18. Permanent
EIGHTEEN
PERMANENT
BLEED FOR YOU: HIDDEN IN PLAIN VIEW
FIVE
T he last snowfall of winter had blanketed the city a week ago—a final, bitter cold fuck you before the sun's warmth erased it. A week ago, Calista had avenged herself, brutally ending the life of another man who had inflicted unspeakable horrors upon her, shattering another one of the chains that had bound her. A week ago, the four of us carved our names into her exquisitely scarred skin, a mark of belonging—a brand of ours—with the promise to eventually make them part of her for life.
Now, the five of us sit in the back of Dominic's tattoo studio, preparing to make the marks permanent in ink, a testament to her strength—a declaration she'll wear with pride and never forget who she belongs to.
Though the thought, "she belongs to us," sounds so fucked up and feels so fucking wrong.
For years, she'd been a prisoner chained in an attic, traded like a commodity to the highest bidder, and belonging to no one but her captors. After finally escaping and tasting freedom for the first time, she'd fiercely claimed her independence. She was fucking proud to say she belonged to no one, that she was free and able to live her life the way she wanted. And fuck, now we're telling her that she belongs to us. Even though she embraces it, I don't. A deep unease gnaws at me. Guilt claws at my fucking conscience.
The whir of the tattoo gun snaps me back to reality. Dom holds the machine, dipping the needles into black ink, Calista poised perfectly and ready.
"What's got your face all pissy-looking?" Ash teases, nudging my shoulder as Dom begins.
"Nothing," I mumble, tearing my gaze from Calista.
"You look like you're fucking pissed and like you're about to fucking hurl," Killian observes, scrolling through his phone, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
"I just... I don't think this shit is right," I confess, catching Calista's eye.
"It's okay, Five. I want this. I want all your names on me, forever." Her smile slightly eases the turmoil in my gut.
I return her smile, winking slowly. She bites her lip; an addictive, alluring gleam sparkles in her eyes as she studies me.
Even being with her, shit, she's all I can think about, all I crave. But does she feel the same way about me? Or am I just a guilty pleasure, someone she'll discard when she's had enough?
She watches me, intently studying my face. She knows something's wrong; she can always fucking tell—it's like one of the many gifts she possesses.
"Dom, stop," she commands, gently pushing his hand away from her thigh, forcing him to pause in the middle of her third tattoo.
She rises, takes my hand, pulling me from my chair and out the back door. The cool air is a welcome shock that slaps us both aggressively across the face. She presses me against the door, her arms encircling me, her hand cupping my cheek, her other lightly caressing my throat.
"Tell me what's bothering you, Five, and don't fucking lie," she demands, a smirk playing on her lips, yet her eyes are scary serious.
"Why do you want me, Little Mystery?" I ask, blunt and raw, my heart threatening to shatter into a million fucking pieces.
"Why do I want you? What do you mean?" Genuine confusion clouds her features as her perfect brows pinch together.
"You have Dom, Ash, and Killian. Why me?" I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, tracing her jawline, watching her shiver from my touch.
"So fucking what if I have them? I care about you, Five. You were the first to show me kindness and respect when I finally escaped the prison I was in. I want you because you're fucking amazing, protective, and incredibly sexy." She winks as my fingers brush across her lips. "But really, I want you because I fucking love you, Five. I love you as much as I love the others."
Her lips brush against my cheek, lingering longer than I thought they would, but shit, I'm okay with it.
In fact, I'm more than fucking okay with it.
My heart races, fucking pounding like a relentless drum in my chest as her confession hangs in the air, thick with unspoken promises. I force my breath to steady as I drink in her words, allowing the sweetness of them to wash over me like the sun breaking through the stormy sky. All the guilt, all the doubt, slips away, leaving only her—my intoxicating Little Mystery.
"Do you really fucking mean that?" I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid to shatter the beautiful moment with too many questions. "For real?"
Cali nods, her eyes sparkling with the kind of depth I never expected to find. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that. You mean everything to me. You all do.”
