Page 113 of Roses and Skulls

I look away from him, setting the blade down with shaky hands. Elijah stands and steps out. He reaches back and turns the water on, adjusting the temperature, then he undresses himself. I watch out the corner of my eye, but keep my gaze focused on the tile floor.

When he’s done, he reaches for me and helps me to stand. He pulls my shirt over my head and then helps me untangle my jeans from around my ankles. Gently, he guides me to the side of the tub and helps me in.

Instantly, I move to the shower head and let it run over me, entranced by the amount of blood swirling down the drain. Elijah turns me around and holds my head under the water, careful to keep my face from under the spray.

Gently, he brushes my hair away from my face. He gathers some shampoo in his hand and then begins to massage it into my scalp, never taking his eyes from mine. I want to look away. It hurts my soul to stare into his warm chocolate eyes after everything that has happened.

After he conditions my hair, he takes a washcloth and gently washes my face, and then his hands cautiously move down, roaming over my torso. His gaze holds mine hostage. “Who do you belong to?” he asks.

My eyes fall closed. He pulls my hair harshly, holding me still. I blink back water and tears.

“Who. Do. You. Belong. To?” he grates out.

“You,” I whisper.

He pushes my head down with one hand, the other tracing the fingertip bruises over my breasts. He pushes on them. “This doesn’t change that,” he says sternly. Then he pulls my hair again, forcing me to look him dead in the eye. “Do you understand?”

I try to nod but I can’t, his hold on me too tight.

“Don’t ever feel ashamed in my presence again. What you felt downstairs when you felt me enter the room, it ends right there. When we walk out of this shower you will fucking straighten that fucking crown. Your revenge awaits. There will be time to break down later. Do you understand?” His chest rises and falls, his nostrils flaring. Elijah is right. This is not the end.

He continues, “Dan has him. He’s here. You need to decide what happens next.”

“He’s here.” My body begins to tremble without permission.

Elijah caresses my cheek. “He’s here, baby. But he can’t hurt you. Never again will he hurt you.”

My eyes follow a water drop down Elijah’s shoulder as he goes back to washing me. His hands cautiously search my skin for wounds, only finding light bruises.

When he guides me back to my room, I sit down on the bed heavily. “I want him taken out to the forest,” I say, clearing my throat. He hands me a bottle of water that was sitting near the door. I take it and greedily start drinking.

He gently pulls it away. “Not all at once, baby. Take it slow.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He sits down beside me, handing the bottle back to me. “No apologies. From either of us. What happened was neither of our faults.”

“But…”

“But nothing.”

“Our new bartender, she, she brought me poppers and a drink. She must have been friends with Lanie. They drugged me.”

Elijah takes the water bottle from me. “Billie Rose, listen to me. There will be time to hash all this out but right now, I’m going to go tell them your wishes, okay. He will be tied up in the forest and then what, Rosie? Then what do you want us to do?”

“Us?”

“The club,” he says calmly. My eyes roam over the Viking tattoos on the side of his skull, a rose weaved around one of the symbols. I reach out and run my fingertip over his head, the slight stubble of hair scratches against my soft skin.

I think about my mom and William and what they’ve overcome in their lives. I can conquer this. I can. Tipping my head, I tell him what I really want, “I want it to be me.”

But I know I can’t face him as me. I have to become someone else. I have to become her.

He starts to shake his head. I grab his face in both of my hands. “Take him out to the forest and tie him up in a chair. I will be there soon.”

I walk over to my closet and pull out my leathers. Elijah sighs but walks out to fulfill my wish. As I’m doing my makeup my dad appears behind me in the mirror. “Do I have it right?” I ask.

His eyebrow rises. “No,” he smirks. He sits on the edge of my vanity and takes a makeup wipe out of the package. “She always left one eye unpainted.”

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