Page 22 of Roses Are Dead
She smiled. “I agree. Not literally, just in a spit on their tombstones sort of way.”
A snort snuck out. “That’s a funny thought. Traveling all the way to Rome to spit on the floor of a church.”
She spoke loudly enough that I heard it. “I’d do it.”
Hell. I wasn’t supposed to like her, or discover a common thread of discontent lacing her voice with anger. She was a far cry from the docile woman I saw at Carl’s.
Which begged the question, was this an act?
Her diatribe told me one important thing, and no, it wasn’t that she was interested in pagan things. I knew that already. What I hadn’t known was that Rose, Roishin, whatever, was a very smart woman. And I shouldn’t underestimate her. Carl likely hadn’t.
She squirmed, pulling her shirt away from her body with a grimace.
“Off.”
I didn’t give her time to protest. I stood up and braced the bike while practically pushing her off with my free hand.
She stumbled a couple of steps, giving me time to lock the bike down. Rose stood still, likely in shock, waiting to see what I’d do. A truck screamed by, buffeting us in its wake.
Even I didn’t like what I was going to do. I backed her up against the Jersey wall. There was a stone sound barrier behind it, so she had nowhere to run.
“Take off your shirt.”
She clutched at it instead.
“I didn’t fucking stutter. Take it off.”
“It’s cold.” She glanced at the highway where cars buzzed past without even slowing down. It was late enough that half of them probably didn’t even see us on the shoulder.
“Take off the shirt, or at least prove to me you aren’t still wearing that goddamn fuzzy thing you had on earlier.”
Her eyes went wide.
Fuck. She was wearing it.
I flipped open my knife and turned my back to traffic so they wouldn’t see it. “Easy way or hard way?”
She scrambled to take off her sweatshirt and reveal that horrifically ugly garment. As soon as she did, I realized no one in their right mind would willingly put on something so heinous.
What kind of hold did Carl have over her to make that happen?
“Take it off.”
I grabbed her sweatshirt and held it up so the traffic wouldn’t see her unraveling the string ties holding it together. “I promise I won’t stare at your tits.” That was a lie. No sooner than she got the left side loose, the soft curve of her breast peeked out. The glow from an ultra-high LED headlight set bounced off the cement wall behind her, giving me a perfect view of her skin.
Reddened.
My anger boiled like a fucking volcano. I glanced away, deliberately counting the lines carved into the wall to absorb sound. Carl was a dead man. She tugged the sweatshirt from my hands. The rustling of her pulling it over her head clued me that I could look again.
Rose had the hair shirt in her hand. I took it from her and squeezed it. It pricked me as if it had steel wool or fiberglass fragments in it. “You wore this?”
Her head dipped once.
“Willingly?”
Her response was silence as she stared at the ground. I shoved the thing in my saddlebag and cursed. “We’re burning this fucking thing, understood?”
Rose’s mouth opened.
