Page 161 of Desperate People
And then I see it.
A phoenix. Blade in its talons. Flame-tipped wings rising in defiance.
It’s not delicate. Not girly. It’s powerful.
Fierce.
Beneath it—my name.
Balor.
Etched in bold, scrolling script. Not dainty. Not hidden.
Claiming me.
A fucking brand stamped across her skin.
Public. Permanent.
My chest clenches, breath locking in my throat. And goddamn it, I wipe my face before anyone notices the tears trying to escape.
I can't sit still anymore.
I push off the wall and call Billy inside.
“What’s up, bro?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
“You got time to do one for me?” I jerk my chin at the screen.
“Her design. I want it. Her name, too.”
He grins.
It’s slow and knowing, the kind of smile from a man who’s seen love like this a few times in his life, and who knows when not to talk someone out of something permanent.
After a moment, where I assume he is getting a copy of the image, he pulls out a stool, preps the station, and nods toward me.
“Where we placing it?”
I unbutton my shirt and point to the right side of my neck and upper shoulder.
“Here. High. Visible.”
Billy whistles. “That’s prime real estate.”
“Exactly.”
I write her name out by hand—sharp, deliberate strokes.
My pen digs into the paper like it’s carving her into my bones.
The needle hums to life, but I barely feel it.
My gaze stays locked on the screen as I watch her wince, breathe, smile.
She’s so damn brave.
So goddamn beautiful.
