Page 21 of Rose
And saying it like it was just another joke.
“Dark humor, sheesh,” Ahzii said, waving off the silence, her tone light but empty underneath. “Y’all complain when a bitch don’t joke, now I do and you looking at me crazy. It’s my trauma—I can joke about it.”
They shook their heads, not arguing, but it stung all the same.
Dark humor wasn’t new for Ahzii. But it hit different now.
Real different.
A’Mazi and Kyre hugged her goodbye before heading out for their lunch date, leaving the room a little quieter, a little colder.
A few minutes later, her second client walked in, breaking the brief silence.
Ahzii wiped her hands on a fresh towel, resetting her focus like flipping a switch.
She knew she’d be in this shop all day, working through tattoos and piercings back-to-back. The Rose Day deal always packed her schedule, but today she welcomed the energy.
The steady hum of the tattoo gun, the stories her clients shared, the art she left on their skin—it was the only thing that helped her outrun the memories still clawing at her chest.
For a few hours, this was enough to keep the trauma buried.
At least until the shop closed and the silence came crawling back.
???
After hours of tattooing, wiping down stations, and taking walk-ins back-to-back, the sun began to dip behind the Miami skyline when Kiyan finally stepped into her tattoo room, a takeout bag of Chinese food swinging from his hand.
He was her last appointment of the day, and thankfully so. She was beyond drained, both from the work and from holding herself together.
Kiyan filled the doorway in a black Nike Tech and black Forces, muscles flexing beneath his hoodie, tattoos peeking out from his sleeves—a walking billboard of the work she’d done.
Tall drink of trouble at 6'5", starting point guard for the Miami Legends, three-hundred-million-dollar contract, fame, clout, status—the whole package. Women fell at his feet without him saying a word.
But not Ahzii.
They met when Kyre dragged her out to a club one night, trying to pull her out of the darkness. She’d been numb, floating somewhere between grief and Hennessy, just trying to feelsomething. Kiyan had been charming, cocky, and when he offered her a night to forget, she let him.
He ate her like it was his last meal, stretched across his California king, and she was gone before the sheets cooled.
She figured that was it. One night. No strings. But a week later, he walked into The Escape Room for a tattoo. Neither of them expected it.
He didn’t know the woman who left his bed without a word was the same one behind the ink gun. But once he did, he didn’t let up.
Still, Ahzii never let him get close. She called when she wanted, and that was it. Nothing more.
Kiyan didn’t mind. He wanted her in whatever way she allowed. But what he didn’t know—what she’d never let him see—was that the woman he craved was still broken beyond repair.
“Hey, Gorgeous.” His voice cut through the hum of the purifier and the soft crackle of her candle.
She stood from the couch, greeting him with a brief hug, the smell of the food already filling the room.
“Wassup.”
“I brought you this. Figured your stubborn ass ain’t ate all day.”
He smirked, and she gave a small nod, finally working up an appetite after hours of pushing herself past empty.
“Thanks.” Her voice came soft, quiet, but real.