She squeezes my hand, grounding me in a world that felt chaotic just moments ago. I lean in closer, feeling the warmth radiate from her body as I lower my voice.
“You don’t even know how fucking much I’ve wanted to hear you say that. I thought I was just another name written in your skin, another chapter in a story you were ready to outgrow.”
“Five,” she coos softly, almost playfully, but there’s a power behind her words. “You’re not a fucking chapter; you’re a part of me now. Just like everyone else. I’m collecting my family—my real family—the kind that I choose, and you—” she pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leans in closer, “you are fucking essential.”
I can feel the words wrapping around us, binding us in a way that feels both fucking terrifying and exhilarating. The weight of her gaze sends shivers down my spine, igniting a fire that spreads through every nerve ending, pulling me deeper into her orbit.
"Fuck, Calista, I love you too," I admit for the first time in my life, truly meaning it.
“Good, you fucking better. Now let’s go back inside,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell the others. I want them to know, too. That we’re all in this shit together.”
A pang of realization hits me. This moment, this confession, somehow feels even more significant than the tattoos—it's a pact, a commitment that ties us all together in ways none of us fully understand... until now.
“Okay, but I’m still worried about how they’ll react,” I admit as I pull back slightly, searching her face for any hint of doubt.
“Stop fucking worrying.” Cali chuckles lightly before stepping back, and she wraps her fingers through mine, courage radiating from her. “They’ll be happy for us. They love my mysterious Five just as much as I do. Trust me, baby.”
As we walk back inside, her grip tightens on my hand, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of what’s to come—the laughter, the shared confessions, the love that she says is ours. The atmosphere shifts as we step through the door, the sounds of the tattoo gun fading into the background, replaced by the soft murmurs of the guys chatting amongst themselves.
The moment we enter, however, everything comes to a halt. The others turn to us, curiosity etched on their faces, their expressions shifting from casual interest to attentive focus.
“What’s going on?” Dom asks, his brow furrowing. I can see worry etched into the lines of his forehead, concern for both me and Cali.
“I have something to say,” Cali announces, her voice steady and strong. She steps in front of me, not like a leader but as a co-pilot in our admission. “I want to tell all of you... I’m not just yours; I’m his too. I love Five just like I love you all.”
A silence blankets the room, a mixture of surprise and understanding sweeping through the air. Then, much to my astonishment, Ash breaks into a warm smile.
“Well, that’s fucking awesome!” he exclaims, throwing an arm around both of us. “Another name to add to the ink, then?”
Killian laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not sharing my space on her with any of you fools,” he says, his tone light yet possessive. “But seriously, Five, welcome to the fucking psycho club. It looks like we’re all officially a part of this chaotic mess together.”
"Yeah, you're all my Psycho Boys, and I'm your Little Psycho, and I fucking love you."
With that, the room erupts in shared laughter, the tension dissolving in an instant, all the worry about the trouble lurking around the corner forgotten as the realization sets in—this is our family, our chaotic, imperfect family, and we’re bound to one another in ways that nobody else could ever know. I feel the weight of my earlier doubts lift completely, replaced by an overwhelming sense of belonging.
Cali grins up at me, and in that moment, under the flickering fluorescent lights of Dominic's studio, I know without a doubt that we’re not just marking her skin—we’re marking our souls, intertwining them in a way that will keep us together, no matter what shitstorms lay ahead. My family, my little fucking mystery, my heart—forever tied in a beautiful tapestry of love and defiance.
"Let's get these tattoos finished and talk about how and when we're going to kill your fathers," Cali says casually, sitting back down with a grin so wide it has to hurt her cheeks.
The casual mention of killing their fathers hangs in the air, a remarkable difference from the tender moment that preceded it. It’s a reminder of the darkness that still clings to Calista, a shadow that even the overwhelming love and acceptance can’t entirely erase. For a moment, the room falls silent, the laughter fading into a thoughtful hush. Then Dom, putting another pair of gloves on, speaks.
