Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  “But that tree began to die. Each season, the leaves became fewer and fewer. Dead branches scattered throughout the thin foliage that would come crashing to the ground with the slightest windstorm. My mother and sisters loved that tree. I loved that tree. My father destroyed that tree just as he was slowly destroying us with his life of running an MC and feeling as if he were God. Rules did not apply to him in his fucked up world. Love, compassion, family values, and kindness were not present in his land of booze, whores, killing, and the thirst for power. Every year, the tree got worse. Every year, so did my mother, my sisters, and I. We lived in a Mexican gang hell… a prison. And those assholes on bikes were our gatekeepers. I couldn’t date anyone and not fear they would be killed. I couldn’t go anywhere without the fear that I would be murdered in retaliation from some other MC for whatever vile thing my father had done to them. My life was so far from normal, and I had no one. My family was in a constant state of survival mode, which forced us to live with an every man for himself mentality. It was a hollow and lonely existence growing up. Superficial love. That was all I received and all I knew how to give.

  “I cut myself daily with whatever cheap razor blade I could find to numb the pain, and I feared I would eventually become like my mother who watched her soaps and spoke to her parrot with no life left in her eyes. I cut my inner thighs to keep this twisted need of mine hidden. It was my dark secret, but my entire life was becoming one big fucking dark secret.

  “On my seventeenth birthday, I packed a bag and waited one month until I graduated high school early. I kept that bag packed every day while I waited. And the day I left that house, I looked at the dying tree, and promised myself that I would never allow someone to destroy me.”

  “And you came to New Orleans?” I asked as I continued to rub on the tattoo that I now knew the story behind.

  “To play music. It was all I had. No other skills other than that, and definitely no money. But at least I had myself.” Marlowe turned so she could face me. “And I never cut myself again once I left. There was no more pain to silence.”

  “Until today,” I said.

  “I don’t need to silence my pain. I have you.” She pulled up on her knees so her face was inches from mine.

  I shook my head. “I cause pain. I never take it away.”

  She placed her finger on my lips as I had done to her before and smiled. “Shh, not tonight. Remember? You said we have tonight to just be. Nothing but us. And I have other ideas on how my pain can be silenced. I know exactly how you can take it all away.”

  Leaning in, she placed her wet palms on the back of my neck and pulled me into her, kissing me on the lips. The subtle touch lit me on fire. I was the cold heart caught in her flame.

  “Us,” she repeated as she pressed her tongue past my lips and danced it along with mine.

  The kiss paralyzed me. I didn’t know how to resist. There was no weapon I could use to fight back against the surge of emotion exploding from within. So soft. So good. So light. She was in control, yet used no force.

  “I don’t kiss,” I said against the tantalizing and foreign act. “Not like this.”

  “I do.” She deepened the kiss and raised further out of the tub, the sound of splashing water against her flesh driving me insane. I had to have her, but after today, I didn’t deserve her. This kiss was just an agonizing tease of what couldn’t be more—or what shouldn’t be.

  “Remember what I said about teasing,” I warned, breaking the kiss, knowing I had to or be undone by this woman forever.

  She kissed me again, not heeding my warning in the slightest. “And remember that I don’t tease,” she said as she nipped my lower lip and crawled onto my lap, straddling me with her dripping wet body. Latching her arms behind my neck, followed by her ankles hooking behind my back, she gave a wicked smile and said, “Take me. Take me so all the pain goes away. I choose you over the blade.”

  Maybe if I was a better man, I would have resisted and told her I was no good. That a blade, and slices along her beautiful skin, would be far better than what I had to offer her. If she truly knew. If she truly knew the monster I was, she would never be able to look me in the eye in fear of being sucked into my sick world that I’d created for myself. There was no one to blame but myself. So, if I were a better man, I would have saved her from me. Be the protector I so wanted to be for her.

  But I was not a better man. Far from it.

  Standing up as she still clung to my body, I gripped the cheeks of her slick ass and carried her to the bedroom. There would be no stopping this from happening. I couldn’t resist. She needed love, affection, cuddles, and sweet promises of security always. She did not need my kind of toxic buried balls deep inside of her. Yet, not only was I a bad man, I was a weak man.

  Placing her gently onto the bed, I removed my clothing as fast as I could. It was impossible to stop staring at the way the droplets of water glistened off her skin in the rays of the moonlight beaming in through the window. She was like some mythical creature here to seduce me for one night only. One night before death and the end of all good waiting patiently for the sunlight’s arrival.

  “I’ve truly never seen such a beautiful woman as you,” I admitted, not feeling like I needed to hold back the truth.

  At least I could give her one truth, even though other truths remained locked inside of me. The truth she deserved to know. The truth I wasn’t able to give. Not yet… maybe not never. But fuck if Marlowe didn’t deserve to know it. Now.

  Now goddamnit!

  But I was a fucking coward.

  The big bad Harley Crow was nothing but a damn coward.

  And if I did tell her the truth about the type of man I truly was… if I did, she wouldn’t ever look at me again like she did that very moment. Her eyes. Her lips begging to be devoured, her body tempting every last bit of control I had left in my body.

