Page 134 of Roses Are Dead
“I’m not an egomaniac.” I wasn’t, was I? I listened to all their bullshit.
“When it comes to women, you sure the fuck are. You treat them like objects. I’m surprised it took her this long to wise up.”
I stared at the screen of my phone trying to figure out where this was coming from. Skinner droned on about me ordering Rose around. Using Carl’s bargain as a reason to force her to stay. Then went as far as saying I deserved to have my ass dumped.
“Go to hell,” I told him during a strategic break in his rant.
“Seeing as you’re there right now, I don’t think there’s room. Go find that woman and apologize.”
I didn’t have time for this. I hung up on his dumb ass and dialed Wolf because like it or not, I was running late.
“Where the fuck are you?”
Not him, too. “Covering the club’s ass. We left shit at Carl’s. And we sure as hell don’t need it here anymore.”
“And why’s that?” His tone was measured, almost accusatory.
I wasn’t going to tell him Rose left me. “A bunch of bullshit. I’ll be there for the meeting as soon as I can. And tell Sprout that Danielle better keep her pregnant ass off the back deck until I find Carl.” And murder his sorry ass.
“Where’s Rose?”
Fucker. I was beginning to hate the fact Jackson picked Wolf as his successor. He knew me too damn well. But I knew my place, even if I never got rewarded for it. “With him,” I begrudgingly admitted.
“Ah.”
“Ah, nothing. I’ll be there as soon as I get this shit secured. Then you all can do that damn vote.”
“Don’t bother.” He hung up on me.
On me.
They fucking needed me. Wolf needed me.
No one needs me.
“Not now, Rose.”
If I don’t go back, someone else will die.
I placed a finger on the very last hash mark. “Yeah. You. And you left me anyway.”
It hurt. Maybe Skinner was right. I was the bad guy here.
She's property. Carl’s voice echoed in my head. With it, I remembered the evil glint in his eye when he spoke those words.
Property.
You treat women like objects.
Carl only loves himself.
I was a fucking idiot. That’s what I missed in all this. Carl wasn’t in love with Rose like I thought he was. He considered her property. Something he could loan out and take back at will. Someone who he needed to “break” in order to be perfect. As if Rose didn’t have a will of her own, and was for sale. And he was such an…egomaniac—gods Skinner, get out of my head—he thought he could dictate the where and the when of all of it. I dialed John.
“What’s the address of that land Rose sold?”
“What are you talking about?” His kids were loud in the background.
“The farm that the church wanted. You said they started to build a church on that land.”
