Page 33 of Their Dark Rose

No more of Mason’s stern gazes that fuel my darkest fantasies. No more getting turned on when Falk scolds me over nothing. No more laughing secretly on the off days when Finn mocks one of his brothers.

Despite their threats, breaking free should be easy.

I can enroll in high school and graduate this year or the next, doesn’t matter. College will come next. Where? Anywhere I set my mind to. My grades are high. My life story is definitely an interesting one for a college essay.

A million possibilities lie ahead of me.

I’d free myself of the proverbial shackles chaining me to this house.

The money I’ll have will be enough to carry me away from the sad memories of this place.

To sever the ties between me and the only men I’ve ever loved.

Sigh. I don’t want this to be over. Truthfully, I never have.

As horrible as they are, as intimidating as they are…I’ll fight for them.

I will.

I groan again as another message lights up my phone.

Mallie: Come over to my house this Sunday morning. I’ll bake a cake and the three of us can celebrate you.

The three of us. She means her, me, and her stepson, Thorn.

Yuck.

I felt sorry for him as a kid. His mother died in childbirth. His dad—who married Aunt Mallie a year later—didn’t wake up one day. His heart failed for no apparent reason whatsoever, leaving the baby under Mallie’s care.

I tried liking Thorn before he groped me. I did my best to play with him when Mallie dropped by.

Sadly, we never clicked. He’d bash the toys my godfathers gifted me on the floor when no one was watching. And I couldn’t get past the fact that the little shithead had it in him to destroy my stuff.

Mom didn’t believe me when one day I broke down and cried. Dad just scoffed and mashed a hundred-dollar bill to my soaked cheek.

The Abbot brothers showed up one day after Thorn smashed one of my porcelain dolls right in the center of the living room. I sat next to my beloved doll, scowling at my step-cousin who was watching TV with Mallie at his side. My parents dozed off.

No one cared about me. No one believed me either, which was why I didn’t tattle to my godfathers. Didn’t shed a tear at what Thorn had done to me.

When the three of them took turns asking what happened to my then-broken porcelain doll, I blamed it on the wind.

My godfathers didn’t say a word. But they were skeptical. They hadn’t left me alone with my step-cousin after that. I didn’t understand why.

Until I did. Until the worst of the worst happened.

That one day Thorn wasn’t after breaking my toys. He was after breaking me.

As much as Falk pisses me off, I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that day. For saving me when my parents wouldn’t or couldn’t.

When I was seven and Thorn was twelve, I was alone in the room with Thorn. He grabbed the hem of my skirt, his blue eyes gleaming as if he caught a spider under a glass.

“You’re not as pretty as Mom, but you’ll do, Rosie,” he growled a second before Falk walked in to check on us.

My raging godfather stormed in and gripped Thorn by the collar of his polo shirt. In one swift move, he threw him out the door and onto his ass.

My jaw dropped, and my heart fluttered.

I remember standing in the hallway, listening to Falk shouting about Thorn touching me there.

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