Page 49 of Rose

He rounded the corner shirtless, steam still clinging to his skin.

The deep lines of his tattoos glistened under damp bronze, his beard dripping with leftover water from the shower.

Grey Nike shorts hung low on his hips, his inked legs flexing with each step, and that print…

unapologetically obvious. Her eyes dropped for just a second too long.

No wonder women didn’t want their men in grey sweats outside the house.

She licked her lips, caught off guard by how easily he did that to her.

She unclipped Ace’s leash. The dogs took off, playfully getting to know one another.

“You ignoring me now, Allure?” he asked, biting into a red apple. Her eyes fixated on his mouth—how his lips wrapped around the fruit, the slow crunch, the drip of juice he caught with his tongue. She swore she hated him sometimes.

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was in a meeting,” she said, stepping farther into the house.

When she tried to walk past him, he pulled her back by the waist, his body flush against hers. She felt him—every hard inch of him—and her breath caught. A wave of goosebumps danced up her spine.

“With my sister?” he murmured at her ear.

“Yes. How did you— You know what, never mind. Forgot you were my stalker,” she cut herself off, making him chuckle. “I had an idea… something that involves her restaurant,” she said, finally turning to face him, his eyes locked on hers, curiosity flickering.

“Care to share?”

He took another bite of the apple, never looking away. Her gaze dipped again, transfixed by every calculated movement.

“Nope. Mind your business,” she smirked.

He chuckled. “You bring what I asked for?”

She lifted her bag. “Yup.”

Inside was her tattoo kit. He had requested new ink, and though she was intrigued, she couldn’t figure out what space he even had left.

“What are you getting tatted?” she asked as they moved into the living room.

“Your name,” he said, dead serious.

She snapped her head toward him. “I’m not tattooing my name on you, Savior.”

He laughed. “What? Every woman wants their man to get their name tatted, right?”

“You’re not my man, for one. And secondly, I’m not every woman.”

“That’s facts.” He grinned, dropping down onto the couch as she unpacked her tools beside him. “So has a man ever gotten your name tatted before?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… just one.”

Her voice softened.

Her mind drifted to William. She could still see the way he looked at her when he asked—calm but certain.

She’d laughed at first, thought he was joking.

But when he said he was serious… she melted.

He had her name inked over his heart. She used to kiss that spot every night, believing it meant his love would never fade .

But then he did.

“Allure…”

Savior’s voice pulled her back from wherever her mind had drifted. She blinked, startled. “Huh? Yeah… my bad. You said something?”

He stared at her, like he could see everything she was trying to hide.

“I asked if you were ready.”

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. But where am I putting this tattoo, and what exactly do you want?”

A slow smirk crept onto his lips as he pointed to the bare space along his ribcage. “Right here. I want it to look like my skin’s being torn open… like a rib is missing.”

Ahzii’s brow lifted in curiosity. “What’s that supposed to represent?”

It was a standard question she asked all her clients. Tattooing wasn’t just about ink to her, it was about meaning. About story. And the way he answered would help guide her hands.

“It’s biblical. Adam and Eve—”

“I know the story,” she cut in gently. “But why do you want it tatted?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I believe God sent me my missing rib.”

Her breath caught.

The words clung to the air between them. She knew exactly what he was saying, but acknowledging it out loud felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether she’d fall or fly.

Her body knew. Her silence knew. But her voice?

Not yet.

Savior continued, his tone softer. “And I want you to put a rose in the center… where the rib’s supposed to be.”

Her fingers twitched slightly. “Why… a rose?” Her voice barely held together.

He leaned in, the weight of his truth pressing against her hesitation. “Because like roses… she’s alluring.”

Ahzii didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came. That name— Allure —suddenly felt like prophecy instead of a nickname. Like he’d spoken something holy into existence.

“Can you do that?” he asked gently, like he wasn’t peeling her open with every word.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. But… can we smoke first?”

He chuckled, pulling a blunt from behind his ear like it’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Yeah. Sin just dropped this new strain. Wants me to test it. You down?”

She eyed it warily. “Is it going to have me fucked up? Because I still owe your brother an ass whoopin’ for what that last one did to my mama.”

Savior burst into laughter. “Nah, he said this one’s chill. Indica. Called it By the Beach. ”

She smirked. “I actually like that name.”

