Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy #3)

Claws

CLAWS

Fionn

ONE YEAR LATER

Good luck tonight, Doc! Don’t break your face. It’s pretty and I like to sit there ;)

AHAHA thank you! I’ll do my best. And even if it’s broken, you’ll still be on it. I promise you.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

Me too! I’ve gotta work at 7PM so if your flight is late, just let yourself in.

I slip my phone into my bag and pull my shirt over my head before I put both into a locker. I should be thinking about what I’m about to do as I walk into the crowd, headed for the ring. I should be listening to the introduction and the rules as I slip between the ropes. I should be focused on my opponent. But I’m not. I’m thinking about Rose.

I try to put space between us. But it never lasts. There’s always a reason to pull us back together. Like Rowan and Sloane’s wedding— I tried to tell myself to ease back and give us both some room to breathe. And what happened? We ended up fucking in the bathroom of Leytonstone Inn. We were just bringing shit to the venue the day before Rowan and Sloane’s surprise elopement, and in less than ten minutes of arrival, I had my mouth around her nipple and my cock buried in her pussy. Not to mention the wedding itself. Rose was so fucking beautiful in her bridesmaid dress, her smile lit up with happiness for her friends. I ate her pussy in the staff room of the bar that night like it was my last goddamn meal. I would have found a way to do it in the courthouse too a few weeks later had we been there in person for Lachlan and Lark’s unplanned nuptials. But it’s not just the sex. That’s only a bonus, if I’m being truly honest with myself. Every spare minute I want to spend with Rose. She’s funny. She’s whip-smart. She’s unpredictable. She lives her life with a wide-open heart, like she loves every piece of herself and isn’t afraid to show it. She embraces everything from her fucked-up chaos to her brilliant, bright light. I admire her in a way I’ve never admired anyone, because it used to seem impossible to imagine what it would feel like to live that way. But she makes me think I could embrace myself and life the way she does. These things about myself that I’ve hidden away, the secrets and dark urges, she seems to sense them. And she’s not afraid.

And my own fears are eroding, replaced by need I couldn’t shake even if I wanted to. A need to be with Rose. A need for more than what we have now. It’s consuming me, one cell at a time, one moment to the next.

I don’t see her nearly enough. When I’m not with her, it’s fucking agonizing. I miss her presence in my house, how she made it a home. I miss it so goddamn much I’ve been keeping her plants alive and thriving for whenever she can visit, which is rarely, even though she’s decided to spend the last couple months in Boston as the circus is getting closer to winding down for the season. She talks in noncommittal terms when it comes up. “Thought I’d stick around Boston for a bit, see what all the fuss is about. I felt bad not being at Lark and Lachlan’s wedding in person and I could use some time off,” she said with a shrug when she first brought it up over a FaceTime call. “Barbara’s doing great with Cheryl and the poodles. The twins can borrow my bikes until I get my bearings. And Baz needs a bit of freedom. I’ll lend him Dorothy now that he can drive. You know, just a favor to his mom, give her a bit of a break,” she said the next week. “Besides, Lachlan said his place is empty. Might as well have someone to look after it, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” I’d replied, trying to sound equally nonplussed. “Makes sense.”

“I’ve got a job in Saugus with an event company for now, just a temporary thing that José hooked me up with. But Rowan floated the idea of me working at 3 in Coach for him once I’m finished with the Saugus Frightfair gig. The restaurant’s so busy. He said it would be a big help if I was interested in learning. If I can help keep a circus troupe in order, surely I can handle helping him manage the place, right? Might be kind of fun to try something new …?”

I had responded with something encouraging yet bland, not wanting to come off as too excited. The last thing I wanted was to scare her off. But in reality? I was fucking elated . And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Not when I’m at work. Not when I’m at home, lying in the dark, daring to imagine what a different future might be like.

Not even now.

My punch lands with a crack on Nate’s cheek. His head snaps to the side. Spit flies from his mouth, but he stays upright. At least long enough for me to deliver another blow to his ribs.

The crowd roars around us. Fire burns through my veins, a current of flame beneath sweat-slicked skin.

I hit him with a right hook. Christ, it’s so fucking satisfying. I keep thinking of that time I stitched him up as Rose watched. He was purposely pushing my buttons with his come by the shop bullshit. I punch him again. A jab. Another jab. When he threw his name in to battle it out with Killer Kane for a chance at dethroning me, I jumped to defend my undefeated streak.

He’s getting tired. His hits are weakening. His footwork is slow. I fake him out with the threat of a left jab. And then I throw all my momentum into a huge right hook.

My fist lands on Nate’s jaw. His head snaps back. And then he falls to the mat, unconscious.

Satisfaction.

The crowd goes feral.

Tom counts down the seconds. Nate’s head rolls from side to side. His legs slide across the stained and padded floor. But he doesn’t get up.

