Page 106 of Roses in Summer

“He comes near you, I’ll kill him.”

“Stop saying that,” she huffs out. “No one is killing anyone. I told my parents about Mitch approaching me outside of the library, and they know about Chris. They contacted the police and is making sure that my restraining order is still active and doesn’t have to be refiled. But I know, Lincoln, Iknowthat the best thing to do when you see him is walk away. Even if you want to punch him in the face and throw something at him, it is not worth it.”

“It would be worth it.”

She shakes her head, immediately disagreeing with me. “No. Because if you instigate a confrontation or attack him, you’re the one who will be at fault, not him. He’s the one who will press charges. He’s a manipulative, conniving son of a bitch, and while he may have slipped up once, he won’t make that mistake again, at least not where there are witnesses.”

“He came to your job and threatened you, Seraphina. He approached you when he damn well knows he can’t, and he made you feel unsafe four and a half fucking years after everything went down. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re safe. You’re not. He wouldn’t have showed up here unless he wanted something from you or to do something to you.”

“We need to let the police and lawyers handle it, Lincoln.”

Sitting up, I reach toward her and pull her until she’s toppling over into my arms and lying on her side next to me. “I’m not a vigilante. I’m not going to go out of my way to fuck him up. But I’m not going to sit idly by if he tries to hurt you. You can’t ask that of me.”

She burrows into me, looking down as she replies, “It scares me. After all this time, once my life finally is my own again, he comes back. Why?”

“Because he’s a fucking bastard, ciern. That’s why.” I pull her closer, hoping that whatever strength I possess bleeds into her in sleep.

—

Seraphina:

Banging outside of my room wakes me, jolting me against Lincoln’s body and forcing him to shift. We’re on top of the comforter, lying in the same position we must have fallen asleep in over four hours ago. I turn my head toward the door, and a pain in my neck stops me.

Reaching up, I finger the towel secured to my head and cringe at the knowledge that I fell asleep with the heavy microfiber towel on top of my head. Uncurling myself from Lincoln’s body, I reach up and unlatch the cloth, pulling it off and letting my damp hair hang in limp waves down my back.

The sounds from the kitchen continue, and I let my nosiness lead me toward my bedroom door. Opening it slowly, I slip out of the room and tiptoe down the hallway to see Bianca in the kitchen, a bowl of pasta in front of her.

“Hey,” I whisper, causing Bianca to jump in her seat.

“Holy shit, you move like a ninja. I didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry, I heard the banging out here and wanted to come and check it out. How was your night?”

Bianca shrugs, stabbing at her pasta with her fork. “Fine, I guess. Is Linc here?”

I nod, surveying her as she eats.

“He can stay. You know, I forget he’s a chef sometimes because he’s so fucking hot.”

“B,” I groan, not at all liking how Bianca’s speaking about Lincoln.

“Sorry, sorry. I know that’s your man, but still. It’s a good perk.” Her words are sarcastic, her typical mode of communication, but something about her voice is off.

“B, what’s going on?”

She releases a long, dramatic sigh. “What do you do when your life goes to shit, and you have no one to blame but yourself?”

“Go to church?”

“I don’t feel much like making a confession.”

“Maybe not to a priest, but what about to your sister? What’s really going on, B?”

She plays with the pasta, twirling it around on the tines of her fork before reversing, causing it to unravel. “I went to a psychic last week—and before you say anything, she was a good one, a real one, not one of the ‘boardwalk psychics’ like you accuse me of using.”

“Okay…” I hedge, sensing that whatever she’s about to say is important.

“She told me danger was coming, specifically for me.” She pauses, shaking her head before continuing, “She died yesterday, she and a client. Maybe you saw it on the news. They were murdered in the same room I sat with her last week, the client in the same chair.”

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