My Tattoo Artist: From Prisoner to Lover

I thought my tattoo needle would carve out my destiny—until Raven kicked in my studio door with a $680,000 debt hanging over my head.
"Become my personal tattoo artist or go to prison," his words pierced my heart like an ice pick. I clutched my tattoo gun, tempted to smash it against his skull, but instead signed the contract with trembling hands, becoming a "prisoner" in his penthouse studio.
But as I etched roses onto his skin, my fingertips brushed against the grotesque scars across his back—could this man who had trapped me be harboring a pain he dared not speak of?