  She smiled and pressed up on her elbows, watching me as I took off the remaining piece of my clothing. “And I’ve never seen a man as sexy as you, Harley Crow.” She motioned with her finger for me to join her. “Get over here and fuck me.”

  Yes, this woman was in control tonight. All power. All consuming. And definitely in command over every aspect of my life. Normally, I would be the master. I would make her beg and plead for the pleasure to come. I never handed over the reins, and would punish her for even thinking she could touch them. But not tonight. Tonight, the power rested in her hands. I would do nothing but make her cry out my name in pleasure. Nothing more than pleasure. She deserved so much more, but that was all I could give.

  If she only knew that she marched toward the gallows as she beckoned me. I would be her death… ultimately. That fact was delivered today in a way that was unforgivable. The noose would strangle the life right out of her, and the only one to blame would be me. But as I crawled on top of her, hungry to feel my cock buried deep within her pussy, I knew I only tightened the rope more.

  There would be no push and pull tonight. No battle of dominance and submission. I had no desire to balance on the serrated knife I normally thrived on. I wanted only her warmth. I wanted only her desire gripping my dick as I thrust her into oblivion. Nothing more but giving her pleasure. No pain. No more pain. She’d shed her last tear today.

  Fighting back the demons, and ignoring the inferno of sin, I spread her legs and slid my cock inside of her.

  She arched her back and clung to me as a gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. No fear. No terror. No pain. Just pleasure.

  In and out, I moved, kissing a trail of kisses along her neck and collarbone. Such tenderness that I couldn’t ever remember giving another person before.

  I was an assassin.

  A brutal killer.

  But with Marlowe, I would change.

  I would assassinate the man I was before.

  I would kill everything inside of me to make sure I would never see the pain and fear in her eyes again.

  Who was afraid of the dark?

&n
bsp; Me.

  I was fucking afraid of the dark. I was afraid of the man I had become, but even more afraid of the man Marlowe made me want to be.

  Over and over, I fucked her…

  No…

  I loved on her.

  I didn’t bite, but nibbled.

  I didn’t growl, but moaned as the walls of her wet and warm core tightened around me.

  I didn’t demand, but gave.

  Looking into her eyes, I saw pure innocent delight as I buried myself deeper with every push. Eyes so full of life and passion. So bright and alive. So different than the eyes I had seen when she feared for her life. The eyes I stared into that very moment were the eyes I wanted to see forever.

  “I will never allow you to be afraid again,” I whispered as I continued to rock my hips against hers.

  She reached up and pulled my head down, forcing our lips to connect with another kiss. As our tongues intertwined, she moaned and gasped while her pussy clenched around me in completion. Unfamiliar intimacy from her delicate kiss and feminine sounds of desire became my undoing. With one final drive into her depths, I released every ounce of humanity inside of me that I hadn’t even known existed.

  She had pulled the light from me, and destroyed the dark at that very moment.

  Marlowe Masters was a lethal assassin.

  A ruthless killer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marlowe

  Normal. The perfect word to describe that very moment. Harley and I laid in bed, tangled in each other’s arms after sex like any normal couple would do. There was nothing dirty or taboo about the sex. There was nothing that pushed the limits. Just us, connecting.

  As we laid there in his bed watching the moon shine through his window, I felt normal.

  Rubbing my finger along his chest in tiny circles as I cuddled into the crux of his arm, I asked, “How were you able to find me?”

  He remained silent for several moments. Maybe there were secrets or contacts he didn’t want to tell me.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” I said, not wanting to relive the nightmare again anyway. “All that matters is that you did.”

  We laid there for a little bit longer as I traced patterns along all the tattoos on his arms, chest and stomach. There were so many, and they were all different. There was no theme, yet they all did seem to flow together perfectly. Skulls were all over his arms that matched the one with the red eyes on his neck. Crows flew across his heart, daggers stabbed at his ribcage, demons emerged from his lower abs. So many tattoos, and so many tales.

  “I told you about my tattoo,” I said. Hell, I had told him more about me than I had ever told anyone. “It’s your turn. What do some of yours mean? Like the crows? You have so many flying across your chest.”

  His voice was low and even as he spoke. “Each crow represents someone I killed that was difficult. That hurt me to do so.”

  “Like people you knew?”

  “Yes. People I knew but still had to die. I didn’t want to kill them, but felt I had no choice.”

  “What made you kill that first person? That made you become the killer you are today?” I asked, not sure if I would get an answer.

  “I don’t have an answer for that question to be honest.” Harley ran his hand along my outer arm and pulled me a little closer to his warmth. “Is there really a right answer for that? I could say it was because of the money, which is what killing ultimately became about. But what got me started? I’m not sure. And what keeps me going? I wonder that myself.”

  “Who was your first kill?”

  “A drug dealer who messed with a dirty cop. It was my first paid job. I didn’t get a job as a paper boy or at a fast food joint like other kids in my neighborhood. My first job was as a hired killer.”

