Rosalind
ROSALIND
TWO WEEKS LATER
" F
uck ," I whispered as I stretched, the sun brutally waking me from my slumber. Pain lanced through me, a reminder of my not-so-gentle introduction to the life I'd been sold into. The pull of stitches in my stomach was a red-hot poker, but I bit back a gasp. Goddamn , this shit hurt. Doc said I didn’t need anything but Tylenol now, but fuck if I didn’t want something stronger. Whiskey , maybe. I had always been more of a light beer drinker, but since it’s the booze of choice around here, I got used to it.
With effort, I swung my legs off the bed and found my balance. My fingers fumbled for a shirt— Hunter's , way too big—and I shrugged it on, the fabric hanging off my frame. It covered the worst of the damage, at least. I was still sporting yellow splotches, but the stitches would leave a scar. Mean looking thing. Sucking in a breath, I braced myself for the stairs and shuffled to the door.
The wooden stairs creaked under my bare feet as I descended and walked into the kitchen. Hunter and Marco , the men I loved, sat at the table. Fucking mafia kings in such a domestic setting. They looked up from their coffee, the concern in their eyes almost comical if it weren't so damn suffocating.
" Sit down, ," Hunter growled, his voice dark thunder. He stood and moved towards me. “ Doc said we needed to help you for a month. You should have texted.”
" Easy ," Marco chimed in, softer but with an edge. His baby blues held a glint of something fierce, protective maybe, or possessive.
I waved them off, a flick of my wrist dismissing their offer to help. " Got it," my face twisted into a grimace. I edged my way to a chair, my stomach screaming protest with each step.
" Careful ," Marco murmured, but he stayed put, just watching with those eyes that saw too much.
" Fuck careful," I shot back, my voice stronger now. I eased into the chair, owning the pain and letting it fuel me. I needed to get moving. I was becoming a barnacle in that bed, lying around all day, every day.
I caught Hunter's nearly black gaze. " Coffee ," I demanded. He pushed a cup toward me without a word, the scrape of ceramic on wood loud in the silence.
As I took the first bitter sip, the dark brew scorched a path down my throat, a welcome burn. It was like swallowing strength, and I felt the embers of my old self flicker to life.
I stretched out, trying not to wince as I moved. They had been doing nothing but hovering, and I needed… a different problem taken care of. One I knew they were itching to help with, but with them treating me like a porcelain doll, neither had tried anything. It had been WEEKS .
" Got a problem," I said, leaning up against the kitchen counter, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. The air was thick with tension, the smell of coffee failing to mask the scent of their cologne.
Hunter's gaze snapped to mine. Marco glanced over at him, and for a moment, I swear they communicated without words—brothers in arms, in crime, in whatever twisted bond they shared.
" Think you two could help a girl out?" My voice was a playful hum, a tease. " I'm dying here...all this horniness and no one to scratch the itch." A laugh bubbled up from deep within, and I trailed a finger between my breasts, emphasizing their dip and curve.
They exchanged that look again, silent communication in the shift of their eyes, the set of their jaws. " Not a chance," Hunter finally grunted, muscles rippling as he leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face.
" Ah , c'mon," I rolled my eyes and pouted. " You're telling me all this testosterone and no service?"
Marco stood, crossing his arms, his stance a barrier even as his lips twitched. " Rest , . Your body needs to heal," he said, his voice like gravel that promised sin and salvation in the same breath.
" Can't one of you take care of it?" I tried to stand, ignoring the pull in my gut, the fire along my skin, before I sighed and remained seated. I watched them both, read the concern masked behind their stoicism. " There are ways without..." I gestured vaguely, a blush threatening to rise despite my bravado.
Hunter's hand clenched on the tabletop, knuckles white as bone. " Soon ," he rumbled before muttering something under his breath.
" Fine ," I huffed, crossing my legs beneath the table, feeling the way my body responded to the mere thought of them—the heat, the hunger. It gnawed at me, a beast with an insatiable appetite .
" Focus on recovering," Marco added, softer now, his gaze holding mine. It was a plea wrapped in steel, a command veiled as a request.
Hunter changed the subject. " We need to deal with Angelo . We’ve been fucking with him for a couple of weeks. He’s missing a few limbs. Doc is great at cauterizing them. But … can't let whoever remains think they can snatch him back."
The casual mention of murder slid over me. I wanted him dead. I truly did. But I didn’t want to do it. I knew they had been waiting for me, in case I wanted the final slice, but… I wanted a break. I sipped my coffee, letting the darkness of the brew mimic the darkness pooling inside me. They spoke of death with the ease of men who had dealt with it every day. Like it was nothing more than a casual beer with dinner.
" Better sooner than later." Marco's jaw clenched. " Don't want any surprises." He looked at me expectantly.
I stared into the depths of my cup, seeing not the reflection of the girl I once was but the bruised version. “ You can end it. I don’t want to.”
Hunter looked surprised before nodding. “ Consider it done. We’ll dump him at the docks.”
I stood, the chair scraping against the floor. More coffee. This wasn’t some normal breakfast conversation, yet here we are. I shuffled my feet against the cold kitchen tiles, emptied the filter with old grounds, and put in a new one, scooping the perfect amount for an espresso.
“ We got a new shipment in today. We should go sort that shit out. Boys out in Oregon wanted some new pieces.”
" Fuck the warehouse, man," Marco sighed. " Let Rat handle the new toys. We need a damn break."
Hunter put his mug on the table, a little too hard, coffee sloshing over the rim. He looked at me almost nervously. “ What if we went to the beach? I mean, you can’t swim, but we can watch the waves.”
My heart skipped. The beach. Visions of waves and freedom danced in my head. It felt like forever ago that we made love on the grass. I was a whole different person then, still thinking of a life where, somehow, we ruled but lost nothing. It turned out I lost more than just my innocence; I also lost a piece of myself down in that cellar with Angelo . My romanticism about this life.
" Damn right, the beach." My lips curled into a smile, and I reached across and grabbed his hand.
We'd sit by the ocean, the salt in the air, the whispers of the waves promising peace. For a moment, we could pretend we were just people, not monsters playing at being gods. The sun would press its warmth against us, and I'd soak it in—the heat, the light, the illusion of purity. But underneath, I knew.
The Black Hands were being hunted and eradicated, and in their absence, a new crew would form, trying to vie for the power The Cinder Crew held. They’d die, just like those before them, or they’d be converted into plants. Always held at arm's length until their usefulness expired.
But just for today, we were going to the beach. Where the land expands as far as the eye can see, and the water sings my name.
“ I’m gonna go get changed and try to take care of my little issue. See you guys in a bit.”