Page 4 of My Rose

She shrugged her shoulders, then flicked her gaze down the alley before taking another look at my car and then me. The light that hung at the end of the alley dimmed, then flickered, as if the universe were signaling to me or her in Morse code the same message—Run.

I made a show of checking my watch again, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. As if she could understand what the universe was undoubtedly telling us both, she took another step back. “Alright, well thanks for the offer. But maybe I should just walk.” Then she turned and started walking back towards the theater.

Fuck.I didn’t bother putting the door back down before I flipped the gear into reverse, cutting the wheel when the curb came near. “It isn’t safe to walk home alone at night. Didn’t your parents ever tell you that?” It was a low jab—bringing up her dead parents.

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her dark brown hair whipping in the wind as she moved. “They did not.” She continued, and I rolled the car slowly back as she moved. Some asshole honked his horn at me as I drove the wrong way along the narrow street and I drew in a deep breath. A part of me wanted to make a note of the plate as he drove on, but I had other things to focus on than petty retribution.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay? You are safe with me, but you can’t say the same about taking your chances and walking alone. You can’t live that far, right?” She lived exactly nine minutes by car from the small strip we calleddowntownin Shuster Springs.

“Don’t all guys who try to kidnap girls like me say they are safe with them?” I grinned. Actually fucking grinned. The way she was biting back shouldn’t have made me intrigued, but it did. Some sick part of me liked the game we were playing, liked the way her tongue was so ready to bite back at whatever I said. No one had the balls to talk back to me like that, much less act on it. But Rose did.

“They probably do. But do guys who kidnap girls like you put their car on show in front of the theater they both just saw a movie in, together I might add, as they’re trying to kidnap them?” A line of people turned toward us, their prying eyes widening at either my car or the conversation we were having.

I stopped rolling the car back the moment she froze and turned to face me. “Fine.” In one swift movement, she hiked her bag up over her shoulder and slid into the passenger seat. I waited ten whole seconds before I pressed the button to close the door, giving her time to change her mind—though, honestly, I could debate her walking home alone all night. How I ever thought I’d be able to up and leave her right after the movie, I had no idea. Another car honked behind me and this time I rolled my window down just enough to flip them off.

“Classy,” Rose said, heavy on the sarcasm with the hint of a nervous laugh thrown in there. She buckled her seat belt, then looked around the interior as her palms rubbed over the tops of her knees.

“You can relax, you know.”

She mumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot likeif I had a nickel for every time I heard that, then she sighed and pushed her back into the seat and crossed her legs, which were on full display in the short dress she was wearing. She looked…soft. Too soft. “I live right off of Wilshire Street, in one of the cul-de-sacs. Do you know where that is?”

I nodded, then maneuvered the car in the direction I knew all too well toward her home. I expected questions to flood from her mouth, for that sharp tongue of hers to goad me on and point out every faux pas about my car, or me. Instead, she just sat silently and watched the trees or occasional Christmas lights and lingering Halloween decorations go by through the window, her phone no longer clutched in her hand or on her lap.

Her bag vibrated against the leather seat as we turned down Wilshire Street as if on cue. She flinched back subtly, but enough for me to notice her hesitation in reaching for what I assumed was a text from the one who abandoned her at the theater—August Coleman, one of the biggest pieces of shit I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.

“The next one is mine. It’s the green house with the porch light on at the end.”

I pulled into the empty driveway, acting like I didn’t know the entire floor plan of her house or that the two-car garage door in front of us concealed a 2007 gray minivan that belonged to her grandfather. “Thank you, again. You really saved my night, in more ways than one with the ride home, too. I guess I kind of owe you.”Her hand went into her purse, searching for her wallet like she'd done at the theater.

My teeth ground together at the thought that she had probably planned to pay for everything tonight. Add that to the list of reasons why August was a literal piece of shit. “You don’t owe me anything. Consider it me paying you back for your help on that history project years ago.” And just like that, I admitted too much.

She grinned, showing the smallest gap between her front two teeth before her lips sealed shut. “So you do remember me, then?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “Kind of.” I didn’t need her to think we could be friends now. The pain in my chest was already tightening having been around her for the nearly two hours we’d spent together tonight. I adjusted the flap of cloth that hung down from the place where I left my shirt unbuttoned, trying not to make eye contact. I didn’t have an anxious bone in my body, but thinking about Rose Fields always made my body react as if it were in pain. Being in her presence was damn near torturous—and unfortunately, I knew exactly what that felt like.

I tapped on the button, releasing the door to open up to her driveway. Rose’s hand slid into the space between my chest and the steering wheel and I pushed my back into my seat reflexively. “Sorry for biting your head off back there. Are we good?”

“Yeah. All good here.” I shook her outstretched hand like we did so cordially before. My back strained as she unbuckled her seat belt and left the car. I waited until I could hear the sounds of the two locks on her front door, then flipped my car into reverse the second she turned her porch light off.

I guess August wasn’t going to be welcomed over, for tonight at least, after the stunt he pulled. The idea made my lip curve up involuntarily. If feeling that torture meant he wasn’t getting near her tonight, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Chapter 3

Briggs

“The descent into Hell is easy.” ? Virgil

Headlights beamed into the black wrought iron gate, sharp spikes jutting towards the night sky above as I punched in the code that welcomed me to the dread of being home. Zero-one-zero-eight—the day my mother abandoned us all those years ago. The idea that my father venerated the day by making it the only way into our estate said enough about how resentfulhe was.

No one knew where she ran off to, but wherever she was, I hoped she never thought of this place. Of us. Escaping this hell was the only thing that kept me motivated. But that all died, along with my brother, so long ago.

The iron clanged open, and I drove forward until I reached the roundabout drive a half-mile in, passing the keys to the staff as they approached. I’d appreciate all the luxuries that came with our exorbitant wealth more if it were my company, my money, my hard-earned living. But knowing his hands and the blood of others wiped the walls of the estate was enough to make me never want to behomein the first place.

I wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to his business, either. The day after my brother—the one who was groomed to inherit the company, the fortune, the very lifestyle of being an Andrews—died, my father forced me to step into his shoes. Beck’s shoes were fucking unbearable the first year, but I’d grown used to it. By the age of sixteen, I’d learned how to beat a man, how to bend and break them in ways no boy should ever learn. I’d hurt people, made them bleed, and made them agree to whatever I demanded using as much force as I had to. By the time I was nineteen, I’d become so well-acquainted with taking down those who threatened our business that my father started leaving all of those matters to me. My choice in torture, my choice in getting the information or deals we needed. And I’d done it all for a man I couldn’t even tolerate being near—a man whose business thrived because of what happened behind closed doors.

The hallways of the estate were hollow and silent, much like how I tried to feel the moment I stepped through the threshold of my ownpersonal hell. Satan was away on business matters that didn’t involve me, making my shoulders ease as I passed through the double doors to my bedroom.

Yet, not even that could last.

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