Page 68 of Bedding Rose
My words set her off and she bawls against my shoulder, her tears warm and wet against my sleeve. I pet her hair and smooth my hand over her back gently until she’s cried herself out. I have to breathe slowly and steadily to keep myself calm while she cries because each tear feels like a knife wound to the gut. Guilt rips at me and the gorilla inside wants to rage and rant at the universe for making me figure things out after she was hurt and not before. If I’d realized what she means to me two weeks earlier then I’d have been around to protect her. Two weeks earlier and it never would have happened. She wouldn’t have been at that party. Those fuckers would never have laid their hands on her.
As it is, all I can offer her is revenge.
But that thought right there is a turning point for me … because maybe revenge is what she needs. And maybe it’s how I can introduce her to the pitch-black side of myself without sending her running for the hills. Maybe … Maybe …
I squeeze her when she sniffs and whispers, “I don’t want to be broken.”
Cleaved in two. I’m ripped apart by her own impression of herself because she’s not fucking broken—she’s just hurting—but I have to hold myself together because she needs strength. She needs someone to pull her up and out of this. And I know a way to do it, even if my way might tarnish some of my beautiful girl’s pure soul.
“Lil reina, I have an idea and you might hate it. And that’s okay. This doesn’t have to be your thing. But you know what we can do?” I say softly, carefully. I have to wet my lips after I speak because they’re suddenly dry. I’m second-guessing whether or not I should tell her. But time isn’t the only healer out there. And I do know that the smooth satisfaction of violence burns like vodka for a second before it warms your belly and makes you giddy in a way that can’t be described to someone who’s never taken a shot.
“Hmm?” Rose asks, somewhat distracted, still caught up inside her own head.
I’m not certain she’s really listening, and this is important. I need to know whether she really wants to consider this or not. Actually, given the conversation with my father, I need her to do more than consider it. So I gently cup her cheeks and smear the tears from them, waiting until her eyes are firmly on me before saying, “We can hurt them back. Just like I did with the first guy. There are two more, Rose. We can hunt them down. Make sure they jump at their own shadows from now on.”
Her lips part for a second as she stares up at me, thunderstruck.
The need to explain struggles against my desire to stay silent and let her think. This proposal might seem out of the blue to her. She knows me as the guy who tackled her at a construction site, who parties with her brother. Yeah, she thinks I blackmailed her, or hit a guy at a party, but that’s the tip of the iceberg. She doesn’t really know this other side of me, the part that’s eager to stomp those stupid fucks into the ground.
Her eyes race with a thousand thoughts that I can see in passing—like comets flying by—but I can’t get a read on her and what she wants.
I’m going to have to peel the onion back a little, explain more. “Rose, Ineedto hurt them. I need it. What they did to you? Fuck—they deserve it. I know you want to heal and move on, but what if we don’t dojustthat? What if we do thatand more?”
I take a deep breath before adding, “The rumors about my family are true.” I wait for a moment as her eyes widen, giving her the opportunity to pull away, blood rushing through my veins at the possibility that she might, my dad’s threats to destroy her pinching my throat and making it hard to breathe.
Don’t run away, Rose. Don’t run from me.I stare at her, jaw clenched, willing her to obey my very thoughts.
She doesn’t pull back.
Despite what I’ve said, her cheeks remain between my palms, those green eyes surrounded by thick black lashes blinking slowly up at me.
“They’re true?” she asks, her tone barely above a whisper.
I nod. “Let me show you how sweet revenge can be.”
Her head tilts and she stares, but doesn’t say anything.
God, what’s going through her head?
I have no clue, but the need to convince her, to seduce her with all the darkness I can offer, overtakes me.
I lay it out for her more clearly, just in case she’s trying to explain away my confession, wrap it up in a tidy explanation that’s clean and neat and excuses me of any wrongdoing. My fingers stroke her silky soft cheeks as I say, “In my world, people cheat and lie and steal. But there is no God in the sky doling out punishments. There’s only me. And those fuckers who touched you deserve to be punished.”
Her slow blinks are the most agonizing thing in the world as I wait for her decision. She licks her chapped lips once and I hold my breath. But she doesn’t speak. She fucking doesn’t speak, lighting a torch of panic inside my belly. Did I say too much? I might have left her so shell-shocked that she’s not even able to think clearly.
Eager to reignite our connection, worried that my girl is floating away from me, that I overwhelmed her—that I’ve fucked up—I drop one hand from her cheek and interweave our fingers. I bring her knuckles to my lips one by one and kiss them before staring back up at her and asking, “What do you say, Rose? Be my partner in crime?”
ROSE
Two days later
What is a bad guy, really? Every story has two sides. So does every war. Every hero’s also a villain to someone. But Angelo is on my side. So to me, he’s Captain-fucking-America. He’s my own personal Ghengis Khan and I’m his Borte.
Equal parts nervously excited to the point of being sick and scared out of my mind, I follow Angelo through a parking lot as the sun sets. He holds open the door to a fifties-style diner and as we step inside, my nose is immediately assaulted by delicious scents: French fries, hamburgers, green chile.
His hand slides to my lower back possessively, in a way that sends a little thrill up my spine, as we wind around red and chrome tables. Chit-chat and music fill the air along with the sizzle of the grill from the open kitchen.
Everyone else is here for a casual evening out, except for us.
