"Hey." I stopped him by putting a hand on his chest "It is not his fault. I wanted this. He is not directly causing the pain."

Stone nodded but he did not relax.

"Now say sorry to him." I ordered.

The dark eyes remained on me as he grumbled out "Sorry."

I grinned.

Reed coughed again "Whipped."

"Now hold my hand." I demanded him.

He set his large hand out in front of me, and I took it instantly. The huge hand squeezed my fingers in reassurance. The contact sent warmth and a sense of comfort thought me. It was miraculous but his touch made me feel a lot better.

"How could you get this done several times?" I said up to him.

His reply was full of undisguised taunting "Fifty-three to be exact."

That was the number that I counted on him. That was the number I told him I counted earlier that day.

At his remark, I warned him "Now is not the time to be teasing me. I will rip your head off, squeeze your brain for the juices and use that for the ink for my next tattoo."

"There will not be a next time." He assured me in his rough and dark tone.

"Who are you to—" I began but was caught off by my own squeal.

Stone started to run his free hand over my hair as his other kept clutching mine as he glared at the other person in the room.

"My favourite song by Prince is Purple Rain." Reed tried to quietly say to me.

"Do you know what would make me feel better?" I asked Stone to keep him occupied and to prevent his bloodlust from taking over.

"What?" He quickly replied

"If you told me what tattoo you got." I told him and tried to appear innocent.

He tried to remain serious, but his lip twitched "No."

Pouting, I tried to negotiate "At least tell me where your tattoo is?"

"My upper back."

"I have already got my jeans off." I pointed out "Just take off your t-shirt and let’s make this a party, Lurch."

Before he could answer, I squirmed and restrained myself from jumping up in the chair. My action made Stone close his eyes and take a deep breath. His jaw ticked in a rhythm as he continued to stroke my hair.

He kept his hand there while looking down at my thigh and assured me "It looks good."

"He is not meaning the tattoo, Ella." Read spoke up and reminded us of his presence "He has got a good view from there."

Besides the pain, I found myself laugh. Which was a completely different story from the giant. He was not amused.

I turned to Reed "Did you say Purple Rain for your funeral?"

The tattooist let out a strained laugh, but he had paled.

I distracted myself from my agitated leg by asking them both "So how do you two know each other?"