Page 5 of Bedding Rose
"Yeah. There's a structural issue with one of the walls down here. I wanted to subcontract it out to you."
"You can't subcontract out the job. The bid rules didn't—"
I sigh because he's still slow to the draw. "You sure you own Ambrose Co.? Because right now, I don't think you're smart enough to fucking own a Guinea pig, much less a company." I snap my fingers and two hulking brutes come forward, Mint and Gary. Mint is a tall, bald man with a gold tooth and Gary looks like he could take out a sumo wrestler. Together, they lift Dante’s snared form from the folding chair and drag him toward the freshly dug space for the wine cellar. The guys throw him into the pit and he lands with a loud thump. The three of us follow.
I land first and look up to see Dante trying to wriggle away through the dirt like an overweight little caterpillar. The ropes binding him mean he can’t use his arms or legs, just his hips and feet.
It's pretty fucking funny so I hold up a hand and the guys and I just watch him for a second until I decide enough's enough.
I grab him by the collar and shove him up against one of the metal support beams as my flunkies grab a cinder block in each hand. I hold the foolish, pathetic lump of flesh in place as they slowly build up cinder blocks in front of him, pinning him into place. It’s slow going, full of shrill begging.
But my father believes in the hands-on approach. If I’m going to take over Walker Construction, I have to prove I’ve got the cajones to handle it.
And so I stand there, holding Mr. Ambrose by the neck while Mint slathers cement onto cinder blocks that Gary carries over one by one. Normally, the guys are silent when they help me. I don’t know if they like hearing a man beg the way that I do, or if they just want to hurry and get it over with. But tonight, Mint turns to me after troweling the last bit of wall to box Dane in.
“Yeah?” I ask, ignoring the muffled cries from behind the wall.
“Poe-etic justice. Get it?”
I scrunch a brow at him and his face immediately drops into a pretentious Chad expression as he quips, “Nah, brother. Don’t tell me you haven’t read Poe.” He glances back and forth between me and Gary, who shrugs.
I’ve read Poe, and he knows it. Mint’s pushed enough books at me over the years because I’m the only one he knows who seems to enjoy the habit he picked up on his first ten-year stint in the pen, but I know better than to engage with him. He and I have gone rounds about the classics before, like Poe and William Blake, but this is not the time for a literary debate.
“I have better things to do at night than read.” Gary gives a salacious grin that looks completely and utterly fake. I’ve seen the guy. He doesn’t get play. His ‘better things to do’ probably consists of drinking beer and yelling at whatever sports game is on that night.
I leave the two of them arguing over whether or not reading is a waste of time as they load up a cement mixing machine and prepare to pour it over our victim. I climb up the ramp we’ve built and stroll over to look down at Dante, who’s futilely trying to free himself from his bindings.
“Thanks so much for the help, Mr. Ambrose. Don’t think this wall would have held without yoursupport.” I emphasize that last word and wink at him before turning and strolling off into the night, whistling, while his screams become muffled by the whir and gloop of the cement mixer pouring sludge onto his face.
I lay in bed and stare out the window, watching dawn try to whitewash the pitch-black sky, knowing all the while that her efforts are useless. No matter how dawn hangs the sun and tries to blind us from reality, the light will recede each evening and show heaven's true face. The universe is vast and dark. Like me.
Like most of us.
Like nearly everyone.
Except Rose.
So why am I dreaming about her and then about that last job? She’s innocent and pure and has nothing to do with the world I live in, the world her mother lives in. Shit, even Quique’s not clean and crisp like her.
I think maybe … it’s because she’s the one good person I know.
And someone. No, multiple someones.Them.Somehow, they’ve tainted that. They’ve taken this girl and made her hurt so badly that she turned on herself.
God.
I. Can’t. Fucking. Stand. It.
I need to know who they are and what they did. Have to. With that thought in mind, I shove up out of my bed. A glance at the clock says it’s only five. It’s too early to just show back up at Quique’s even though my entire body is buzzing at the prospect. To burn off that restless energy, because I can’t scare Rose ever again, I drop to the floor and start on some push-ups.
* * *
I showup bright and early with fast food, and Quique meets me at the door with a grin. "Fuck yeah. Hangover cure. Thanks, man."
"No problem," I say, handing him a paper bag that's already becoming translucent with grease.
"Mmm, nothing like the smell of breakfast burritos in the morning."
"Yup. Nothing like it," I respond blandly as I follow him inside, squinting as my eyes adjust from the early morning light to the dim interior of the house. "Rose up?" I try to keep my tone neutral, but the bags under my eyes can attest that I'm anything but.
