Kissed by a Rose
A Dead Roses Novel
RaShelle Workman
Kissed by a Rose
By
RaShelle Workman
Copyright ©2019 RaShelle Workman
Polished Pen Press Corporation, LLC
All rights reserved.
Contents
Newsletter
Dedication
Summary
Prologue
1. Tattooed On My Heart
2. You’re So Lucky
3. Are You Ready To Parr-Tayy
4. Remembering
5. Interpersonal Relationships
6. Several Beats
7. College is Serious
8. Less Time to Pine
9. Hottie Ta
10. You Gonna Be a Lush
11. She’s As Broken As I Am
12. We Made a Pact
13. Most Definitely Not Fine
14. Texting Shame
15. Thanks For the Chat
16. My Heart is in My Throat
17. Embarrass Myself Again
18. Like a Date
19. Trust Your Roomie
20. Super Fancy
21. Wing Woman
22. This is About a Boy
23. Do What Comes Naturally
24. He’s Gravity and I’m the Moon
25. Marinated MOMENT
26. Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You
27. Slice the Edge
28. Return to Sender
29. Turned On Its Head
30. Tattooed To My Brain
31. No Good Mitts
32. Wow Me, People
33. Coats Are For Babies
34. The Truth Is Out
35. The Truth
36. Remember the Titans
37. You’re Amazing, Freckles
38. I’ll Make It AWESOME
Epilogue
Books by RaShelle Workman
About the Author
Newsletter
Visit RaShelle’s website at www.rashelleworkman.org and sign up for her newsletter so you never miss a new release and you can participate in her exclusive giveaways.
Dedication
For those who believe love conquers all!
Summary
Passionate. Terrifying. Heart-Wrenching.
Rose Hansen has suffered more than most with the death of her parents at a young age and knowing the murderer personally. But it’s been seven years and she’s determined to put the secrets of her past behind her and start fresh—live a little. That’s what her aunt is always telling her to do. She wants to try, but her roommate is constantly getting into trouble and the son of the man who murdered her parents is also attending Bellam University. It doesn’t help that she has feelings for him. Feelings she thought she’d put away with the rest of her childish things. But the first time she sees him, she’s a goner. Too bad he doesn’t even recognize her.
What’s worse? His cousin continuously threatens her, telling her to stay away or she’ll wish she had. Will she be able to move forward with her life and even possibly find love or is it her destiny to die the same way her parents did?
Prologue
READY AIM FIRE
Assassin
I’m sitting outside a coffee shop, a cup of coffee and a donut in front of me, though I haven’t touched either. Steam rises from the cup, swirling against the slight chill of the rainy, evening air. No one notices me. I’m just another person in the crowd, which is exactly my plan. I’m wearing a baseball cap to keep the rain off my face and my features in shadow.
The tables and chairs of the coffee shop are covered by a giant green awning. My hands are under the table. One rests against my thigh and the other is holding a gun. I’ve covered it with my jacket, of course. I don’t want to make a scene. But I’m waiting. Watching for the particular person walking my direction, but on the other side of the street.
Rose Hansen. She’s moves with intention, urgent to get to her appointment. Oblivious to the gun with silencer I have trained on her. It seems like a difficult shot, but it isn’t. This is my job and I’m really good at it.
Rose isn’t thinking about anything but her destination. Another tattoo. It’s the anniversary of her parents’ deaths. An anniversary she can’t forget. Not that I blame her. But I don’t care her reasons. I have a job to do.
I have to end her life.
But as I watch her study the clouds as a bolt of electricity shoots through the sky, I know today isn’t the day.
Not yet.
But soon.
Rose Hansen has to die.
1
Tattooed On My Heart
Rosie
Soft rain slicks against my umbrella as I hurry down the sidewalk. Heavy, gray clouds cast shadows over the late afternoon. Quaint storefronts with glowing lights guide the way toward my destination. It’s nearing the end of August, not really the rainy season, but then Bellam isn’t an ordinary town either. Located in the wilds of Wyoming just thirty minutes from Green River, it’s a tiny blip on the map.
