Page 95 of My Rose

I leaned forward and turned the music off. “We can talk about it now.”

Briggs pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand staying on the wheel as his eyes slid over to me. “No matter what I say, you’re coming home with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a command. I squeezed my thighs together to fight against what that was doing to my body. “I’ll still love you no matter what you say, so you might as well just tell me.”

He couldn’t seem to fight the smile that made its way through whatever he was processing in his head. He reached back over for my hand, holding it tightly. “Our business dealings don’t always end in the best of ways. Sometimes, people are sent somewhere to be dealt with—usually with blackmail, beatings, and threats. Things like that.” He said it so casually that it sent a chill down my spine. I squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. “Other times, when that isn’t enough, we have to call them in.”

“Who—”

“A man whose life turned to shit, and now he makes a killing well…killing.”

My mouth turned dry. “So, who handles the people who aren’t meant to die?”

He released my hand and pressed the door lock, then the windows. As he reached back over for my hand, I let him have it, taking his actions as his answer.

“What did you do to them?”

He chuckled lightly, almost like he couldn’t believe my question. “What was necessary.”

“Was it? Is any of it worth all the money VanAndrews is worth?”

“Rose.” His tone was cold, like the snow that continued to fall on the road. “VanAndrews is worth billions.Iam worth billions.”

“You are priceless.” I pulled my hand from him again. “But that doesn’t excuse you for making the decisions you made.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But the people who ended up in front of me were vile. Not one of them had a clean slate. Think about my father being in that chair, for instance, knowing what you know now. Those are the kinds of people I deal with. Rapists, murderers, sex offenders, abusers. They may have been put in front of me to be dealt with on the business end—sour deals, missed payments, shoddy practices—ironically as that is—but that wasn’t going to motivate me to do what I was told to do.”

I could sympathize with being forced, but—“A chair? You have a fucking chair?”

“I do,” he replied calmly. “So, what would you do? Would you just let my father sit there and do nothing to him? Would you let someone who hits their wife or sells children on the black market just sit there? Or would you do something about it?”

“I wouldn’t put them in a chair to begin with.” Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. If I had the chance to slap his father across the face, scream at him, or make him feel some of the pain I did that night when he took my parents’ lives, I knew I would take it. And I was willing to bet Briggs knew right away that I wasn’t being truthful. “Every single person you touched was bad?” I asked faintly.

“Every single one of them.”

“And you’ve never killed anyone? Never shot that gun of yours?” The one I knew, without having to ask, was somewhere in this car.

His palm slid over my thigh. “I never said that second one.”

“Who the hell did you shoot and not kill?”

His forearm flexed. “Most of them.”

“You shot them in a chair. You tortured people.”

“Yes.” He sighed as my stomach began to knot, picturing him in that situation, knowing he turned it into something that meant more to him than I wanted to think about. No one tortured and didn’t have a drive to do so. It just…didn’t seem possible. “That was the only way I made it bearable. I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be in this fucking role to begin with. It was always supposed to be Beckett. He would have done what was needed without question, and I was…I don’t know what he had planned for me before Beck died. But the life I wanted with you wasn’t within my reach. It wasn’t even something I thought was possible.” His fingers tightened around my thigh. “I used to feel pain, Rose, physical fucking pain just looking at you. Being near you that night at the theater was more torture than I’d felt in years. And now that you’re here, that youlove me? I just never pictured I’d get here.” His voice dropped, barely audible over the music. “I thought I’d die before I saw the day you wanted anything to do with me. With the person I’d become.”

My stomach dropped. He’d been crafted into someone he never wanted to be. Molded to fit into a twisted form and forced to live a life he hated. I’d gone through my trauma and came out the other end, but Briggs never had that opportunity. I wondered what his life would be like if he had that chance, if maybe his mother had takenboth her sons away when she chose to leave, or if Beckett had never died.

“Don’t feel bad for me. I can see you do. Don’t cry, baby.”

I wiped a stray tear. “I’m not crying.”

He groaned. “Not only are you the worst liar, but we’re almost at your grandparents’ house, and if they see that I made you cry—”

“You didn’t make me cry, Briggs. Not like that.”

“They won’t see it that way.”

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