My Wife's Face Is Inked on His Butt

One of the bodyguards shoved a foul-smelling sock into my mouth. Then, he pulled out a stun baton and jammed it between my thighs.

I jolted upright, my muscles spasming uncontrollably, but the gag swallowed my screams. After they hit me with the current a few more times, my vision went dark, and I finally passed out from the agony.

In a hazy daze, I heard the two of them talking.

"This guy actually dares to compete with Mr. Brown for a woman. He found out he was Annie's husband long ago. He only went for that tattoo removal to put on a show.

"And that so-called infection? He did it to himself. It was all a setup to make Annie destroy her own husband. Subtle, but deadly."

So, it had been a trap all along.

I didn't know how long I had been out, but a bucket of icy water eventually shocked me awake.

One of the bodyguards kicked my face. "Good. You're not dead. Mr. Brown wants to send you a little gift. He said to make your death count."

They roughly wiped the blood off me, taped my mouth shut, and strapped a silver mask over my face. Then, they shoved me into a waiting car.

The moment we got out of the car, a cluster of bright neon signs at a hotel entrance caught my eye.

"Fall and Rebirth: Global Live Charity Gala."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Before I could even process what was happening, they forced me into a tattoo chair. A dozen high-definition cameras were pointed squarely at my back, streaming live.

Annie, the CEO of her fashion empire, was seated in the front row, dead center. She held a glass of champagne with practiced poise, laughing and chatting with the business elite.

Hudson stepped onto the stage, picked up a tattoo machine, and flashed a brilliant smile for the cameras.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for our brave volunteer model! All donations raised tonight will go directly to children in need. Now, let's witness the pinnacle of art together."

From the audience, Annie watched with clear interest, whispering her thoughts to the person beside her. "Young minds sure are different. Hudson's idea is incredibly bold."

Her companion replied, equally impressed, "Yeah! Where did they find this model? He has a remarkable build and a gorgeous back!"

At that, Annie's gaze landed on the red birthmark at my waist. She froze for a moment, then shook her head and scoffed. "He's okay. Compared to others, he's still far from perfect."

With a sharp, mechanical buzz, Hudson started the machine. I was pinned firmly to the chair, paralyzed by terror. The sharp needles, without any ink, pressed directly into my back, performing a brutal dry-run "tattoo".

My body convulsed in pain. This forbidden blood-tattoo technique was agonizing. The needles sliced through my skin at high speeds, using my own blood to trace the design.

Hudson worked with relentless focus, carving Annie's massive signature onto my back, one stroke at a time. I couldn't stop shuddering, muffled groans escaping from beneath my mask.

Annie heard the sound and looked over. She stared at me for two seconds, then turned her attention back to Hudson, her eyes filled with admiration.

The world around me began to dissolve. All I could see was the bright red countdown in front of me.

Ten, nine, eight…

…

By the time Hudson finished his final stroke, my back was a mangled mess. He lifted his glove, slick with blood, and bowed to the crowd like a virtuoso finishing a masterpiece.

Thunderous applause erupted. Annie stood and clapped the loudest, her eyes glinting with pride.

At that moment, my body—drained by blood loss and searing pain—hit its limit. My heart clenched sharply. The medical monitors began to scream.

On the giant live screen, my electrocardiogram showed a flat line.

[Quest complete. Exiting protocol.]

I finally heard the electronic voice I had been longing for. For the first time, the chaotic world around me crumbled into silence.