“It’s better than Sinister Cloud 3.0 , or whatever dumb shit he came up with last month.”

They both laughed, the tension softening, even if it didn’t leave.

Ahzii slipped on her gloves as Savior laid back, arm folded behind his head, his body relaxed and warm under the soft glow of the living room light.

She prepped her station, then sparked the blunt, taking a slow pull before passing it to him.

The moment felt intimate… quiet… like the start of something neither of them could stop.

Soft music hummed through the surround speakers, blending with the low buzz of Ahzii’s tattoo gun and the occasional thud of dogs roughhousing outside. Smoke curled lazily in the air, thick with the scent of By the Beach , and the moment felt like peace stitched together with threads of chaos.

Ahzii moved gently, her gloved hands gliding over Savior’s ribs with care. She was focused, but not enough to ignore the scars etched beneath his ink. Faint, but visible up close. His skin, dark and adorned with tattoos, tried to hide them, but she saw them. Deep ones. Ugly ones. Familiar ones.

She wanted to ask, but didn’t. Her own scars made her silent. Until he spoke.

“You keep looking,” Savior murmured, pulling from the blunt and exhaling slow. “Just ask me, Allure.”

She hesitated. The weed had her floating, relaxed, but the question was heavy. Still, she asked it.

“What happened?” she whispered, nodding toward the long cut under his heart.

He didn’t flinch. “I got stabbed.”

“On a mission?” she asked, pausing the gun.

He shook his head. “Nah. My father.”

Ahzii’s eyes widened, heart tightening as she stared at him. He said it so casually, like it was an afterthought. Like it was normal.

“I messed up during target practice,” he continued, voice flat. “He beat my ass black and blue. But I stopped reacting. I guess that pissed him off… so he grabbed a blade and sliced me up a few times.”

The air left her lungs. “What? Savior, how old were you?”

He took another hit from the blunt and passed it to her.

“Eight.”

Eight.

Ahzii’s stomach dropped. “You were a baby. No child—no person—deserves that.”

“I was never a child, Allure,” he said, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers he’d stopped looking for. “Even at eight, I was a grown-ass man. Had to take consequences like one.”

There was no emotion in his voice. Only acceptance. Like he truly believed it. Like the pain was just… part of the process.

She looked at him—really looked. Past the tattoos and the bravado. To the boy who bled and was never held. Her heart ached for him in a way that shocked her.

“Can I kiss it?” she asked softly, surprising even herself.

His eyes flicked to hers, confused.

“I’m serious,” she said gently, cutting off the buzz of the gun. “Remember when you told me you’d kiss my scars once I patched myself up?”

He stared at her, stunned that she remembered.

“Yeah…” he answered, voice low.

“Well,” she whispered, “I want to do the same for you. ”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Ms. No Emotional Attachment?”

She smiled. “Shut up. But hearing what your father did to you… it broke something in me. I just—I want you to know what comfort feels like. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s just this.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded once, slowly.

Ahzii leaned in, brushing her lips over the scar beneath his heart. It was soft. Gentle. But there was weight in that kiss—tender and deep, like she was trying to heal what no one else ever bothered to touch.

Savior closed his eyes, jaw clenched.

That kiss didn’t just land on his skin. It sank into the parts of him that still ached after all these years. For the first time in a long time, something cracked open inside him, quietly, painfully… beautifully.

“Where was your mother when this happened?” Ahzii asked, breaking the silence as she resumed shading the tattoo. She pulled from the blunt he’d just passed, the smoke hanging heavy between them like truth too thick to ignore.

“In the next room,” Savior answered flatly. “She walked in. Saw him beating me… and didn’t stop him.”

His tone cut sharp. His jaw clenched hard enough to pop. It was the most emotion he’d shown— not when speaking about the beating, but about the woman who let it happen. Ahzii felt it. Felt it all.

“That hurt worse than the beating, didn’t it?” she asked softly.

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness worn like armor. “I’m used to it.”

The way he said it gutted her.

“That doesn’t make it okay, Sav,” she snapped, her tone sharper than intended.

To her, he wasn’t just some feared assassin. He was a man who loved through action, who protected everyone before himself. He was wounded, and still carried those wounds like they were part of his duty.