Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
brOOKE
The bell over the door at Black Iron Tattoo chimes when I step inside, and the smell hits me immediately.
Sharp and unfamiliar. Clean but metallic, with something medicinal layered underneath it.
My nose wrinkles before I can stop it, lungs adjusting as I take a cautious breath.
The hum of machines vibrates faintly through the floor.
I’ve never been in a tattoo shop before, and my body notices every new detail.
A couple of artists glance up when the bell over the door chimes. One of them straightens when he spots me, recognition flickering across his face.
“Morning, Brooke,” he says easily.
I slow a step, brows knitting together before I can stop myself. “Do I… know you?”
His mouth quirks into a knowing smirk. “Nah. But I know you. You’re Rev’s old lady.”
The words still land warm in my chest, a quiet spark of belonging I’m not used to yet. “Yeah,” I say, smiling a little. “I am.”
He wipes his hands on a towel and steps closer, respectful and unhurried, like he’s giving me space without making me feel like an outsider. “Name’s Cole,” he adds, extending a hand. “I’m patched in with the Reapers. I run a chair here most days.”
I take his hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Brooke.”
He smiles like he’s already been briefed on that part. “You okay? You look a little keyed up.”
I let out a soft laugh and roll my shoulders once, trying to loosen the nerves I didn’t even realize were sitting there. “Yeah. Sorry. I think I’m just a little nervous. I’ve never done this before.”
“Fair,” he says easily. “First one always hits different.”
His calm settles me more than I expect.
“So,” he says, folding his arms loosely. “What can I do for you?”
I glance around once more, grounding myself in the space. The steel chairs. The bright lights. The low hum of machines. The quiet focus in the room. This isn’t my old world. This is Javier’s world.
And I’m choosing it.
“I want a tattoo,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Something small. Something that means something.”
His expression shifts into quiet attention, professional and present. “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”
“Rev doesn’t even know I’m here.”
That earns a nod of approval. “Good.”
I take a breath and tug the side of my hoodie just enough to indicate the area along my ribs, tucked beneath my chest. “I want it here. Somewhere private. Somewhere that feels… ours.”
His gaze stays professional, assessing placement and skin tone without lingering. “That’ll hold clean. Are you good with something you’ll mostly see when you’re changing or in bed?”
“That’s the point,” I say without hesitation.
“And the design?”
I pull my phone out and slide the image across the counter. His name, written in a soft script. Beneath it, a date. “That’s the day he saved me,” I say quietly. “Not just physically. Everything after that felt different. Safer. Clearer.”
He studies it for a moment. “That’s permanent ink.”
“So is the way he changed my life,” I reply without hesitation.
I tug my hoodie slightly aside and gesture to the curve of my ribs beneath my breast. “I want it here. Private. Just for us.”
He preps the station while I slip out of my hoodie and shift my shirt enough to expose the placement. The chair is cool beneath my thighs. The machine hums to life and my nerves flutter briefly at the sound, but the certainty doesn’t waver.
“You sure?” he asks, one last check.
“Completely.”
The first touch of the needle stings sharp enough to pull a breath from my lungs, but it settles quickly into a steady, manageable burn. I focus on breathing slowly, on the vibration beneath my skin, on the simple truth of what I’m choosing.
It’s about Javier taking the weight when my shoulders get tired and letting me rest inside that steadiness instead of always standing guard. It’s about how he leads without making me smaller, how he protects without locking me away, how he shows up every single time without hesitation.
When he finally wipes the area clean and leans back, he tilts the mirror toward me. “Alright. Take a look.”
I angle it carefully and lean in, breath catching just a little as the image sharpens into focus.
His name curves softly along my ribs in delicate script, the date tucked beneath it in smaller, steady numbers.
My skin is faintly flushed around the ink, still warm and sensitive, but the lines are clean and precise.
It sits exactly where I wanted it. Private. Intentional. Permanent.
Mine.
A quiet smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it, something steady and settled blooming in my chest.
“That’s beautiful,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
He gives a small nod, clearly satisfied. “Yeah. That’s gonna age real nice.”
Then he reaches for the clear wrap and steps closer. “Alright. Let’s get you covered up.”
He smooths the film carefully over my ribs, sealing the edges so it stays in place without tugging at my skin.
“Leave this on for a few hours,” he explains.
“Then wash it gently with lukewarm water and mild soap. Pat it dry. Don’t rub.
Thin layer of unscented ointment after that, a couple times a day. ”
I nod, committing it all to memory.
“No tight clothes on it for a few days, and don’t soak it. No baths, no swimming. It’s gonna itch when it starts healing. Don’t scratch it.”
“Sounds like torture,” I say lightly.
He snorts. “Worth it.”
He steps back once the wrap is secure. “And yeah,” he adds, glancing at the covered ink. “Rev’s gonna have a moment when he finally sees that.”
A soft laugh slips out of me. “Yeah. I think he might.”