  “The dirty cop had you kill him?”

  “Yes. The dirty cop was someone I owed. I was just a kid lashing out who had gotten into some trouble. That cop got me off the hook, but then it pretty much meant I became his bitch with all the rest of his bitches who helped him run his part of the streets. At the time, I didn’t mind. I liked being part of a family, no matter how fucked up that family was. I had no one else to count on. I bounced around from foster home to foster home all while knowing my drunk of a father didn’t give a fuck. So, that shithead of a cop made me at least feel needed, which was a hell of a lot more than my old man did.”

  “So you killed for him?”

  Harley nodded, still stroking me tenderly. “Whenever he asked, which was often. He was a callous man who taught me how to be one as well. But the money was good and the praise even better.”

  “Was it hard?”

  “At first. But it got easier with each pull of the trigger or stab of the knife. It got to a point where I didn’t even think about it. I was more focused on becoming tougher and more skilled than anyone else. My goal was to be the best. The best at something since I was pretty much a failure at everything else.”

  “And you never felt guilty?”

  “If you walk among the beasts of the underground, then you’ve done something to be knocking on death’s door. So, I saw it as I was simply killing a beast, not a human being. Deserving, though I never really used that word.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to describe why I killed.”

  “Do you feel you deserve to die?” I asked.

  “More than most,” was his simple answer.

  “That’s a sad belief,” I mumbled, still feeling the need to be close to this man who all but admitted to being a killing machine with no remorse. “Do you still work for the dirty cop?”

  “No. That ended a long time ago. I don’t work for anyone but myself.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “He became one of the crows on my chest.”

  I glanced down at the black ink, and felt nothing but sorrow for Harley’s past. What a lonely and dismal path he’d walked from such an early age.

  I needed to ask a hard question, but one that was important for me to know. “Do you need to be on drugs or drunk to do all these things?”

  Drug use and alcoholism was a hard limit for me. I couldn’t tolerate it in my life. It was the life I’d run from, and I didn’t even want to consider entering into it again. Insane that the fact that Harley was an assassin didn’t come into play, but this did. And why was I even asking? It wasn’t like Harley and I were having the relationship talk. I was just a girl he contracted with as part of a Tasting, but I still needed to know. My heart was crossing over that line. That hard, solid, and bold line that I never crossed. But I was with him. And before I allowed that to happen, I needed to know of what other demons this man had.

  “Never. I will have to hand it to that cop. He wouldn’t allow shit like that from any of his men. He found you drunk or high and it meant a bullet right between the eyes. He taught me the art of perfection. You had to be sharp and aware at all times to achieve it, so booze and drugs were never allowed. I like a good vodka, but never in excess. I have too many damn enemies who could turn the corner at any second to risk being anything but sharp and aware at all times.” His hand stopped caressing my arm and moved to my hair. Slowly, he combed his fingers through the strands, cupping the back of my head every so often as he did so. “What about you? Do you use?”

  “Never,” I said with maybe a little too much emphasis.

  “The dying tree,” he said softly.

  I nodded. “Yes, the dying tree.”

  “That’s rare. In the world I live in, habits seem to be present in everyone.”

  “Oh, I have habits,” I admitted. “To be honest, you have been one of them.” I couldn’t believe I was about to tell him this, but I felt like I could be free with my feelings with him after all we had just been through. I had met many people who didn’t judge, in fact, most people at Spiked Roses fell into the non judging category, but with Harley it seemed even more so. Like there wasn’t a thing I couldn’t tell him.

  “I’ve been one of them?”

  “I d
on’t know if you could call it a crush or just damn near stalking, but I literally could not stop watching you every night you were at the club. The only reason I really went to that Tasting was because I heard you would finally be at it. You never went, and well… I thought that maybe this could be my chance to have you notice me.”

  His body tensed and his hand stopped the caress. “Why? Why me?”

  I giggled and slapped his chest lightly. “Relax. I wasn’t looking for my baby daddy or anything. You simply fascinated me.”

  Slowly picking up with his caressing and relaxing again, he said, “Well, I’m glad you did. When I went to the Tasting, I had no intention of actually contracting out with anyone. I don’t believe in mixing work with personal life, but then I saw you.”

  “Saw me?” My heart flipped at the idea that he’d wanted me as I’d wanted him.

  “Fucking stunning, was the first thought that came to mind,” he admitted. “Long black hair, black dress… you were a gothic masterpiece I just had to meet.”

  I laughed hard. “I knew it! I knew you liked black. I begged Tennessee to allow me to wear black. He thought I would look like Elvira or something.”

  Harley joined in with my laughter. “I happen to find Elvira hot.”

  “Last time I listen to Tennessee.”

  He stopped laughing, ran his hand down my back, and settled on the curve of my ass. “I find you so much hotter, however.”

  “You just like your women dark.”

  “I do. You rarely find women who are willing to play along the forbidden edge like you.” He slapped my ass hard, which had me gasping. “Why were you so willing? Was it just about the Tasting? Keeping with the theme?”