Chapter 5 Cole
COLE
“Did you fucking see the news?” I rushed into our living room and shoved the morning paper in Enzo’s face as he sat up from the couch where he was lounging.
He rarely lounged, but I knew he was struggling lately.
He stared down at the paper, his dark brows crinkled.
“What the fuck?” he snarled, reaching for his phone.
I watched him push a number and waited while whoever he wanted to speak to answered.
Seeing my girl covered in blood and looking terrified had done something to me. The headline said she was rushed to the hospital, too. Sure, I hadn’t spoken to her in over four years, but nothing had changed for me. Rosalie was still as much mine as she’d always been.
Maybe even more these days. Not a day went by that I wasn’t looking at her social media or putting her name into an internet search in the hopes of catching a new glimpse of her. She never played Chicago shows, and I knew it had something to do with us still living here.
But I saw her tour schedule.
She would be here in just over a month.
That did something to me I couldn’t explain. The show was sold out, and I’d tried to get tickets, but even scalpers were fucking sold out. Enzo told me to relax, but I wasn’t above waiting at her tour bus like a fucking groupie.
Of course, I knew Anson would likely have me tossed out on my ass before I got to see her, but fuck him. Ass hat could eat shit.
“Sylar,” Enzo’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I took a seat in the loveseat across from Enzo and listened.
“I need to speak to Church,” Enzo continued. He frowned. “What? I don’t fucking care. I want to talk to him. No. No.” He rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Listen—”
A muscle flexed along his jaw before he let out a soft snarl.
“I know what the fucking deal was,” he snapped. “I was there when it was made. I need to know—” He paused, his chest moving quickly as he listened to whatever Sylar was saying to him.
“Fucking asshole,” Enzo snapped, pulling the phone away from his ear and looking to me.
“Hung up?” I asked.
“That guy is fucking nuts. I hate dealing with him. Or whatever the fuck version of him that was. Fuck!” Enzo swore and got up to pace the room.
“What’s going on?” E asked, coming in with a sleepy-looking Lazarus at his side.
Lazarus was E’s son, conceived through rape in the underground. Celeste had raped E, got pregnant, and Enzo married Celeste after E begged us to hide it all because he didn’t want Rosalie to know.
Basically, Celeste was a cunt who fucked us all over, and I was glad we’d gutted the bitch and burned her body.
We called Lazarus Riot because the kid had a wild streak. He was somber and quiet until he wasn’t. He rarely spoke. His mother had cut his throat and hurt his vocal cords when he was an infant. He’d only barely survived.
We loved the shit out of him, though. He looked so much like E, thankfully.
And E was a helluva dad. I was impressed.
Enzo handed E the paper as Riot wandered to the kitchen in his pajamas, his dark hair a mess.
E took the paper from me and stared at the front page, his green eyes narrowing in that familiar way I’d come to know meant violence.
“It doesn’t say if she’s OK. Only that she was taken to the hospital.” E gripped the paper tightly. “Call Church.”
“I did,” Enzo muttered. “He’s not available to take my call. Sylar said none of it was my business with Rosalie and to stay out of it.” He gave me a pointed look. I knew that look. It meant Sylar reminded him of the arrangement we’d made with the underground after we’d killed Celeste.
Dante Church was a prick asshole and had been searching for a way to keep us from Rosalie.
In the agreement, because he’d requested that Celeste be returned to him in the underground and we refused, we had to sign in blood never to reach out to Rosalie.
The only communication we could have with her would be if she made first contact.
We hadn’t told E the deal we’d made, but it was fucking hanging over our heads every goddamn day since we’d made it. It was why we hadn’t gone after her.
At least that’s what I told myself. I wanted to go before the arrangement was made, but Enzo kept holding me back, sticking to the agreement. Some days, I didn’t think he wanted her to come back.
“Fuck him,” I snarled. “We’ve been doing this shit for over four years. Waiting. She’s not coming back unless we go to her—”
“We can’t,” Enzo snapped. “I’m not fucking fighting a war with the underground. You know how Church is.”
“I don’t want to go back there,” E said, his voice strong, still not having a clue what we were talking about. “I won’t fucking go back. Let’s just keep an eye on things. She has Anson. He will protect her.”
“She’s not coming back,” Enzo said, looking at me like he knew what I was going to say. “I don’t fucking want her to come back. Not to this.” He gestured around to our high-rise.
