The Dark Swan 18+
He shifted in the water, turning his broad shoulders away from me so his back was fully exposed.
When the fabric finally fell away, my breath hitched.
My eyes trailed over his skin, mapping out the dark, intricate ink of the tattoos that spanned his shoulders and spine.
But right in the middle of that beautiful, dark canvas, just beneath his shoulder blade, was the angry, puckered crater of the gunshot wound.
The skin around it was a violent shade of mottled purple and red, the edges pinched tightly together by thick, dark surgical stitches.
It looked raw, disrupting his tattoos like a violent tear in a painting.
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