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.

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