Chapter Twenty - Six #2
He shakes his head. “No. Something that’s just for us.”
He takes my hand, guiding me through the crowd and into one of the back rooms. It’s quieter here, the noise fading into a distant hum. The smell of ink and antiseptic hits me before I even see the chair.
The tattoo chair.
Ink’s leaning against the counter, like he’s been waiting for us. “I’ll get the machine ready,” he says.
I freeze. “Wait . . . what are we doing?”
Shadow faces me fully now. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them. “Every old lady has her man’s mark,” he says quietly. “It’s not about ownership. It’s about protection. About belonging. You don’t have to, but . . .” He trails off, shrugging one shoulder. “I’d like you to.”
My throat tightens. “You want your name on me?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah, and I want yours on me too.”
I blink. “Mine?”
He nods. “If I’m yours, you’re mine. We match.”
I glance at Ink, who’s already setting out equipment and gloves, the hum of the machine starting up softly in the background. “Where?” I ask, my voice small but steady.
Shadow steps closer, his fingers brushing my hip. “Here,” he murmurs, tracing the spot low on my side, “so it’s just for us.”
The air between us changes, charged and heavy.
He pulls back just enough for me to nod, then looks to Ink. “Do mine first.”
He shrugs off his kutte and pulls his shirt over his head. There’s already ink there, along with scars, symbols, stories of violence and brotherhood, but the space just above his heart is blank. Waiting.
Ink grins. “What do you want?”
“Remi,” he says simply.
The sound of my name in his voice makes my knees weak.
Ink gets to work. The needle buzzes to life, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. Shadow doesn’t flinch once, just sits there, watching me as the letters are carved into his skin permanently.
When he finishes, Shadow glances down at it, red, raw, new, then looks up and meets my eyes. “Your turn.”
My pulse stumbles. “Okay,” I whisper.
Shadow helps me sit, pulling my dress aside just enough to reveal the curve of my hipbone. The cold swipe of disinfectant makes me shiver.
“Property of Shadow,” Ink confirms, meeting my gaze. “You sure?”
Shadow’s hand finds mine before I can answer. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, grounding me. “You can have whatever you like, just a symbol with my name, whatever,” he murmurs.
I stare at my name, still bleeding faintly on his chest. Remi.
And for the first time in my life, I feel wanted enough to want it back.
“I want what all the other old ladies have, if that’s tradition,” I whisper.
Ink nods, switching on the machine.
The first sting makes me gasp, but it’s bearable. The sound of the needle blends with my heartbeat. Shadow never lets go of my hand. He stays close, thumb moving slow, steady circles against my skin until the pain turns into something else, warmth, adrenaline, pride.
When he finally wipes the last of the ink away, I risk a look.
The letters are small, neat, dark against my pale skin.
Property of Shadow.
It should feel like a brand, a reminder of everything I ran from, but it doesn’t.
It feels like freedom. Protection. Belonging.
Shadow crouches in front of me, eyes locked on the fresh ink. His voice is low, rough with emotion. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
I smile faintly. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
He leans forward and kisses just above the tattoo, like he’s sealing it.
I feel whole.
Later that night, the clubhouse has gone quiet. The engines have died, the laughter’s faded, and the smell of beer and smoke lingers in the air like the memory of a storm.
We’re in his room again—our room, now. The door’s shut, the lights are low, and the only sound is the rain tapping softly at the window.
Shadow lies on his back beside me, bare chest rising slow and steady, the ink on his skin still fresh and red. My name sits just above his heart, bold against the mess of tattoos and scars. Every time he breathes, it moves, like I live there now.
My fingers trace the letters, light enough not to hurt. “You didn’t even flinch,” I whisper.
He grins faintly, eyes half-closed. “Didn’t wanna give Ink the satisfaction.”
I smile, small but real. “You’re impossible.”
He catches my wrist, turning me gently so he can see the new ink on my hip. His thumb brushes over it, careful. “I never want this covered up,” he says, bending to place another kiss there. “I want the world to see it.”
“You want me to walk around half-naked?” I ask, my tone teasing.
He laughs, crawling over me and kissing the end of my nose. “I’d have to kill everyone who saw it.” He drops back down beside me, resuming position. “Thank you,” he adds, his tone suddenly serious. “I know today was a lot, but you choosing to stay, to forgive me for the way I behaved—”
“I fucked up first,” I remind him. “I should never have taken from you after everything you did for me.”
He wraps his arm around me tighter. “We don’t need to go over old ground, Rem. We both messed up, but now, we’re making it right. I’ll never leave you again, no matter what. That’s a promise to my old lady. And you can come to me with any problem, and I will make it disappear. We’re a team.”
For a long while, neither of us speaks. The rain grows heavier outside. His hand moves to my hair, lazy strokes that make my eyes sting with exhaustion and something softer.
“I keep waiting to wake up,” I admit. “To find out it’s all a dream. That I’m still in that house, still cleaning up his mess.”
Shadow turns his head towards me, his voice steady. “That life’s gone, Rem. It’s over. He’ll never touch you again.”
I nod, but I can’t quite speak. The weight of it, the finality, sits deep in my chest.
He takes my chin, gently tipping my face up until I’m looking at him. “You hear me? You’re home now.”
The words sink in slow, soaking through every part of me that still feels raw and uncertain.
I whisper it back, testing it. “Home.”
He smiles, small and tired. “Yeah. With me.”
My eyes close as I breathe him in. “You know,” I murmur, “for someone who swore he didn’t do feelings, you’re getting pretty good at them.”
He chuckles, low and rough. “Don’t tell the others. I’ve got a reputation to keep.”
I smile against his chest, letting the warmth of him pull me under. The noise outside fades. The bruises don’t ache so much anymore. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something bad to happen.
He holds me against him, a silent promise.
Maybe we’ll fight again. Maybe we’ll break a little more before we heal. But right now, there’s peace.
And as I drift off to sleep, my last thought is simple, quiet, and sure.
He was right . . .
I’m home.