Chapter 11
eleven
DARE
Flowers litter the floor, scattered between the shards of a broken coffee pot, blood dripping from a jagged piece that’s still intact. Then I zero in on the bane of my existence, sitting on top of a man’s prone form. Rose is a mess. Top ripped, angry bruises littering her skin, blood dripping down her face, and the most intriguing thing of all—a knife clutched in her hand. She’s holding it so tight, every knuckle is pure white.
Seeing her like this makes my breath catch.
What the fuck did Eric do?
She narrows her eyes on the man lying unconscious on the floor. Her cheeks are flushed a brighter shade of red than the blood covering her. Every breath has her chest heaving, and the blade shakes in her grip as she presses the sharpened edge to Eric’s throat.
Good girl .
I hold my breath, waiting to see what she’ll do, but seconds tick by until, eventually, her body sags in defeat .
Pity, that. I would have liked watching Rose cross all her supposed moral lines to kill her attacker. I holster my gun, and her gaze flies to meet mine, eyes wild with fright, but something akin to relief flickers through them when she realizes it’s me.
The emotion slams into my chest, my heart giving a heavy thump in response.
And then she sobs.
One hard, ragged sound that wrenches sympathy from the depths of my broken soul.
Taking a step forward, I study the scene again. The bruises and blood covering her body. The mess. Her torn shirt. The man under her. The violent tremble of her limbs.
I know what almost happened here.
Rage roots me in place. Fury burns in my chest.
What if I hadn’t come?
What if she hadn’t managed to get Eric down?
What if—STOP.
Eric attacked her and she fought like hell.
Taking a deep breath, I move my eyes back to hers. “Well, fuck, princess.” I take another step, watching her reaction.
She doesn’t move, but wariness flickers over her face.
My jaw clenches in response. I’m not the enemy, at least, not right now. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Not like this.
Though I’d love to watch the princess’s empire burn, there are lines that should never be crossed. Taking someone against their will is one of them.
Rose is still holding the knife to Eric’s throat. She wants to kill him, but her grip is loose, weak. She can’t do it. She can’t finish the job.
Before I can think better of it, I make my way over to her, approaching her slowly, worried I’ll scare her off if I move too fast. Rose watches me. The usual fury in her hazel eyes is nowhere to be seen. She’s almost looking at me like I’m her savior.
But I’m no saint.
I stop beside her, taking in Eric’s battered face. “Well, he’s seen better days.”
Rose nods and tries to say something, but all that comes out is a strangely fragile noise.
It’s...agony given sound, and I don’t like it. Not at all.
My chest tightens. I should have let Rose be. I shouldn’t have followed her, but I couldn’t help myself. Some savage part of me wants to keep this woman all to myself, and coming to take her away from Eric was part of that plan. I had no idea what I would be walking into, and I never wanted this.
If I had stayed home, I wouldn’t feel this heavy anger beating its fists against my chest, demanding that I protect her. I wouldn’t see the fragile woman covered in blood, clearly in shock. I wouldn’t see Eric with a knife pressed to his neck and think he’s far too alive for my liking.
But here I am.
An idea forms, and before I can consider the merits of it, I squat until I’m at her level.
Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she’s fighting them. She’s stronger than she knows.
“I was thinking about your proposal,” I begin, inching closer. Glass crunches underfoot.
She stiffens and I wait a moment, giving her time to see I’m not here to hurt her, then carefully move until I’m crouched behind her. Her body is rigid, but when my chest hits her back, she softens ever so slightly.
My heart thumps again .
Brow furrowing, I try to ignore my body’s response to her and hers to me. There’s no reason for her to trust me. I hate her, and she hates me. But right now, that doesn’t matter.
Tonight, I’m not the beast.
Movements slow and deliberate, I cage her with my arms until my fingers curl around hers, the leather of my gloves crackling. My palm fits perfectly around hers. A breath trembles out of her, but she doesn’t pull away. That alone gives me dozens of ideas I shouldn’t have.
My pulse thunders as my mouth finds the shell of her ear. Her skin is soft, and over the thick copper scent of blood in the air, I catch the faint whiff of her amber perfume. Rose lets me cage her in, almost giving in to me too easily, as if she really does trust me.
She’s already mine, she just doesn’t know it yet.
“Did he hurt you?” I whisper.
“He tried to—” She cuts off, stifling a sound and then sniffs hard. “But he didn’t.”
Fury beats against my chest. As I said, Eric is far too alive for my liking. “Do you want to kill him?”
“I can’t.”
Fine. “Do you want him dead?”
“Yes,” she rasps, her voice cracking over the word.
My hand tightens around hers. “Then, your wish”—I press the knife into Eric’s skin, and Rose sucks in a breath—“is my command.” I drag our hands and blade across Eric’s throat, cutting deep. Blood bubbles up along the slash, then leaks from the wound, a rich stain of crimson against his pretty boy skin.
Rose trembles in my hold, but I feel the way her fingers tighten on the knife, and soon enough, her own hand guides mine to finish the cut.
“Look at that,” I whisper, nudging her cheek with my nose. “You killed a man.”
And now her fate is drenched in the blood of our shared enemy.
Rose slaps her hand to her mouth. I pry the knife from her grip and rise, grabbing the trash can and bringing it over to where she still straddles Eric. She snatches it from my hand and vomits.
“I threw up the first time I saw a dead body too.”