Hands raised in victory, I take a turn around the mat, my mouth guard hanging from a smile that’s probably a little bit wicked. Then I manage to wrangle the darkness that seems to be thriving more and more with each fight, and I attend to the man lying at my feet.

Though I tell him I’m sorry when he comes to, I don’t think I really mean it.

“Another excellent show,” Tom says, clapping me on the shoulder as Nate’s friends help him out of the ring.

I unravel the tape around my knuckles, testing out the pain that’s mounting in my joints now that the adrenaline is already wearing off. “Thanks.”

“Same again next month?” When I nod, Tom grins, passing me a clean towel for a gash I didn’t even notice on my brow. “Better get that looked at, Dr. Kane. Might need a few stitches. You can pick up your cash tomorrow at my dealership.”

Towel held to my bleeding face, I duck between the ropes and leave the ring. I pick up my bag from the locker and head through the crowd, nodding the occasional thanks to the spectators who pat me on the back and chant my name. But I’m not here for the attention. Or the money.

I’m here to let my monster free. And there’s only one thing that beast truly wants.

To claw its way closer to Rose.

My pulse spikes at the mere thought of seeing her soon. But I try to shake it off as I make my way into the bathroom, commandeering one of the two sinks in the small, run-down space that smells like piss and beer. The steps are mechanical to me. Wash hands. Gloves on. Sterilize the wound. I thread the needle then face the mirror. I start the first stitch, leaning close to my reflection as I pierce my own flesh with the curved needle.

“Great fight, Dr. Kane,” a voice says behind me.

The monster inside me claws at my ribs.

“Mr. Cranwell.” I lean back, pulling the thread taut. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Cranwell has a prosthetic eye now to lie over an ocular implant I already know he received in Omaha, the subtle differences nearly indistinguishable from his uninjured eye. Both track me in the reflection. “You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“Better than you,” he says as his gaze lands on the gash through my brow.

I let out a quiet hmm and refocus on my wound, inserting the needle for the next stitch. The bite of pain is a welcome delicacy for the darkness in me to consume. It keeps my attention where it should be—away from breaking Matthew Cranwell’s neck.

Cranwell leans against the sink next to me, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches my progress. “So. I heard the buttoned-up town doctor was not just mending wounds but making them too. Had to come and see it for myself. It was a good show.”

I nod my thanks.

“Do you think Eric Donovan put up a fight when your little girlfriend killed him?”

My eyes snap to his. Blood roars in my ears. The urge to rip his spine straight through his throat is overwhelming. The only thing that stops me is luck. Another man enters the bathroom, not noticing that we’re staring each other down, me with my barely subdued rage, Cranwell with a smirk that I’m desperate to punch off his fucking ugly face.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” I say when the man enters one of the stalls.

Cranwell’s grin stretches. “Oh, right. She’s not your girlfriend, is she? At least, that’s what I heard. Probably a good thing for you. Don’t want to have your perfect image marred by someone like Rose Evans.”

An electric chill climbs through my flesh. “I meant I have no idea about the other thing. You know as much as anybody around town that he’s never been found. Only his vehicle. You have no reason to be asking me anything about this.”

“Of course, of course. Silly me.” His head tilts. His eyes narrow. “Are you sure about that, though? She was in your home for a couple of months, after all. You sure you didn’t see anything … untoward?”

“If this is your attempt at an interrogation, I must say”—I turn my attention back to the mirror, starting the next stitch, swallowing the rage that threatens to tremble my hand—“it’s fucking amateur. And deeply unprofessional. But I guess that makes sense, considering the circumstances of your departure from the Sheriff’s Office.”

Cranwell chuckles, scratching at the graying stubble on his chin. “I ain’t interrogating you, Dr. Kane. I’m just askin’ a simple question. Because from where I sit, it seems strange that she would be in Shiretown just moments before Donovan was last seen. A little thing like Rose Evans? Buying a big ol’ knife? But, hell … What do I know?”

I shoot a cold glare in his direction, then pierce my brow and pull another stitch tight. “Well, Mr. Cranwell, I can confirm I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’m not sure you do either. Eric Donovan is missing . He could be anywhere. He could have fucked off to Mexico for all we know. The kinds of allegations you seem to be dancing around are extremely serious.”

Cranwell’s smile stretches, a predator ready to take down the competition in its domain. There’s a threat behind every wrinkle of weathered flesh, every movement of muscle and bone. “Did you know someone about her size did this to me?” he asks as he gestures to his eye. “A woman. Hit me and stabbed me, right in the eye. For no reason. Came onto my property entirely unprovoked.”

“Sounds to me like you don’t know who did it. And I wonder why someone would want to attack you unprovoked. It’s not like you’ve done that to anyone else … right?” I knot another stitch and wipe the blood from my brow before I start the next. “Oh, I heard Lucy moved to her parents’ place in Minnesota and took the kids with her. I’m so very sorry for the dissolution of your marriage. I wonder what could have precipitated that.”