I pull my hoodie back into place carefully, thank him, and step outside into the cool morning air, lungs grateful for the change from the sharp shop scent.
My skin still hums faintly beneath the wrap, a steady reminder of the choice I just made, and the world feels lighter when I breathe it in, like something inside me finally clicked into place.
I know he notices before I even say anything.
He always does. The way his attention sharpens when something doesn’t sit right.
The way his eyes track the smallest shifts in my body language.
I try to move like nothing’s different, but the faint warmth under the wrap along my ribs makes me hyperaware of every breath I take, every step I make.
He watches me from across the room, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You alright?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly, then soften it. “I’m good.” I cross the space between us and kiss him before he can push further, letting the familiar warmth of his mouth steady my nerves. For a second it almost works. Almost.
His arm slides around my waist and he pulls me in, solid and grounding the way he always does, but the pressure brushes the tender skin along my ribs and a sharp breath escapes me before I can stop it.
He freezes instantly and his hold on me loosens, careful now. “What was that?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, my hand coming up to his chest. “I’m just a little sore.”
I can tell he doesn’t buy it. The protective tension in him shifts, alert and focused, and before I can redirect him, his hands move to the hem of my shirt.
“Javier,” I start, but he’s already lifting it, eyes scanning me with that steady intensity that usually makes me feel safe instead of exposed.
Cool air hits my skin. His gaze locks onto the clear wrap along my ribs. “What is that?” he asks, voice lower now.
“It’s not an injury,” I say softly. “I went to Black Iron.”
His eyes flick up to mine, then back to the wrap. “You got a tattoo?”
I nod, suddenly aware of how vulnerable this moment feels now that it’s here. My fingers find the edge of the wrap. “I wanted you to see it.”
He hesitates like he’s afraid of hurting me, and then I slowly peel one corner back just enough for him to see the ink beneath. His name. The date beneath it. His breath leaves him in a quiet rush, like something punched straight through his chest.
“Brooke…” He lowers himself in front of me without even thinking about it, kneeling in front of me so he can really see it. His hands hover near my waist, not touching, like the moment itself deserves reverence. “That’s… that’s me,” he murmurs, eyes tracing the curve of the script.
“That’s the day you saved me,” I say quietly. “Everything changed after that. I wanted to carry it with me. I wanted you with me.”
His throat works as he swallows. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I tell him gently. “I wanted to.”
His fingers finally settle lightly against my side, careful of the tender skin.
He leans in and presses a slow, reverent kiss just below the fresh ink, his lips warm against my skin, grounding and steady.
Emotion swells inside me so fast it makes my eyes burn.
“You put my name on your body,” he says softly.
“Your real name,” I whisper. “That part’s just for me.”
Something in his expression cracks open completely, the hard edges of him softening into something raw and unguarded. He rests his forehead briefly against my stomach, breathing me in like he’s anchoring himself. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he murmurs.
A quiet laugh slips out of me, thick with feeling. “Good.”
He stays there for another second, his lips still warm against my skin, his hand resting carefully at my waist like he’s anchoring himself to something real.
When he finally looks up at me, his eyes aren’t guarded anymore.
They’re open. Bare. The kind of look that makes my chest tighten and my throat go thick all at once. “I love you,” he says quietly.
The words hit harder than I expect, not because I didn’t know it, but because of the way he says it. My breath catches. “I love you too.”
His hand tightens slightly at my side, protective even in something this tender.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice low and absolute.
“You’re my forever, Brooke.” My heart stutters, emotion swelling so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
“You’re gonna marry me,” he continues like this is simply a fact he’s announcing to the universe.
“You’re gonna have my babies. We’re gonna build something real. Safe. Ours.”
I blink at him, a laugh bubbling up through the sudden lump in my throat. Trust him to go straight from reverent devotion to full future takeover.
I tilt my head, smirking despite the way my eyes sting. “So this is your way of asking me to marry you?”
His mouth curves into something dangerous and amused at the same time. “Princess,” he says calmly, eyes burning into mine, “I’m not asking.”
I lift a brow. “Oh?”
“This is happening,” he says simply.
The certainty in his voice sends a warm, reckless flutter straight through my chest. The kind that lets me breathe deeper instead of pulling tight.
I laugh softly and slide my hands into his hair, leaning down until our foreheads touch. “Good,” I murmur. “Because I would’ve said yes.”
Something shifts in his face, the tough edges giving way to pure, unguarded emotion. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a long time and finally lets it go.
He rises and pulls me into his arms carefully, mindful of my ribs, holding me close like this is exactly where I belong. And it is. His heartbeat is steady under my cheek. His arms are warm and strong around me. The world outside this room fades into background noise.
I close my eyes and let myself settle into him completely.
He’s it for me. The man who carries the weight so I don’t have to.
The man who loves me without hesitation.
The man whose name now lives under my skin, right over my heart when he pulls me close.
Whatever comes next, whatever storms wait down the road, I’m not walking into them alone. I’m walking into them with Javier.