Alesia's POV.
Jesus Christ.
My hand flew to my mouth, pressing so hard my teeth bit into my palm as I stared through the small opening in the door. My legs felt weak, like they might give out at any second, but I couldn't move. I couldn't look away.
"Tie him to the fucking chair."
Jericho's voice thundered through the room, sharp and absolute. He began unbuttoning the sleeve of his shirt, rolling it up slowly. The movement was almost casual and that terrified me more than if he had been shouting.
My heart stuttered when I saw it.
The marking on his hand.
My name.
The letters inked into his skin like a claim, dark and permanent. Heat rushed to my face, followed immediately by a sickening wave of revulsion.
No.
I shook my head sharply, pulling my gaze away as if that alone could erase it. I refused to let my mind linger on what it meant, on why seeing it there made my stomach twist the way it did.
"Please," Carlo sobbed.