A flash of rage passes across Cranwell’s face. But he doesn’t risk lashing out, not as a couple guys from the gym enter the bathroom and nod in my direction. “No fuckin’ idea,” he finally says.

“I’m sure. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something to attend to. Oh, and Mr. Cranwell,” I say, letting my eyes drop down the length of him and back up again, “I’m afraid I can no longer be your doctor. I hope you’ll understand.” With a final, cutting glance, I focus on my reflection, harnessing every last thread of restraint to keep myself from killing the man next to me.

“That’s probably for the best for both of us,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder just as I pierce my skin with the needle. The point scrapes within my flesh. “Have a great night, Dr. Kane.”

I don’t look at him as he leaves the bathroom. I just finish my stitches, a line of ten that curves from my forehead to the swollen flesh of my upper eyelid. When I’m done, I pack my supplies, throw away my gloves and the gauze and the towel that’s stained with slashes of crimson. I toss on a shirt and a hoodie. Splash some water on my face. And then I grip the edges of the sink. I lean closer to the old mirror, the surface marred by scratches and imperfections. I don’t think I recognize the man looking back at me anymore. And maybe I like it.

I leave without another word to anyone, going home and straight into the shower. Despite the pain and the rage and the anxiety swirling in my guts, I still think of Rose.

When I shut my eyes, I can see her face, her lips parted, eyes hooded and locked on me. I can hear her moans. Her phantom touch is there on my back, caressing my shoulders. I grip my erection and imagine sinking into her tight pussy. Her desperate cries roll through my mind, swelling and falling in the same pace as I stroke my cock. Every detail is so clear. The feel of her flesh beneath my palms. The peak of her nipples. The blush in her skin. I can’t help myself. In my fantasy, I lean closer. Closer, and closer, and closer, until I slant my mouth over hers and dissolve into a kiss I’ve imagined more times than I can count. It’s this moment that throws me over the edge. This forbidden, broken rule that has my balls tightening and my cock pulsing and ropes of cum shooting across the tiles. It’s the kiss that has me unraveling, barely able to stand beneath the scalding water, one hand braced against the shower wall. I don’t just want part of her. I want all of her. I want to consume these boundaries between us until I finally feel whole.

I press my aching forehead to the cool tile and stand in the spray until the water runs cold.

It’s a fitful sleep. I’m too riled up about Cranwell and excited about the trip to get any true rest. When I wake, nothing seems to happen fast enough. The plane seems to travel too slowly through the sky. The line at the rental car counter is too long. I can’t navigate the city streets as deftly as I need to. I try an alternative route of back streets and alleys to avoid the traffic as I make my way to South End, where Lachlan’s apartment is, the one he’s letting Rose stay in now that he’s at Lark’s place. I get stuck in traffic anyway, of course, because Boston rush hour is like that. I’m so worried I’m going to miss her before she heads out to work that I park three blocks away. I only brought a backpack, thank fuck, so I toss it over my shoulders and run the rest of the distance to Rose.

By the time I reach the fifth floor, sweat mists my forehead, the wound in my brow pulsing with every beat of my heart.

“Rose,” I say, knocking on the door. “Hey, Rose.”

“ Coming ,” she chimes from the other side. I can hear the excitement in her voice, the bounce of her steps across the hardwood as she approaches. The locks shift and click in the door. And then she throws it open.

“ Jesus fucking Christ ,” we both say at the same time.

Her eyes are locked to my stitches and the bruise that colors my cheekbone and brow.

Mine are fused to her fucking terrifying face and ridiculously hot body, the strangest contrast I’ve ever witnessed on a single person.

She’s wearing a black lace bra and matching panties, her figure a symphony of softness and strength. The lace follows the curves of her hips and the swell of her breasts, black satin straps shining with the rise and fall of her chest with every breath. There’s no detail that goes unnoticed beneath my gaze, not a single inch of fabric or skin that isn’t forever seared into memory.

And then I get to her face.

She grins at me, showing off a set of horrifying, pointed, yellowing teeth. Too many teeth, all jammed up together. Her lips and eyes and the very tip of her nose are painted black, the rest of her face in a stark white. Two curved black lines flow halfway up her forehead to make new eyebrows, her natural ones hidden under the thick makeup. She tilts her head side to side to jostle the three little bells sewn to each arm of her black-and-white jester hat.

“I’m channeling Art the Clown from Terrifier , but make it cute, with like, Dracula’s grill from Renfield . You like?” she says, her speech a little garbled by the fake teeth. She does a slow spin to show off the thong, the little triangle of lace contouring around the globes of her ass to disappear between the crack. My cock strains against my zipper, at least until she faces me again.

