Page 77 of Making the King

“What a surprise,” Sasha laughs.

“Okay, you have to be cheating. There’s no way you keep winning by accident,” Alana says with a mock frown.

Both she and Sasha act like they don’t know me and Rose are trading cards so she can keep winning. Hell, both of them have discreetly shuffled the deck, so Rose keeps getting winning hands.

“How long do we have to stay here?” Rose asks.

She doesn’t sound perturbed or like she wants to leave. In fact, she seems to really enjoy the endless supply of soda and peanuts. Or maybe it’s the attention she’s enjoying. All I know is that against all odds, Rose seems fine. More than fine.

“Do I get a knife as well?” she asks so suddenly I choke on my water.

“W-what?” I gasp.

She nods eagerly. “You have one. So do I get one as well?”

Sasha throws her head back and laughs. “Savage little thing, aren’t you?”

My phone lights up with an incoming text, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my smile at bay.

Rocco: I don’t know how long this is going to take.

Me: Take your time, mi rey. I’ll be waiting for you.

Rocco: I’m your king?

Me: Well, it’s your last name, isn’t it?

Took him long enough to work that one out. I know he probably used an online translator rather than just ask Cain or any of the others that speak Spanish around here. That’s Rocco, stubborn, proud, and so mine.

Rocco: I want you to say it again while I’m fucking you. Hard.

My breath hitches as I read the message.

Me: Hurry the fuck up then!

“What did Rocco want?” Alana asks with a knowing smirk, and I flip her off.

“None of your business,” I grin as I pick up my cigarettes and get off of the couch. “I’m going out for a cigarette.”

Technically, I can smoke inside if I want to. But I like the fresh air, and I don’t really want to accidentally blow smoke into Rose’s face.

As I lean against the wall outside, I can’t stop thinking about the girl. Rose. She’s the epitome of strength. She isn’t cowering, crying, or anything like that. Instead, she seems to have moved on. I don’t know whether to applaud it or dread it, since I know better than most that trauma isn’t something you can just shirk off.

Now that I’ve seen Rocco in action, I want to be part of what they do. I want to punish the guilty and help the innocent. While it sounds like the slogan of do-gooders united, that’s not what it’s about.

I want to do my part to ensure people like Rose, like Julietta, and, yes, like me, can have a normal childhood—whatever that is. But mostly, I want to feel the rush from yesterday, again. The exhilaration of punishing those men was all-consuming, addictive even.

My phone rings, and I smile as I accept the call without checking the number.

“Rocco,” I breathe. “Are you already done?”

The voice that greets me isn’t who I expected. “Cara Rodríguez?”

I frown and look at the caller ID. Unknown number.

“Yes, that’s me,” I say hesitantly after putting the phone back to my ear.

“Listen up, cunt,” the voice barks, and my back becomes ramrod straight. “You took someone that belongs to us, so we took someone who belongs to you.”

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