Chapter 4
Roxy
When I finally make it home, my apartment is swallowed in darkness.
Iris left with her parents about three hours ago after crying herself raw.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since this morning. But that would mean cooking, and the only "food" in my fridge has enough mold to qualify for a biology exhibit.
I flick on the little lamp by the armchair in the living room, planning to read a few more chapters of the thriller I started, The Inmate by Freida McFadden. I reach for it on the coffee table and freeze.
It's on the couch.
I frown. I know I left it on the table last night.
Years of devouring thrillers have trained me to notice things. Small, seemingly irrelevant details that scream wrong. So I start mentally checking off everything I've observed since walking in.
The door was double-locked. Just how I always leave it.
My slippers were still in their corner, but they weren't pressed flush against the wall.
And now, this book.
Other than that, nothing else catches my eye. Until it does.
On the narrow console table, among my usual odds and ends, there's a flower.
No. Not just any flower.
A dahlia.
A goddamn dahlia.
My bottom lip trembles before I force myself to pull it together.
I reach out, brush the petals with my fingertips, then jerk my hand back as if burned.
It's real.
A maroon dahlia. Which means he's coming for me. The same way he came for my mother twenty-two years ago.
My vision blurs. I don't bother stopping the tears.
The sharp ding of an incoming text snaps me out of it. Without thinking, I grab my phone, but I don't take my eyes off that cursed flower. As if it might sprout legs and walk toward me.
The number isn't saved, but it only takes a glance at the message to know exactly who sent it.
Damien.
And even though he drives me insane most days, right now the only thing I don't want to be is alone. Not when my body is locking up, this creeping paralysis starting at my toes and crawling all the way to my skull. My chest feels heavy. My skin prickles.
This is what happens when fear owns you. It traps you inside your own body. And no matter how tough I pretend to be, the truth is I'm a fraud.
That's why I text him back.
A second later, I add another message.
God, I'm pathetic.
This man has followed me before. He's dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than whoever left me that flower. But Damien doesn't make my chest seize. He doesn't make my vision tunnel with panic.
I toss my phone onto the couch, cheeks burning from the fact that I'm the one who reached out. Still, I know I won't sleep a wink tonight if I'm alone.
I could call Luna. But she's only just pieced her life back together after the nightmare with her ex.
She doesn't need my drama. And telling her the truth?
That would mean going back to the night my mother died, something I've never shared with her.
Some part of me has kept it locked away for almost two decades.
My eyes flick to Damien's open conversation thread. The last thing he sent me is still staring up from the screen.
The corner of my mouth betrays me, a tiny smile, followed by an involuntary eye roll at the nickname he used. I’m not going to pick apart why it makes my stomach flip in such a weird way. Not right now.
I curl into the armchair, knees tucked to my chest, phone clutched tight, just in case someone tries to break in.
I hate being this scared. I hate feeling vulnerable.
A normal person would call the cops. But I know how they treated my mother’s case.
“Just a fling gone wrong,” the lead detective had called it. They’d found messages to an unknown number in her phone. She was supposed to visit him the next morning, taking me with her.
I keep my eyes on the dahlia, willing it to disappear, but my mind drifts back to that night.
"Stay in the closet, Roxy, and whatever you do, don’t come out until I get back."
"But, Mommy…I’m sleepy. I want to sleep in my bed."
"Don’t come out."
Her voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it. I didn’t understand why she woke me up in the middle of the night. Or why her eyes looked so sad.
"Whatever happens, amorino, don’t make a sound."
The door shut, her footsteps creaking away.
She didn’t kiss me good night. I remember realizing that as I shifted around in the crowded closet, wedged between her shoes. At least she’d let me bring Mr. Unicorn. I used him as a pillow, willing myself to fall asleep.
Maybe she’ll carry me to bed when she comes back, I thought.
Then the first scream came.
I slapped a hand over my mouth.
Another scream — and my hand moved toward the closet door. What if she needed me? Maybe she saw a cockroach; I hated those too.
But then I heard a man’s voice. "YOU CAN’T TAKE HER FROM ME!"
I shrank back.
Mom said she’d come back for me.
Mom said not to make a sound.
Mom said not to come out.
A knock at the door snaps me out of the memory, and I jump to my feet, rushing to answer it.
Damien stands there, hair tousled, shirt buttoned crookedly at the top. For some reason, that small imperfection eases the knot in my chest.
He steps inside, shutting the door behind him. His hands cup my face before I can take a full breath.
"Tell me who I need to kill, and I swear I'll make them bleed slowly."
The lethal promise in his tone pulses through the air. But then it hits me. If the man who left the dahlia is watching me, he's going to see Damien here. Which means Damien could become a target for that lunatic.
"I shouldn't have called you," I whisper, staring at the floor.
I can't look at him, not when my heart is pounding like the ground just dropped out from under me. Not when I feel those old claws of fear tightening around my ribs, crawling up from a seed planted when I was only five.
His lips brush my cheek, and my palms find his chest without thinking.
"Talk to me, Roxanne." His voice is soft, almost pleading.
"I think the man who killed my mother is following me. I think…he's here to finish the job." The words spill out like they've been caged too long.
His body goes still. He doesn't push for details, just takes my hand and guides me toward the bedroom. He doesn't need to ask where it is. Which means he's been here before. Which means I'm strangling him tomorrow.
Still, I'm not panicked about him. Which is insane. He's the head of a criminal empire, and for whatever reason, he's fixated on me.
But maybe it's the way he helped Luna when she needed it most. The way he stepped in when her ex turned dangerous. Maybe it's that I trust her, and she trusts Roman, Damien's friend. Or maybe I just want, for this one moment, to drop my shield.
The bed is small for two people, and with his six-foot-three frame, there's hardly any space left. We're practically glued to each other.
He doesn't try to hold me. Just threads his fingers through mine and murmurs, "I swear on my life no one will hurt you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Rest, Roxanne."
I know it's a promise no one can keep. But there's devotion in his voice, raw and unpolished, and that's enough to warm something inside my chest.
I let out a soft breath and settle in. Where our hands meet radiates safety. Maybe that's why I let my eyes close.
But sleep doesn't come without ghosts. My mother's eyes in the kitchen that night. My father's frantic voice asking who had been in the house. My uncle's devastation. The maroon dahlia lying on our counter.
I don't let go of his hand, as if our connection is the only thing standing between me and breaking apart completely. My body's running on empty after nearly twenty-two hours awake.
I'm almost gone when his voice slips into my subconscious.
"You've got the biggest monster lying right beside you, s?onko."
I don't understand the last word, but there's tenderness in it. And with that thought, the darkness takes me.