“The fuck?” I got to my feet. “We’ve been waiting. Doing as we agreed with fucking Dante Church and letting him handle shit. I didn’t do this shit for nothing!”
“No fighting,” E said, looking from me to Enzo, who stared back at me. “I have to make Laz his breakfast. I don’t want him to see us fight.”
Neither of us said a word as E left the room. The moment he was gone, I opened my mouth.
“Cole. Stop,” Enzo said before I could get a word out. “Let her go. I’ve been telling you for four fucking years—”
“No! For four years, you’ve been telling me we’ll get her back! To keep holding on. Was it all a lie? Huh?”
He blew out a breath. “I-I wish she would come home, but this isn’t home anymore. You know it’s not. It’s a fucking high-rise in the city. Our home sits vacant. She’s living her dreams. We need to let her.”
I glared at him and swallowed hard.
“Do you think she’s fucking Anson?” I finally choked out. I watched her on the news and in gossip rags. Nothing ever suggested she was with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was recently linked to Riley Parker of Fatal Promise, the band she toured with.
I’d watched that pretty motherfucker peacock his way across the stage on YouTube videos. Women were practically tearing their panties off to get to him. Rumor had it he’d broken up with his girlfriend, wife, or some shit. I didn’t know. I only knew what I’d read in gossip rags and online.
He was close to my girl.
And I was not happy.
“No,” he said. “I don’t. I don’t think her life leaves much room for dating.”
“Not even that singer?” I grunted.
Enzo looked out the window at the city. “It doesn’t matter. She’s not my girl any longer. She is free to do as she wishes.”
I kicked the coffee table and swore at him. He dragged his gaze back to me.
“Let her go, Cole. I have.”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” I backed away, shaking my head at him. He didn’t say a damn word. Instead, he just went back to looking out the window.
Irritated, I went to my room and closed the door before I settled at my desk and opened my laptop.
Enzo had changed. When we were younger, he was playful and fun. Now he was a moody, violent prick who lacked a sense of humor.
E wasn’t too far behind. He was always serious. To be fair, E had always been serious. Now, his focus was on Riot, teaching him things, doctor appointments for him, and pulling a trigger without blinking an eye. Plus, he just got his PhD, and consulted a lot at Mayfair on their research projects.
I at least liked to listen to the fucking pricks scream before I pulled the trigger.
Irritated by everything, I checked social media to see if she’d posted any updates.
“Damnit,” I muttered, seeing nothing new.
I drummed my fingers on the desk for a moment before I sighed and navigated to Anson’s social media.
I rarely looked at his. He was professional as fuck, and never had anything interesting to say.
Glaring at his profile picture with him in a dark suit and a stupid as fuck black turtleneck, I shook my head.
Fuck, I hated that guy.
But at least he wasn’t fucking my girl. Not that I could see anyway. The moment it came out that he did, I’d lose my fucking mind.
My Rosebud wouldn’t do that to me, though. She knew I hated that prick.
That’s what I kept telling myself.
I would assume if they were in a relationship, that shit would be plastered from here to fucking China. Bishop being in a relationship would be a huge deal. Right now, there were only rumors of her and that pretty boy from Fatal Promise.
Rumors. No images. Nothing.
For now, I’d let him live.
I scanned Anson’s page and found nothing interesting. He was doing some scouting for new clients. You could submit to his new agency. He had dinner at some fancy restaurant and took a picture of a dish I had no idea the name of. There were pictures of him with famous people.
And some with my Rosebud.
I swallowed as I stared at her pretty face. She was thinner than I remembered her being. Her long red curls had only grown. They hung well past her waist now. The front was dyed blonde.
I liked it.
“Rosebud,” I murmured, reaching out and touching the screen like it was really her here in my room. “I still love you. I’ll bring you home somehow.”
I swallowed, not knowing how it would even work.
I was in my residency to become a doctor.
I’d sailed through Mayfair’s undergraduate program in two years and was well on my way to becoming a doctor.
I was a fucking prodigy with a stethoscope.
It was a madness, really. I needed to be able to save my family. Being helpless wouldn’t work for me.
I breathed out and looked away from the image of Rosalie standing with Anson and a group of people I didn’t know at some awards ceremony.
She’d won a Grammy for her first album. I’d sat and watched it with Enzo and E. She’d performed live. It was incredible. Of course, the album talked about hating our asses, but I understood. We hurt her. She was allowed to fuck with our emotions like that.