Page 133 of Deviant Need

“Come on.”

We get out of the car, and he leads me into a tattoo parlor tucked between two storefronts. Some guy with full sleeve tattoos greets us when we walk in. Mikhail settles onto the table, his hand finding mine as he pulls me close. He pushes up his shirt and points at the space near his rib cage. “There.”

It’s right where he got stabbed by our father. There’s a red scar cutting across the skin, and I swallow hard and stare at it. He squeezes my hand.

“You sure?” I ask.

His blue eyes flick to mine, and he nods. “I want it there.”

The artist gets to work, and at first I don’t know what we’re getting until I start seeing the outline of our tree taking shape. It’s our tree, the hollow at the base with our words carved underneath in Russian: Danya and Misha, Forever, no matter what.

“It’s perfect,” I say, leaning down to press my lips to his.

“I know.” He cups my chin and kisses me harder, deeper, until the tattoo artist clears his throat.

“You want me to finish this or not?”

Mikhail pulls back, grinning. “Sorry. Keep going.”

I watch the rest of it come together, the shading, the details of the bark, the way the hollow looks almost real. When it’s done, Mikhail gets up and looks at it in the mirror, running his fingers over the fresh ink carefully.

“Your turn,” he says, moving to stand beside the table.

Stripping off my hoodie and shirt, I lie down on the table.

“Same spot?” The tattoo artist asks, snapping on fresh gloves.

I nod and Mikhail answers for me. “Same spot. So that we can match.”

The needle bites into my skin, and I focus on Mikhail’s hand holding mine, his thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles. It’s my second tattoo, and this one means more than our family motto ever would.

“Does it hurt?” Mikhail asks, leaning closer.

“Not really. Stings a bit.”

He gives me a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

He laughs and kisses my temple, staying close while the artist works. When it’s finally done, I stand and look at it in the mirror next to him. Both of us, matching. Our tree permanently etched into our skin, right over our scars from the night we almost died.

“I love it,” I say.

He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “Good. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Pretty sure they already knew that.”

“Now it’s permanent.”

I grin at him as his fingers trail over the tattoo. I’m so glad we found that spot when we were young. The best moments of my childhood happened there thanks to him, when he sat with me no matter the weather and made learning to speak fun. My first word was his name, and he hugged me so tight, I couldn’t breathe.

Everything is better now. Our life is a mess, but to us it’s perfect. I wouldn’t change anything about it. Not the scars, not the fighting, not the hell we went through to get here. All of it led to this moment. I kiss him again, slower this time, and he melts into me the way he always does. He’s my gravity. The force that keeps me grounded when everything else falls apart.

He gets a text and pulls back to look at his phone. “Apparently the dogs found the purple paint, and now it’s all over the house and them. Kelly says Alexei wants to murder us when we get back.”

I wince. “I forgot we didn’t clean up that paint before we left.”

He cracks up laughing. “We should probably hurry home and deal with that mess. Then maybe we can smoke and play some Uno later.”