Page 44 of My Rose

“How—I don’t understand…it’s just a business…”

“It’s a multi-billion dollar business,” he corrected like that justified beating your son. Your own child. “Sometimes a deal doesn’talways go to plan. Aside from learning the ins and outs of managing the business, my father has been preparing me to be…well, to be able to close the necessary deals to sustain it. With whatever persuasion or force is needed.”

His knuckles grazed my jaw, the rough texture making me weak as I nuzzled into them. I didn’t want to imagine just how far those deals made him go, what lengths he and his father went to in order to secure deals to make money.

I swear to god, if someone hurt you, I’ll murder them.

The threat suddenly jumped into overdrive in my mind. As if he could sense what I was thinking, his face softened. “I’ve hurt people, Rose. I won’t try to lie to you and tell you I haven’t.”

“Have you…” I couldn’t even get the thought out. But he seemed to know where I was going with it.

“I’ve never killed anyone if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

My first thought went to what he’d told me in the park—‘You’re a fighter.’ I’d pushed through fire to survive, and in his own way, he did the same thing. He didn’t seem to want the life he had, but he still pushed through.

“I believe you.” I pressed my lips to his chest. “Thank you for telling me.” I wanted to ask a million more questions, but I could tell he had expended himself and probably hadn’t been prepared to. Between the injury and the secrets he just laid bare to me, it was a lot to take in for the both of us.

His hand cradled the base of my neck as his lips brushed over my forehead. “Do you still want me?” His voice cracked, and I felt my chest do the same thing. I wasn’t in love with him, but a big part ofme ached for what he’d been through. What I could only imagine his life was like. Some people were born evil and only ended up getting worse as time marched on. Briggs, I knew without a shred of doubt, wasn’t whatever evil he thought he was.

“Yes,” I breathed out. “I still do.”

His head shook against mine. “I don’t deserve you, Rose.” His lips moved to my hair, his fingers wrapping delicately around the strands at the base of my skull. “Stay with me tonight. Even if I sleep on the floor, I want you here, with me.”

My finger drew lazy, idle circles on his chest. “I don’t know, Briggs. Are you telling me you’ll give me your bed?” I looked over at the king-sized bed behind him. “You’re right—there’s not a lot of room in it for both of us,” I teased.

“Cute.” His laugh vibrated through my cheek. “The whole thing is yours if you want it to be, babe.”

My heart melted at the nickname, believing it was the first one I’d heard that didn’t make me cringe—one I never wanted to live without again.

Chapter 18

Briggs

“A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.” ? Ovid

Throughout dinner, Rose’s eyes kept trailing to every little detail that she could see of my estate from where we sat in the dining room. I never wanted her here—not this place. But now that she was here, I didn’t want her to leave. Not me, anyway.I’d asked her to stay with me tonight, knowing there was no possible way my father was going to show up. For once, it would be safe for her here, possibly more so knowing what August had put her through.

Who was to say he wouldn’t try to go to her house later after making himself more piss-drunk than he already was? If she wasn’t there to harass, he’d get the hint. And if he didn’t, I’d beat it into him.

She’s fucking mine.

Her eyes narrowed on a singular spot on the wall, her fork dropping to her plate.

I grinned and set my fork down, too. “You can look if you want.” I probably shouldn’t have let her in on as much as she was taking in, but it was euphoric watching her light up, like getting to know me was special to her.

She stood immediately and walked over to the framed photo. Beck and I were young kids, six years old, and missing a few teeth. We were standing with our parents in front of one of our lake-front vacation properties that my father hadn’t touched since that day, yet I still visited every year. Our bedrooms at the property were still boyish in furnishings—like a relic from our childhood that I wasn’t ready to erase. But I had recent plans to update the rest of the home, knowing Father would never set foot there again.

“You look cute here.” Beck and I were identical, yet she managed to point to the correct brother. I nodded and smiled at her. I was doing that a lot lately—smiling. It felt foreign at first, like trying to ride a bike after not touching one for years. I was starting to get the hang of it now, though.

“How’d you know that was me?”

“Your dimple. You have the same one here. And Beck doesn’t seem to have one at all.” I liked that she didn’t shy away from using his name. She knew grief but also knew what it was like to move past it. Her file did outline years of therapy, but I hadn’t been that lucky. It still hurts to say his name sometimes, as if razor blades were clawing through my throat.

I met her by the photo and wrapped my arms around her from behind. “You noticed my dimple?” It strained against my cheek as I pressed my lips into her neck. Her skin was so soft it was setting me on fire from the inside out. I promised to sleep on the floor earlier, but I didn’t know how firm she’d be on that. I hoped not at all. I wanted to keep her as close as possible, to feel her against me at all times.

“Mhm. It’s adorable.”

“Not many people have seen that dimple, you know. You may be the only one in years to bring it out.” She spun in my arms and brushed her fingers against my cheek.

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