Page 37 of Bedding Rose
How does that feel, little boy? How does being forced by someone bigger and stronger feel?
Panic radiates from his eyes as his hands scratch at my thighs, as his face grows redder and redder. He looks like he might burst.
The tingling, tickling awareness that I usually only experience under the light of the moon at an empty construction site as I slice into an opponent’s skin surges through me. Only, this time, it’s amplified to the nth degree because of the crowd, because of the fake narrative they’re drinking in like margaritas, the sweet taste of my story covering the bitter, burning reality so that it’s easy to swallow.
It’s amplified further by the fact that I’m exacting vengeance, not for my father, not for money, but for my girl.
My queen.
I want to laugh right in this bastard’s face, but I swallow the urge. I’m acting—I’ve never understood the appeal before, but I do now. It’s so fun that I’m practically giddy. I raise a contemptuous brow at Nick before sliding on a concerned face and yelling to the crowd, “I can feel something. There’s something stuck—” I shove down so far his gag reflex kicks in when I punch the back of his throat. The muscles convulse around my fist as his hands start to grow limp where my legs hold them pinned to the concrete.
I hear someone pushing through the crowd.
“I’m a doctor. Let me by.”
Aww. Playtime’s over.
Too bad.
But I think the point is nearly made.
I’m fairly certain Nick won’t be chasing girls anytime soon.
Just to be sure … I decide to drive the point home. Literally.
I release the bit of crispy bread stick still left in my palm. It’s only an inch or two, but the end is nice and jagged from where I bit it. I jam it into the roof of his mouth and drag it across the top, scratching him soundly as I lean in, pretending I need a different angle to dislodge whatever’s ‘choking’ him.
“Stay away from my girl. And watch your back. Because if I ever find you alone …” I don’t finish the sentence. I find that open threats are more impactful.
Nick is past attempting to respond via nods or even blinks. His eyelashes are fluttering like he’s about to pass out.
My fingers fold the bread stick back in my palm and pull my hand roughly from his mouth. “I got it. I got it!” I quickly rise from my knees and hold the bit of soggy bread stick up as I give the crowd a false smile.
Applause and even a few cheers erupt.
Beneath my feet, Nick rolls onto his side, gagging, before he vomits across the concrete.
I ignore the pat on the back I get from the doctor before he kneels in front of his new patient. I ignore Ms. Dalton’s short campaign manager as she bustles forward and starts issuing orders to people around me. I ignore Ms. Dalton’s glare and Quique’s nod of admiration from across the courtyard. I don’t focus on the compliments from the crowd. My eyes travel past the gurgling fountain to the window of the meeting room, to Rose’s wide, shocked eyes as I walk away from the scene and back toward her.
She watched the entire thing, just like I told her to.
My gaze remains trained on her as I traverse the courtyard, awaiting her verdict. Will she be appalled by what I just did? She’s delicate, soft, fragile in comparison to everything else that exists around me. Her version of justice might be different than the bloody brand of vengeance that I adhere to. She might hate what I’ve done, be disgusted by it, or think it’s beneath her. Plenty of women do.
I pause five steps from her window, heart thudding like I just ran four miles. My dick is also hard as a rock right now. Whether or not she likes it, I’m going to barge inside and kiss my woman again. I’m going to claim that gorgeous mouth of hers and tell her she doesn’t get to reject me. She’s mine and I’ll fucking defend her as I see fit.
Those gruff thoughts don’t stop my breath from catching, however, when she slowly raises her hand. My chest tightens in anticipation, wondering if she’ll grab the curtain and slide it closed.
But then my girl crooks a finger, beckoning me.
ROSE
My emotions are a kaleidoscope of shifting colors and shapes that morph so quickly I can’t identify how I feel as blood rushes through my system. My heart is pumping crazily, as though I was part of that disguised attack. I curl my fingers into fists as I ask myself if it’s disbelief thrumming inside my chest or awe. I can’t believe Angelo did that. I can’t believe it and yet I just witnessed it happen.
Am I horrified or thrilled? What is going on? Question after question cycles through me, swirling and spinning. The only thing I can seem to settle on is the fact that Angelo fucked up Nick because of me. For me.
Who does that?
For a second, I feel like a knockoff Borte in a Ghengis Khan karmic remake. When his first wife was kidnapped, the man who’d become known to the world as one of the most ruthless warlords of all time undertook his first raid to get her back.
