Page 21 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

TWENTY

VIOLET

I wake up to the sound of steady breathing and the low whir of a fan somewhere overhead.

For a second, I forget where I am.

Then I feel it. The warmth behind me. The press of a chest against my spine. The rise and fall of Niko’s breath at the back of my neck.

His arm is slung across my waist. His palm rests low. Too low.

Right over the tattoo.

My pulse skips.

I forgot to cover it.

A cold weight drops into my stomach.

I try not to move, try not to breathe, but I can already feel the panic tightening in my chest. Crawling in slow, itchy spirals underneath my skin.

If he hasn’t already, Niko is going to notice it.

It’s still dark in here, but the lettering is big, inked in thick black lines just below my navel. Written in that monster’s handwriting.

Slanted. Possessive. Ugly.

MINE.

He etched that word into my skin like he owned me.

Not like a person, not even like a pet, like a thing.

I can’t let Niko see it.

I shift out of bed carefully, sliding out from under his arm, while tugging the hem of my t-shirt down.

I grab my hoodie off the floor and slip it over my head.

“Don’t go.” Niko calls out.

I freeze and turn back to face him.

He’s sitting up now, hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep.

“I just need a little air,” I lie.

His gaze drops to my hands, to the way they’re clenched around the bottom hem of my hoodie. He says nothing for a beat. Then,

“You’re worried I saw it… the tattoo.”

My breath catches.

Niko’s eyes hold mine for a long moment, unreadable, like he’s sifting through what to say next.

“I did,” he says finally.

I close my eyes, shame flooding in like a wave. “It’s not what you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

I look at him. “Then why did you tell me you saw it?”

He swings his legs off the bed and stands slowly, like he’s weighing every word.

“Because I know what it’s like,” he says. “To live with scars that someone else gave you. To have to look in the mirror and see the damage they left behind.”

My throat tightens.

“Do you want it gone?”

I stare at him, at the quiet in his expression, at the gentleness of his question.

I nod.

He throws on a sweatshirt and grabs his keys off the nightstand.

“Then let’s go.”

We don’t talk in the car.

He doesn’t ask what I want done or if I’m sure.

He just drives like he already has a plan.

One that was set in motion the second I said yes.

The tattoo shop is small, tucked between a Thai restaurant and a boutique bookstore. The windows are dark. The neon sign above the door is off, and the metal gate is drawn.

It’s closed. Obviously.

I shift on my feet and glance at him. “It’s okay. We can come back tomorrow.”

Niko doesn’t answer.

Just checks his phone, taps something, and slips it back in his pocket like the matter’s already settled.

I’m just about to ask what we’re still doing here when headlights sweep across the lot behind us.

A motorcycle pulls in and parks right in front of the shop.

The man who swings off it and pulls off his helmet looks like he stepped straight out of an indie rock band. He’s wearing a worn button-up flannel, black skinny jeans, and has intricate tattoos crawling from his knuckles all the way up his neck.

His long dark hair’s pulled up in a knot and he has stacks of metal rings adorning both of his hands.

He doesn’t hesitate when he sees us.

“Sorry for the wait,” he says with a grin. “Niko, it’s good to see you, man.”

Niko gives him a small nod.

He turns to me next. “I’m Sean, you must be Violet. You ready for some middle-of-the-night ink, or should I put on a pot of coffee first?”

I smile, “Uhh, I think I’m good.”

He nods and walks over to unlock the shop door. “Let’s get started then. Niko gave me a rundown of the cover and I’ve got a design in mind that might be perfect, if you’re open to it.”

He holds the door open and waits until we walk through before following us in.

Sean flips on a switch and low music sounds through the speakers.

Something wordless. All ambient synth and distant echoes, like the inside of a dream.

He moves with quiet efficiency, setting up his station, laying out tools, snapping on gloves like he’s done this a thousand times.

I sit on the padded table, legs swinging.

Sean glances up from his tray. “Mind if I take a look?”

I hesitate for a beat, then gather up my shirt and hoodie and pull them up to my chest.

I keep my arms crossed over my ribs, hands gripping my elbows as the cold air brushes over my skin.

Sean leans in, inspecting the ink like it’s something to solve, not something to judge .

Niko doesn’t speak either, but I feel his gaze on me, and when I look at him, I catch it. Something in his eyes I can’t quite name. It’s like sadness mixed with a tinge of anger simmering underneath it.

Not at me, for me.

“I’ve been working on something,” Sean says, walking over to his desk. “Figured it might suit you, but you tell me if we should change it up.”

He flips open a sketchbook and tilts it so I can see.

It’s a moth with its wings spread wide, etched in delicate lines and laced with soft swirls. It’s beautiful. Otherworldly. Quiet but powerful.

“What do you think?”

I nod. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Want me to add anything to customize it? We can switch out the swirls for something more meaningful to you.”

I pause for a moment to think.

“Could you maybe add stars to it? I’ve always been obsessed with the night sky.”

Sean gives me a nod. “We’ll make it yours.”

He works up a stencil and presses the outline to my skin.

When he peels the paper back, I stare at the reflection in the mirror he holds up.

The word that was once branded there is gone, buried beneath the most majestic wings covered in stars and crescent moons.

“This okay?” He asks.

I nod again, fighting a smile.

It’s better than okay, it’s perfect.

I lie down and the buzzing starts, only this time it’s not something being taken from me. It’s something being reclaimed.

Niko doesn’t speak. He just sits in the chair beside me, holding my hand and letting his thumb brush slow circles over my wrist.

The tattoo takes three hours to complete.

