Page 23 of Roses Are Dead
I waited for a protest to come out.
Her mouth closed.
Like I said, smart. I pointed at her. “New rule, no arguing with me.”
“Argument isn’t the same as requesting an adjustment to your course of action.”
I barely heard her over the rumble of a truck passing by on the opposite side. Sarcastically, I said, “Really? Enlighten me on your brilliant plan.”
“I was going to ask if I could light the match.”
If she hadn’t still been looking at the ground, I’d have guffawed with laughter. But the situation wasn’t funny. Somehow Carl had gotten inside her head so far, she was afraid.
Of what? An asshole who was now firmly in her past? I had one month to come up with a solution to shove down that son of a bitch’s throat that would allow me to keep Rose. His quote was a hell of a lot of money to lose out on. But I was willing to offset the loss with my own money if I had to. And if he didn’t let me keep Rose, bullets for my 50-cal were less than five bucks. I should bypass the offer and save myself a lot of scratch. I didn’t even have to wait that long to do it, either—only three days.
One thing held me back. The why. Why would someone as obviously smart as Rose—Roishin—willingly wear a torture device? What would she possibly fear more than constant pain? That mystery had me rethinking my plan.
“Get on the bike. I’ve got a grill at home.”
She swallowed her fear and climbed back on. Before we took off, I pulled out my windproof jacket liner and zipped it up over her hoodie. Even with the bulky layer under it, the thing hung on her and covered her hands. It puddled where her ass met seat.
“Are you warmer?”
Roishin nodded.
“You know that whole ‘don’t talk’ thing I bitched about at Carl’s? That isn’t a rule, just don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to someone with this coat on. That’s disrespectful. Even if I’m only on the phone with ’em. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Good. I scanned traffic to find a hole to pull out into, but something held me back. Instead, I pulled out my phone again. I held it high enough and pointed at my coat to let Roishin know I was calling Skinner again. “Bro.”
“Bear, what the fuck? Since when do you hang up on me?”
I did that shit all the time. “Fuck off.”
“I suppose you got another rabbit hole for me, don’t ’cha?”
“Naw, I need to meet up. How far out are you from the tattoo shop? I got stuff for you.”
“I’m fifteen minutes from there now.”
“I’m twenty.”
“Where the fuck are you?”
A truck blared past, drowning me out, and hopefully telling Skinner what he needed to know. “I had to stop to call you.”
“Get a fucking Bluetooth like everyone else.”
“I ain’t wearing no pansy-ass piece of radioactive shit on my head.”
Skinner tried to log a protest, but I cut him off.
“Remember our curious little puzzle I went to solve?” I asked Skinner, reminding him of Roishin and Carl.
“Yeah?”
“It got weirder. Brace yourself.”
