Page 16 of Black Roses

“Piper, I know it’s you. Please, stop and talk to me.”

I don’t stop walking, but I turn my head so he will hear me loud and clear. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Mr. Tate.”

He grabs my arm and I stiffen, being pulled into one of my nightmares. “Piper, I just want to know if she’s okay. Please, if you won’t tell me where she is, at least let me know if she’s alive and well.”

Boldly, and nothing like what I do in the majority of my dreams, I rip my arm away from him. “Are you kidding me? You really have the balls to ask me if she’s okay? Maybe if you would have cared enough to find that out ten years ago, shewouldbe okay.”

He gasps, tears welling up in his eyes. Tears that have no right falling onto his bastardly cheeks. I shake my head at him and try to walk away again. He forcefully grabs my shoulders, restraining me. “Is she dead? Oh, my God, what did I do?”

Large hands rip Mr. Tate’s arms off me, shoving him back against the brick wall of a building which I’m sure will result in a bruise down the bastard’s back. “Is there a problem here?” Mason asks me, his raging eyes burning into Tate’s.

I blow out a relieved breath. “No, no problem. He was just leaving.” I walk in the opposite direction, back towards the gym where I feel safe. Then I stop, letting Tate’s words of regret get to me. I curse myself for what I’m about to do. I’m about to put his mind at ease. Something he’s not entitled to, but I do it anyway. I turn briefly. “The answer is no, she’s not dead.”

I slip into the gym before I can hear another word of his pleading. I’m quite sure Mason won’t let him follow me in here. Even Tate isn’t stupid enough to take on a professional football player. Plus, he’s twice his age. He looks old. Very old. As if the burden of what he did has aged him beyond his years. Good, he deserves that. He deserves that and more.

My bag slides off my shoulder as I hunch over, my hands meeting my knees as if I’d just been kicked in the gut. “What is it about men that make them think they can either abandon you or hurt you?” I ask no one.

“Did that asshole hurt you? Who was he?”

I close my eyes at Mason’s voice. In my panic, I didn’t realize he was standing next to me.

My silence fuels his anger. “He did. Fuck, I’m going to kill him,” he says, walking back towards the door.

“No!” I shout, stopping him. “It’s not like that, leave him be.”

He walks back over and his massive hand cups my chin, gently raising my head until our eyes meet. “Piper, are you okay?”

I bob my head in an awkward nod and take some deep, calming breaths. Then I pick up my bag with trembling hands and sling it over my shoulder. “I need to go.”

He takes my bag from me with little effort. “You’re not in any condition to go anywhere, Princess.” He takes my elbow and leads me towards the café in the gym. “And I’m not convinced you’ll be okay if you do. What you need is to sit down and get a cup of coffee and a bite to eat.”

“Would you quit calling me Princess? Why the hell do you even do that anyway? And what makes you think you know what I need?” I pout at him, stopping our progress.

“I know exactly what you need because I’m well aware that you just had a grueling workout and you’re weak and exhausted because of it. I’m aware that you followed said workout with what looked like a very stressful encounter with that asshole. I’m aware that you’re stubborn as hell and won’t listen to a goddamn word anyone says to you despite the truthfulness of it. And I call you Princess because that’s exactly what you are, traveling around the world on Daddy’s dime without a fucking care of how it affects others.”

I realize that while he was talking, he guided me into the café and we are standing next to a booth in the back. He shoves me down into it. “Now what the hell can I get to feed you,Piper?”

“Ugh!” I try to leave but he has me cornered in the booth. I’m acutely aware, however, that I’m not panicking. On the contrary, I’m confused by just how safe I feel with him towering over me. “I do not travel around the world on Daddy’s dime,” I lie. “I have a college fund and this is the way I choose to spend it.”

“Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe,” he says, while simultaneously texting on his phone. “It all comes from the same place. I hear about where you’ve been traveling. I know what things cost. Your college fund ran out long ago, Princess. Unless, of course, your parents were expecting you to go to Harvard Med.”

My jaw drops at his temerity. I’m in no mood to fight with him, especially since he’s right. So I cross my arms and rest my head back against the booth. It does feel good to sit down. But I’m not about to tell him that.

Two minutes later, someone arrives with coffees and a couple sandwiches. I smirk at them sitting on the table when I realize he must have texted the order. “You holding me captive?” I wince at the words after they come out of my mouth.

“No.” He slides in next to me, leaving a respectable distance between our thighs. “I’m simply insisting you eat to get your strength back so you can fight off predators on the street.”

I concede, reaching out for what looks like a turkey sub. “He’s not a predator.”

“Then who is he? I can’t let you leave if I think you’re in danger.” He sips his coffee and reaches for his sandwich. He looks at me hesitantly, warring with himself. Then his eyes change and a warm comforting wave washes over his face. I’ve seen this look before in my parents and my sisters. Concern. “I know something has happened to you. This man, does he have anything to do with it?”

I freeze upon hearing his words.He knows?How could he possibly? I contemplate my choices here. I just met Mason and I feel no obligation to tell him anything. I stare at him. He has this welcoming look about him. He’s a huge guy, but he seems like a gentle giant. His icy-blue eyes beg me for answers.

“You’re not leaving until you tell me, Piper.”

Well, at least he didn’t call mePrincess. He holds my untouched coffee out to me. As I reach for it, my hand forcefully collides with his, sending the cup toppling over to the other side of the booth, the hot liquid narrowly missing both our hands.

“Damn. Sorry about that,” he says, thinking it’s his fault. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He runs his hand up and down my arm looking for damage. My instinct is to pull away. Every fiber in my body is screaming at me to retract my arm. Yet I let him check me out, my heart thundering in my chest while he does. I let him turn my arm over, inspecting it from fingertip to elbow, because something about his touch is different. Different than anything I’ve ever felt.

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