Page 24 of Roses in Summer

“Is that howBabciamakes hernalesniki?” I ask, referencing my grandmother’s simple crepe recipe.

My mother’s voice is a hum, and I know she’s going to confirm my words before she speaks. “Tak. And how was your date the other night? Gina, Gianna? What was her name?”

I snort at her feigned ignorance. After Seraphina went back to Mitch the Dick, I gave in to Gemma’s advances, taking her on the date meant for Seraphina out of spite. We’ve gone out a few times since, but it’s casual. “It’s Gemma, and it was fine. It’s nothing serious, and I doubt I’ll take her out again. Alright, and what does she put in the farmer’s cheese? Does it need sugar, or do I keep it plain?” I’m writing everything down, preparing for the practical I have for my international foods class next week.

My mom starts to respond, but my focus snags on Ava, who comes storming into the kitchen like a fire is at her heels.

“Mom,” I cut her off, watching as Ava’s face twists into an ugly sneer. “I need to go. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

Lowering my phone, I’m about to ask Ava what’s wrong when she starts yelling into her phone. “I will filet that motherfucker like a seabass and offer his carcass to the god of retribution.” She pauses, listening to the speaker on the other end. “No, I will not calm down, Rafael. Don’t you try to reason with me. I don’t give a shit; I am going to find that little troll and tar and feather him before I stick him in a medieval torture device.” She stops again, her brother no doubt trying to pacify her. Greyson walks into the kitchen and leans against the countertop, crossing his arms as he listens to his girlfriend and her murderous intent.

Looking over at him, I raise a brow, tilting my head in Ava’s direction. “Everything good with her?”

“Sera and Mitch broke up. Shit went down.”

I tense at his words. “What kind of shit? What the fuck did he do?”

“He—”

“I can’t fucking talk to you when you’re trying to be sensible, Rafe. It’s annoying. Here, speak to Greyson,” she yells, shoving the phone at her boyfriend before flying to the coffee machine.

“Hey.” Grey lowers his voice, turning from me and Ava to give himself privacy.

“What the fuck happened?” My voice sounds like a growl, and I can’t be bothered to curtail the dueling anger and anxiety pumping through me. I knew—I fucking knew—that Mitch was a shady motherfucker, and Ava’s reaction tells me that my instincts were correct.

“‘What happened?’” Ava mocks. “I’ll fucking tell you what happened. That limp-dicked, soulless asshole, Mitchell ‘Dick for Brains’ Abernathy, is going to lose his goddamn balls.”

“Okay, killer, let’s take a breather,” Grey soothes, coming up behind Ava and pulling her into his body.

“But what he did to Sera, I—” she chokes out, a sob cutting off her words. “How could he do that to anyone, let alone Sera? She’s so good, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Vixen, baby, I know. And he’ll get what’s coming to him; karma always finds a way. But you need to be there for your sister.”

“I’d rather be there to dismember him,” she mutters under her breath. Grey laughs at her anger, her hostility toward the guy who was supposed to protect her sister but seemingly fucked with her. Me? I’m seeing red.

“Is Seraphina safe?” I grind out, not sure how I’m going to react if Ava tells me she’s harmed or in danger.

“Physically? Yes.” She blows her bangs from her eyes. “But mentally and spiritually? Absolutely not. My parents brought her to the police station, but Rafe won’t give me much more information. All I know is Mitch hit her at a party, and she ended up in the hospital. Rafe won’t tell me any more over the phone.”

“What the fuck?” I nearly scream, my chest caving in at the thought of Mitch’s hands on her. Clenching my jaw, I think of all the ways I can dismember the prick with one of my chef’s knives, how each nick to his skin would be a form of retribution. “She’s at the station? You’re sure?”

I wouldn’t put it past her to sweep it away and hide her pain to avoid hurting someone else. She’s a bleeding heart, Seraphina Rose, and too fucking pure.

“Yes,” Ava tosses out, turning back to her phone as she stabs out a message. If this were any other day, any other situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to tease her about her aggression, to give Grey shit for his girlfriend’s temper. But there’s no humor in me right now. Notebook and pen forgotten, I lift my phone and scroll to a contact I haven’t used in six months.

Lincoln: Ciern, call me.

—

It’s been four hours, and there’s still no response from Seraphina Rose.

“Fuck it,” I mutter just before I click on her contact icon and tap on her number. The chime of bells is instant, as is the automated message that tells me whatever happened, I’m too late.

“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

What the fuck?

II

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