Page 25 of Their Dark Rose

This could be my chance. Besides, baring myself physically beats exposing myself emotionally any day.

All I have to do is reach out. Press my hand between his thighs.

We’ll be explosive together. We’ll be—

“Briar Rose.” He parts his lips softly, but his gaze drills into me. “There’s no getting out of this. Hand. It. Over.”

Hand my heart over to him? No.

My poem stays where it’s safe. Where Falk’s eyes won’t violate it. Where I can stop reading it at any given moment.

With me.

“I’ll read it to you.”

Falk places one of his elbows on my desk, resting his chin on his fingers. “And why exactly can’t I have it?”

Finally, a question I’m able to answer truthfully. “I don’t want you to hold it. It’s mine.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, princess.” The distance between us is minimal, yet his presence is everywhere. His voice claws into my heart, his woodsy cologne weaves itself into my flesh. “This poem belongs to me. You belong to us, or haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Not forever,” I retort, picking the paper up from behind me and clutching it in my fist.

“Until you graduate and are ready to face the world, you are ours.” He covers my balled hand with his much larger one. “In case you didn’t get what we were telling you downstairs, your opinion doesn’t matter. There’s no running away from us. Birthday or not. We own you, Briar Rose, unless we say otherwise.”

For a second there, I forget how to breathe. I’ve been so certain they pity me. Took me in, so Aunt Mallie and her molesting stepson couldn’t have me.

They’ve been hating me for ages, so why?

“I won’t leave my company to you. If that’s what you’re after, you can forget about it.”

The second the words are out, I want to swallow them back in. These men haven’t, not once, expressed some sort of interest in my company or money.

Finn’s taking me to our lawyers tomorrow to sign Nightingale Construction over to me.

Plus, they don’t need anything I have. The Abbots are wealthy on their own.

But with Falk, you can’t show weakness.

It’s not like he lets the words hang in the air for too long, anyway.

He lashes at me.

“So immature.” Falk’s hand finds my neck, choking me harder than he had this morning. More intentionally. “You can do better than this, brat. You know better than that.”

I gasp.

“If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have come near Nightingale Construction. Other than burning it down, that is. The three of us would’ve decimated your family’s company, with pleasure.” He edges closer, and I hate how every part of me begs him to kiss me. “And I, personally, wouldn’t have stopped there. The penthouse. The cars. Any remnant of them would’ve been gone.”

“Why?” I blink at him.

The answer is obvious, but it’s not what I’m looking for. Falk is finally talking to me. Actually talking. I’ll keep pushing him until his vein pops, for all I care.

“Your filthy dad’s name hangs on the door,” Falk seethes, except, for the first time in forever, his expression is bare of hate.

I could cry from happiness. Except I’m way too aroused for tears.

“The email signatures, the signs at the motherfucking front. They’ll finally be yours, and I won’t have to go near that shithole.” Fire and intention slam from Falk to me. “The day you graduate and have the keys to your kingdom will be the happiest day of my life.”

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