She heaves in response.
I squat next to her, the knife dangling in my grip. “The first night is the worst, but over time, it’s easier to mourn the loss of your humanity.” Smoothing her hair away from her face, I sigh. “And now that I have the murder weapon, I think it’s time we get married.”
Rose looks up from the trash can with tear-streaked cheeks, agony written across her features. “Eric is dead.”
Gazing down at the pool of blood, I nod. “Very.” Death is a familiar friend and I never liked Eric. I watch him bleed out, feeling nothing but satisfaction. Assholes like this don’t deserve to live.
Rose sets the trash bin aside, swiping her hand across her mouth. “I don’t need to marry you.”
A cruel smirk twists my lips. If she thinks I’m letting her get away a second time... “But don’t you? You killed a man. I’m the only witness. I have the weapon with your fingerprints.”
Her gaze flicks to the knife in my hand.
“Don’t even try, princess.”
By the time she meets my eyes again, that familiar vitriol is shimmering in her irises. Pride swells in my chest. She’s stronger than I thought, and if she’s pissed at me, at least she won’t fall apart. That’ll come later, when she finds a moment alone. “Why?”
Because now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t get you out of my head, and I want to kill anyone who would try to touch you the same way I have.
She’s not ready to hear any of that, though. “Mutually assured destruction,” I say instead, standing in one swift movement.
Rose flinches. I clench my jaw but force myself to turn away, grabbing the towel hanging from the handle of the oven and wrapping the material around the knife. “You have your leverage,” I say when I turn back to her, crossing my arms over my chest. “And now I have mine.”
She climbs off Eric, seemingly oblivious to the shards of glass covering the ground and her bare feet. Maybe it’s the shock. Before I can stop her, she makes a wrong step and hisses in pain.
I growl, and she recoils, making me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world. Earlier, all I wanted was to get a rise out of her, to see her react to something, rather than hide it all away behind that mask of hers, but her flinching away from me has my jaw clenching. Eric needs to die again.
She tries to step again.
“You’re reckless, you know that?” I approach her, holding my hands up.
Rose’s chest is heaving, breaths ragged, as she fights whatever fear is flooding her body.
Fucking Vanderbelt.
Why I care so much about whatever psychological distress she’s in is beyond me, but I do. The little tremor rocking her body and stealing that light of fire in her eyes makes me want to cut Eric open and feed his organs to the rats, and even then, I’m not sure that would be enough to soothe the voice inside of me, demanding that I protect her.
“I’m going to pick you up,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she murmurs.
Some of the tension in my shoulders eases at the trust she extends. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and gazes up at me with those big hazel eyes. My heart thumps again.
It’s a bad sign.
I should leave.
But I can’t.
Not when she’s in pain. Not when she clearly needs someone to take care of her.
My fingers grip her hips and I hoist her up. Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging into my skin hard enough to draw blood, but the bite of pain is a steady reminder that she’ll be okay. I carry her over the broken glass and place her on the counter next to the sink. One strap of her flimsy tank top is torn, exposing a pink bra and a mound of curved flesh.
I force myself to look away and fill a glass of water, handing it to her to sip on while I fix the damage she’s done. She’s quiet as I step back and crouch, inspecting the underside of her foot. Several pieces of glass are stuck in her delicate skin.
Rose doesn’t say a word when I clasp my hand around her heel.
The silence unsettles me more than the hatred she so easily spews. Usually, she’s her daddy’s perfect little puppet, but this Rose is new to me. As if Eric’s attempted rape blasted through the walls she always keeps up and left her wide open. My gaze lifts to meet hers, and there’s not a hint of apprehension or the hatred from before .
Rose doesn’t know it yet, but she’s given me everything I need to take her little game and make it a reality. She begged me to be her husband, and even though she doesn’t need my help anymore, that’s what she’s going to get, because I’ll be damned if another man has her.
Her breath catches when I yank out the largest shard.
I arch an eyebrow and wait for the worst of her pain to subside. “Again?”
She grips the counter, narrows her eyes, and nods. There’s that fierce determination I hate and admire all at the same time.
Piece by piece, I remove the glass, ignoring how much of her blood coats my gloves, and Rose watches my every movement, as if mesmerized. Does she realize how many emotions she’s showing or just how much I like having her rapt attention on me?
The tiniest sliver gives me trouble. Rose’s hiss of pain is harsher. Seems the princess is beyond pretending like it doesn’t hurt. Frowning, I stand and look around her kitchen. “Where are your washcloths?”
“There.” She points to the right.
I grab one and wet it. Some unknown desire has me gingerly wiping the blood from her skin. Although most of the bleeding has stopped, I keep pressure on the rest of her foot as I inspect the pad. The glass is too deep in her skin. I’ll need tweezers. Our eyes meet, and understanding flashes across her face.
“My purse,” she says, tipping her head toward the stairs.
Reason says to leave it, but the possessive beast inside of me rears its head. When Joseph announced that she was being married off and Rose clearly panicked, searching for a way out, I didn’t see my enemy. I saw a woman trapped within the bounds of a box put around her, the puppet finally thinking for itself but unable to cut the strings.
But she tried. She came to me for a way out. She begged me to marry her. I wanted to play with her before, but now that I know she truly is another one of Joseph’s victims, I can’t—won’t—leave her alone.
I’ll get every last shard of glass out of her foot, and then Rose will be my wife.