom of others, and
now he would carry those reminders for the rest of his life. It was body modification on an entirely
different level than tattooing, with a different purpose.
I gave my head a quick shake and told myself to stop being a creeper. He clearly needed the sleep since
he didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash as I got out an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts to sleep in. I
wasn’t exactly stealthy as I banged around in the bathroom and got ready for bed. It was early for a
Saturday night but no one was out and Ayden didn’t like to party while Jet was gone, so it was just going to
be me and cable until I zonked out. I was back in my room, trying to unplug my phone charger from the
nightstand next to Rome’s head. I wasn’t worried about bothering him since he seemed like he was out like
a light—that is, until I suddenly had a massive hand curled around my bicep.
“Hey!” The startled word didn’t get any force behind it as I was yanked down and my back met the
mattress with a thud. I let out a startled shriek as the arm he had dangling over the edge of the bed curled
around me and pulled me half under him as he rolled over. He weighed a freaking ton and no amount of
pushing at his broad shoulders seemed to have an effect on him. His dark head buried itself in the curve of
my neck, his ridiculously long eyelashes were still pressed closed and brushed against my skin. His breath
was coming in a steady stream as his chest rose and fell with no sign of alertness or wakefulness, even as I
wiggled and squirmed to get free of his iron hold.
“Rome?” I tapped him on the side of the head lightly and felt him frown against my neck. “Hey, big
guy, I need to get up.”
I tried to shake him once more and he muttered something under his breath and settled more fully on
top of me. One of his denim-clad legs slid between mine and the thick arm he had wrapped around me
locked even more in place and that wide palm settled fully across the curve of my backside. He turned his
head and rubbed his cheek against the side of my temple and sighed. It made me stop struggling for a
second and I looked up so I could peer questioningly at him because the sound was just so defeated. It hurt
me to hear it.
He felt like his motor was running at a thousand degrees and he had to weigh over double what I did,
but he was holding on to me like I was a lifeline. Like I was a living breathing teddy bear, and whatever it
was that was keeping him up at night, holding me would make it stay away. I huffed out a breath and tried
to decide what the best course of action was. In hindsight I should have just given the bartender Rule’s
number and let him be caught up in this mess, but as usual I had to meddle. No good deed went
unpunished.
There was no way I was getting free unless I kneed him in the junk or punched him in the face to wake
him up, and that just seemed a little too extreme. I felt bad for the guy. He was obviously struggling, and
clearly a bad day didn’t begin to cover what he was trying to drink away. I figured it wouldn’t kill me to
just lie still until
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