By the time Sean wipes down the last line and wraps my stomach in cling wrap, I feel wrung out and half-drunk on exhaustion.

We thank him for his time and he nods like it’s no big deal, already cleaning his station.

Niko leads me outside and opens his passenger door for me. I hop inside and he waits until I’m settled before closing the door and rounding the front.

I assume we’re heading home, but when he slides behind the wheel, he doesn’t drive towards the apartment.

Instead, he glances over. “One more place.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes questioning him feel unnecessary, like I subconsciously know that whatever road he’s taking me down, I’ll be okay.

We drive in silence, the city lights blur through the windows, until the buildings thin and the air turns cooler.

He pulls off the road and coasts up a winding hill that crests into a flat clearing. And then I see it, the view.

All of San Francisco sprawled out below us like someone spilled a box of glitter across black velvet. Every window, every streetlamp, every car winding through the hills, become tiny flecks of gold against the night.

The sky above is just as dazzling. Wide and open. Stars scattered in thick constellations.

I don’t realize I stopped breathing until I let it out in one long exhale.

“It’s beautiful up here,” I whisper.

Niko doesn’t respond, he just shifts in his seat and reaches behind us into the cab, pulling out a couple of folded blankets and two pillows.

I arch a brow.

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “For nights when I have to crash between jobs.”

He opens the truck bed and hops up, laying everything out with quick, practiced movements.

Then he reaches a hand down toward me and I take it.

He helps me up, settles me on the blanket, and then lies beside me, close but not pressing.

We both stare up at the sky and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel small beneath it.

I feel infinite.

We lie in silence, side by side in the truck bed, watching the sky shift.

The stars are brighter up here. Closer. Like if I reached out, I could pull one down and keep it for myself.

Niko’s hand rests in mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles like it’s second nature.

I tilt my head toward him, voice quiet. “Thank you. For tonight. ”

He says nothing, just turns his head slightly until his eyes meet mine.

Niko doesn’t need words to make you feel something.

His gaze alone does the work and right now, it’s locked on me like I’m the only thing in the universe that matters.

My whole body heats.

There’s no rush, no demand, just this slow, magnetic pull between us that makes me lean in before I even realize I’m moving.

I kiss him.

Soft at first. Testing.

Then deeper. Hotter.

His fingers slip into my hair, and when I moan into his mouth, I feel his body respond.

He moves over me, pressing me back against the blanket as his knee slots between my legs and spreads them with quiet authority.

His lips trail down my neck, and when his teeth graze the skin just above my collarbone, I moan, and my hips arch instinctively.

He pulls back to look at me, a silent question in his eyes, and I nod my head softly.

I want this. I want him.

I tug his shirt over his head and run my fingers down the hard lines of his chest. He’s solid everywhere. Tense, like he’s still trying to hold something back.

But I don’t want restraint, not from him.

“Niko,” I whisper.

His name tastes like sin on my tongue.

He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s memorizing the shape of my mouth.

Then his hand dips below the waistband of my shorts.

One finger. Then two.

Slipping through my wetness with agonizing precision.

I arch, gasping as he circles my clit.

“You’re so soaked for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough in my ear. “Fuck, Vi. Should I stop?”

“No,” I breathe. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That’s all it takes.

He sits back just long enough to drag my shorts down my legs, tossing them somewhere into the truck bed. I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, but he bats my hands away with a smirk and undoes it himself, watching me the whole time.

His cock springs free. Thick, hard, and flushed at the tip.

He slips a condom on, and my core aches, like it already knows what’s coming.

But before I can move, he’s already lowering himself over me again, lining himself up with practiced ease.

And then.

He slides inside.

The stretch is brutal. Too much and perfect all at once.

I dig my nails into his back, mouth falling open as he fills me slowly, giving me every inch.

He groans, deep and guttural, as my walls clench around him, and reaches for my hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pinning my hand above my head as our fingers intertwine. “You feel like heaven.”

He starts to move. Slow, deep strokes that make my whole body tremble.

I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, harder.

Every thrust sends sparks ricocheting up my spine. The cool night air drifts over my overheated skin and the stars blur behind him, turning him into a shadow moving only for me.

Niko doesn’t let go of my hand.

Even as he fucks me harder, even as I cry out beneath him, begging for more, he keeps our fingers locked.

Tethered. Grounded.

His other hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and rubbing tight, relentless circles that send me spiraling.

I clench around him, gasping as my orgasm hits.

It tears through me like wildfire.

Searing, sweet, and all-consuming.

I cry out his name, back arching, legs trembling.

Niko growls low in his throat, driving into me one last time before he spills inside with a stuttered groan, and collapses against me.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just lay there with our bodies pressed together and our hearts beating in sync.

The wind picks up, brushing cool air across our overheated skin.

I shift beneath him, and Niko grunts softly, lifting himself just enough to grab the blanket and tug it over us.

His body is still pressed against mine, but it’s not the sex that has my heart warming.

It’s the way he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t rush to fix his clothes or build his walls back up.

He just rests his forehead against mine and peppers kisses all over my face .

We lie like that for a while, hearts slowing, skin slick and tangled.

“That tattoo made me feel like I didn’t own my body anymore.” I murmur. “Thank you. For everything.”

“If it matters to you, it’s matters to me.” He says, lifting our still-joined hands and pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

And somehow, it feels more intimate than everything else we did tonight.

We stay wrapped up in each other beneath the stars, the whole world quiet for once.

Just us.

No fear, no guilt, no past clawing at the edges.

Only this moment and the guy who held my hand the whole way through it.