Page 109 of Devil's Tulip

I don’t need him to complete the sentence to get what nightmarish scene they walked into that day. And although I’ve never met nor heard of the girl before, white-hot anger rushes through my veins on her behalf. She was just a grieving child, and those monsters tried to violate her in the worst way possible. I wish I had been there with a gun of my own?—

“We were all young, but that was our friend. And Rafael, who was usually the most level–headed amongst us, just…snapped. He took out his gun and started shooting.” Michael glances at me. “So we took out our guns as well and joined him. Wiped them all out.”

I let out a slow breath.Good. They fucking deserved it.

“We took Emilia to a hospital to get checked, and that was where Alfonso found us.”

My stomach twists. Oh, fuck. The man couldn't have been pleased about losing his men, but surely he understood they had to?—?

“Alfonso grabbed us all—Em included—and tortured us in his basement. Nearly killed us. And he made his son watch, tied to a chair, because this wasn’t just punishment. It was a lesson.”

“A lesson?”

“He wanted to make sure Rafael never disobeyed him again. Wanted to drill it into him that caring about people would only bring him pain.”

“Jesus. That’s—that’s not a father. That’s a fucking monster!” No wonder Rafael is the way he is.

“That’s why he got along so well with Bradley Hart.” Michael’s laugh is hollow, devoid of any humor, and I wince, wrapping my arms around him protectively. Bradley Hart—his father. Even though the man died long ago, and I never met him, I know he sure as hell wasn’t winning any father-of-the-year awards.

I make a mental note to ask Michael about him later.

“Alfonso wanted to draw out our deaths, so he locked us in that dark, cold basement and took Rafael upstairs, leaving us there to bleed out from our injuries.” He turns the inside of his elbow towards me and guides my fingers to the pit where a bright purple tulip bud unfurls prettily.

My lips part, brows furrowing as my fingers tug gently at the raised skin beneath the ink. “He—he pierced right over your vein?” I ask, horrified. “That bastard. That scum of the fucking earth. I swear to God, I’m going to find his grave and?—”

Michael covers my hand with his own, stilling my touch, and rests his brow against mine. “Easy tigress. He doesn’t have a grave. People he had wronged found his dead body and… well, let’s just say they tore him apart.”

A satisfied hum leaves me. “Good.” His lips tilt up in a small smile, and he leans forward to press a soft kiss on my lips. I let myself sink into it for a second before pulling back. “How the hell did you guys escape?”

“Well, unfortunately for Alfonso, his plans backfired. After making Rafael watch us suffer, he turned to his son, untied him, and beat him angrily. He shouldn’t have untied him.” Michael’s smile widens, wolfish now. “He expected him to be too weak to do anything after taking so many hits, but Rafael got up slowly, got his hand on a gun, and shot his father point-blank. He saved our lives.”

I’ve never been a fan of Rafael, and I doubt we’ll ever be friends, but hearing this, a little of my ice towards him thaws. Maybe I’ve judged him too harshly.

“After that, we left town,” Michael continues. “Went to Manhattan where we tried to survive by any means—stealing, petty crimes. Emilia did some waitressing. We all crammed into this shitty little studio apartment in lower Manhattan and just… figured it out.”

“How long?” I murmur.

“A year.”

He pauses.

I wait.

When he doesn’t say more, I nudge. “And then? After the first year?”

More importantly,where is Emilia now? The trauma they survived together forged an unbreakable bond between the guys. Surely it connected them to her just as deeply. So where the hell is she?Did she somehow… die?My heart clenches at the thought.God, I hope not.

Michael runs a hand through my hair, sighing. “After that first year, to celebrate coming out of it all alive, we decided to get a tattoo over our scars, wanting a similar design in solidarityand a way to declare our loyalty and commitment to each other. Emilia suggested we get flowers. Something pretty to cover up the ugly, and we agreed—though I made it very clear I wasn’t getting some pansy-ass flower like roses tattooed on my body.”

I laugh, because I can practically hear him saying that in my head.

“The other guys agreed with me, so we each did our research on what flower we’d proudly wear on our bodies. I was going to go for foxgloves, but I kept getting drawn back to tulips.” He looks at me, something softer in his gaze now. “Guess the universe was preparing me for you.”

I like that, so I kiss his chin to let him know that. “I’m glad. Even though you didn’t choose it with me in mind, it still feels like a part of me is on you.” Unable to resist, I take a gentle nibble at his jaw. “What happened after you got your tattoos?”

“Well, that same evening, Emilia disappeared—left a vague goodbye letter and was just… gone. Rafael wasn’t the same after that, and a few weeks later, he left as well. My father died around that time, and I inherited his money, so I used it to send myself to school and got out. We all lost touch after that.

His voice drops slightly. “But five years later, Rafael showed back up in the city and sent me a message. No matter how long had passed, he was still my brother, so I went to meet him—only to find Maximo and Romero there as well. It was like no time had passed.”

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