“I’m so conflicted. I want to fuck you so badly but I also fear for my life. It’s like wet dream nightmare fuel.”

“Honestly, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Though I’m probably not supposed to say that. Rules and shit, right?”

“Right,” I say, trying to contain my disappointment at how casually she just reminded me of our current situation. Rose envelops me in a brief embrace and then stands back from the door for me to pass. “Rules and shit. Yeah.”

“Come in. Tell me all about your match and that sexy new scar. There’s some rubbing alcohol and gauze pads in your guest room en suite by the way, in case you need to clean it up.”

Fucking hell. A one-two punch. I feel like I’m back in the ring and this time, I’m getting pummeled by Rose instead of Nate. And honestly? I think she could take me. She’s scrappy as fuck. “Thanks,” I say as I let the backpack slide from my shoulders. I set it down next to the couch and trail behind Rose as she heads to the kitchen, taking the teeth out as she goes. A little shard of disappointment lands in my chest when she grabs a robe lying on the back of a chair and slides it on. “I appreciate it.”

“No worries. So, the stitches?” she asks, pulling a beer from the fridge and offering it to me. When I nod, she slides it across the island where I take a seat, then cracks open a bottle of water for herself.

“The stitches, yeah. I fought Nate. Guess he got a couple of good punches in. I ended up knocking him out in the second round, though.”

Rose pouts, the gesture exaggerated by her stark makeup. “Poor Nate.”

“Nate’s fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. When they land on Rose, she grins as though she sees right into my jealous thoughts. “I did run into Matt Cranwell though.”

Even with the thick layers of makeup, I can still see the flash of fear in her face. “Cranwell? What did he want?”

“To be a dick, mostly. I wouldn’t worry. He’s still got nothing to go on.”

“Nothing more about Eric lately?”

I shake my head. “It comes up in conversation here and there, usually in reference to Humboldt Lake. People still seem stuck on it. They think the search was called off too soon.”

Rose blows out a deep breath and nods. Her smile is weak, but it’s still a relief to see it. “How about Naomi?”

“She’s great, actually. Got herself a new boyfriend, one of the other nurses. She seems really happy.” This time, Rose’s smile is the real deal. She beams at me. Which, even with her natural teeth, is still disturbing as fuck. “I’m still not sure what to make of all this,” I say as I gesture a circle toward her face.

“Well, I’ll give you some time to think on it. I’ve gotta get going to the Frightfair. I’m going to be late.” Rose comes around to my side of the island and slides a hand across my chest, giving me an embrace from behind. My hand circles her wrist. Her pulse drums a steady beat beneath my fingertips. I resist the urge to raise her skin to my lips, but only barely. “Thanks for fielding that asshole Cranwell. Must be shitty having him pop up every once in a while.”

The truth is, I’ve been thinking more and more of moving back to Boston. It wouldn’t be the worst thing either to get away from Cranwell. But my interest in coming home has very little to do with him, and everything to do with Rose. If she really is going to stay, it feels like the right time to consider it. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the real reason I’m here, one I’m more and more ready to tackle head-on. I need to see if she might also be ready to dissolve our rules. To see what it would be like for us to make a real go of this. And being here, with her hand resting so casually on my chest like it was always meant to be there? That only makes everything clearer.

“It’s no worries,” I finally say, still relishing her gentle embrace. “I can drive you there, if you want?”

“Nah, it’s fine. You just got off the plane.” She pats me on the chest, a final stamp before she slides her hand free and starts toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I wonder if she could feel the way my heart drummed against her palm. I know it’s not the right time, but I’m desperate to throw my questions into the empty space where her presence just lingered. The words were right there , ready on my tongue.

Rose changes into the rest of her costume, coming out a few moments later with black and white pants and a button-up shirt, both of which seem too big for her, which only adds to her unsettling appearance. She slides her tarot deck and selenite into one pocket, the creepy teeth into the other, then gives me a grin. “Uber is on the way,” she says, holding up her phone. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, maybe I can pick you up? I’d like to chat about some stuff. Maybe we can talk on the drive home.”

Rose’s white painted brows flicker. “Sure … Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, yeah.” I take a step closer, leaning down to press a light kiss to her cheek. “Text me when you’re about half an hour from being done. I’ll come get you. And don’t make too many people shit themselves tonight. Cleanup would be a bitch.”

Rose winks. “I thought you wanted me to have fun.”

“Mayhem in moderation.”

“That’s boring.”

With a final smile, Rose heads out to catch her Uber, leaving me in silence. I stand in the center of the room, watching that door like I hope she might turn around and bounce through it.

I’m not sure how long I stand there. How long it takes for it to sink into my marrow. But I finally realize I don’t care about the illusion of light anymore. My Rose blooms in the dark. And all I want is to grow there with her.