Page 36 of Pretty Little Threats

Not when she’s in pain. Not when she clearly needs someone to take care of her.

My fingers grip her hips and I hoist her up. Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood, but the bite of pain is a steady reminder that she’ll be okay. I carry her over the broken glass and place her on the counter next to the sink. One strap of her flimsy tank top is torn, exposing a pink bra and a mound of curved flesh.

I force myself to look away and fill a glass of water, handing it to her to sip on while I fix the damage she’s done. She’s quiet as I step back and crouch, inspecting the underside of her foot. Several pieces of glass are stuck in her delicate skin.

Rose doesn’t say a word when I clasp my hand around her heel.

The silence unsettles me more than the hatred she so easily spews. Usually, she’s her daddy’s perfect little puppet, but this Rose is new to me. As if Eric’s attempted rape blasted through the walls she always keeps up and left her wide open. My gaze lifts to meet hers, and there’s not a hint of apprehension or the hatred from before.

Rose doesn’t know it yet, but she’s given me everything I need to take her little game and make it a reality. She begged me to be her husband, and even though she doesn’t need my help anymore, that’s what she’s going to get, because I’ll be damned if another man has her.

Her breath catches when I yank out the largest shard.

I arch an eyebrow and wait for the worst of her pain to subside. “Again?”

She grips the counter, narrows her eyes, and nods. There’s that fierce determination I hate and admire all at the same time.

Piece by piece, I remove the glass, ignoring how much of her blood coats my gloves, and Rose watches my every movement, as if mesmerized. Does she realize how many emotions she’s showing or just how much I like having her rapt attention on me?

The tiniest sliver gives me trouble. Rose’s hiss of pain is harsher. Seems the princess is beyond pretending like it doesn’t hurt. Frowning, I stand and look around her kitchen. “Where are your washcloths?”

“There.” She points to the right.

I grab one and wet it. Some unknown desire has me gingerly wiping the blood from her skin. Although most of the bleeding has stopped, I keep pressure on the rest of her foot as I inspect the pad. The glass is too deep in her skin. I’ll need tweezers. Our eyes meet, and understanding flashes across her face.

“My purse,” she says, tipping her head toward the stairs.

Reason says to leave it, but the possessive beast inside of me rears its head. When Joseph announced that she was being married off and Rose clearly panicked, searching for a way out, I didn’t see my enemy. I saw a woman trappedwithin the bounds of a box put around her, the puppet finally thinking for itself but unable to cut the strings.

But she tried. She came to me for a way out. She begged me to marry her. I wanted to play with her before, but now that I know she truly is another one of Joseph’s victims, I can’t—won’t—leave her alone.

I’ll get every last shard of glass out of her foot, and then Rosewillbe my wife.

twelve

ROSE

Dare studiesthe stairs and I study him. His profile could inspire artists. Every part of him could have been carved from marble. Hard, perfectly smooth, beautiful. Suspicion fills his gaze when he glances back at me. It’s unlike the way he watched me before, like he knew exactly who I was at the center of my being. Now he looks at me like I’m a wild animal that might escape.

If he thinks I have nefarious plans for him, he has no idea how exhausted I am. The adrenaline is slowly seeping out of me, and it’s a miracle I’m still sitting upright.

“I’m not going to move,” I tell him.

He lifts his scarred eyebrow as if to sayyeah, right.Something about him staring up at me makes my stomach flutter. He kneeled at my feet to carefully clean the blood off them, and I can’t help wondering if this is the only time I’ll see him in this position. His attention strays to the knife he wrapped in a towel and set on the counter.

The murder weapon.

His leverage.

“Scared, beast?” He’s the one who helped me kill Eric. Why would he be afraid of little old me?

Eyes narrowing, he shakes his head. “No.”

It’s my turn to lift an eyebrow. “Then, go get the tweezers.”

“Are you always so demanding?”

“Are you always so annoying?” I fire back, losing myself in the familiar banter in favor of falling apart.

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