"Right, well, let's tackle that little detail after we've finished this," he says, picking up the tattoo gun again. "We can discuss logistics over celebratory whiskey later. But for now, let's focus on the fucking art."
He gestures to Calista's thigh, where the interrupted tattoo waits. The air crackles with a strange mix of anticipation and nervous energy. The act of permanently etching their—our—names onto her skin, now imbued with this new layer of meaning, feels different. It's no longer just a brand of ownership but a symbol of a fiercely chosen family, a testament to a love born from the ashes of trauma.
The whir of the tattoo gun resumes, a steady rhythm that punctuates the silence. Each needle prick is a tiny affirmation, a building block in the foundation of their unconventional, fiercely loyal bond. Ash hums a low tune, his usual boisterous energy tempered by a quiet respect for the gravity of the moment. Killian, ever the stoic observer, watches with a subtle smile playing on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the profound shift in their dynamic.
As the tattoos are finished, a sense of completion settles over the room. The marks on Calista's skin are more than just ink; they're a map of their shared history, a testament to their resilience, and a promise of a future they will face together. And now my name is added to the group, drawn perfectly in ink on the back of her neck.
Back at their apartment, the whiskey flows freely and the cocktail of drugs courses through our bodies, the laughter louder, the confessions deeper, and the bonds stronger than ever before.
"So," Ash says, taking a shot before he continues. "I want my father dead first." He slams the glass on the table, picks up a rolled-up bill, and sniffs a line of heroin and cocaine mixed, vigorously rubbing his nose as the burn begins to take effect.
I sit here and observe the four of them, a drink in one hand and a blunt in the other, curious to see how it's all going to play out. Before this, I broke the rules of the street, never breaking anything too serious. But all of that went out the window when I joined them in their plot for revenge, and it'll stick with me for the rest of my life. I just keep reminding myself that these men and these people deserved their brutal deaths for the things that they did. Never once has an innocent life been taken, which makes living with this nightmare a little easier.
"Any idea how you wanna do it?" Cali asks, getting up from her spot on the couch and sitting on Ash's lap.
When his arm wraps around her waist and he nuzzles his nose along the back of her neck where my name is tattooed, a little pang of jealousy hits me, so I take another long rip off the blunt to distract myself.
"You're a part of this too, Cali baby. What are your thoughts?" he asks, smirking devilishly.
"I just want him dead, Ash. I want him to choke on his dick, but he's your father, so it's only fitting that you choose his demise." Her eyes grow dark, memories rushing back to her of whatever happened between her and his father—a story I've never had the balls to fucking ask.
Ash looks at Dom and Kill, the three of them having a silent conversation with their eyes, as if they know what each other is thinking about. Silence stretches for what feels like forever before Ash finally speaks up again, this time his tone deep and low, a flicker of anger in his eyes.
"All I need is a chain and my fucking car." He glances at me, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "And, Five, I need you to find me a secluded stretch of road; the rougher the better," he tells me, and right away I know what he's planning to do.
But all I do is nod my head, holding in the smoke from another hit. "When?" I ask through a heavy cough, smoke pouring out of my mouth.
"As soon as fucking possible." He wraps his arms tighter around Cali as she lays her head on his shoulder, getting sucked into the song Scars.
Everyone goes silent, feeling the weight of the lyrics as the song plays loudly, turning the mood in the room somber, almost depressing.
But fuck, I get it. All the shit they've been through, I fucking get it.
The talk of killing their fathers remains a looming threat, a shared mission that binds them even tighter, a dark thread woven into the vibrant tapestry of their unconventional family. But for now, under the warm glow of the neon signs and the steady beat of Papa Roach booming from the speakers, they're simply a family, flawed, fierce, and forever bound together by ink, blood, secrets, and a love that defies all odds. The future remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: they'll face it together, for they are a family forged in the fires of trauma and cemented in the unwavering strength of their love.