A flash of lightning shoots through the clouds, like a spiderweb and I shudder at the chill. At the door to the tattoo studio, I pause heaving a sharp breath. Inside, the store is warm and smells of ink. There’s tattoo art everywhere—the walls, the worktops, and even those inking the patrons. Two men are seated in black chairs while the artists do their work. The repetitive buzz of the guns jabbing needles into skin over and over fills the room.
One of the clients is getting a word tattooed on his left bicep. Not sure what it says, but the artist has completed an S U and is working on the E. The other guy’s ink is nearly finished, a blade with a snake winding around it. Both men have blank, faraway expressions.
I know that look, and I envy them momentarily.
“Come on,” Tony says, eyeing the others. “Let’s go back here.”
I follow Tony through the open area and down the hall. He closes the bright yellow privacy curtain and faces me. “Rose, right? Take off your shirt and lie back.”
“Rosie,” I say chewing on the inside of my cheek.
I’ve done this before, but I’m still edgy, mostly because Tony’s a new guy. Lance, the guy who did my other tattoos, is on a required leave of absence and won’t be back for three to five years—two with good behavior. I can’t wait that long.
He grunts his acknowledgement.
Taking the scrunchie from my wrist, I pull my dark hair into a high bun. Yank off my gray tank, exposing pale skin and a sports bra. I grimace at the cold air. It makes my skin tighten, prickle with goose bumps.
I’m grateful. Because I know what happens next. I’m anxious. Excited, even.
Today is an anniversary, and not one filled with cake, balloons, and good feelings. Seven years ago today I found their bodies. Seven years ago I found them dead. It feels like yesterday. The pain is raw and rips at my heart. Scratching. Shredding. My lips and hands tremble at the memory. It’s going to swallow me, eat me alive from the inside, claw through my sinews like a deadly virus.
I want to shout at Tony. Tell him to hurry. Scream, “I can’t take any more!” I need pain to redden my skin, make the outside hurt as much as the inside.
His brows crunch together and he’s staring at me, at my already inked-up skin.
“Is there a problem?” My teeth are clenched. They have to be because if I open my mouth, something other than words will come out. Sobs. Or worse.
His lips press together in a thin line. “No,” he answers, but his attitude tells me he’s lying.
I take a deep breath. Lay back in the dentist-type leather chair. By the look on his face I know he isn’t concerned w
ith the pain thrashing inside my body. He can’t see that. He also isn’t looking at my barely B cup breasts.
His eyes are focused on my other tattoos. I already have four. Obviously, he really checked my driver’s license to verify age. I’m barely eighteen.
He sits on a rolling stool and turns away, muttering in Spanish. He’s a big guy, brawny, and is wearing a white wife-beater with holey faded jeans. His face is all hard lines, bushy eyebrows, and thick lips. On the bridge of his nose is a pair of thick black glasses, and over the tank is a tan, buttoned sweater.
There’s only so much you can tell about a person from the way they look. Clothes can be deceiving, as can the way a person does their hair, or even the makeup they wear. One thing I’ve learned though: if the eyes are the windows to the soul, then shoes are the official gatekeepers. Tony is wearing black flip-flops.
It’s like he can’t decide between nerd and hottie. The weird thing is the look works on him. He has a tattoo of a dragon along the back of his neck. It’s breathing fire, one eye staring at me. And I can almost hear the condemnation. The words Tony can’t say because it’s none of his business.
Plastic tears away from plastic, and then there’s a snap of surgical gloves. More tearing plastic, and he’s pulling out gauze. He squirts rubbing alcohol on it. The smell tickles my nose. It momentarily drowns out the stench of old cigars and Chinese food from the restaurant next door.
“You want it here?” He presses one gloved finger right below my belly button, in the place we’ve already discussed.
I look down anyway, to verify. “Yep, that’s right.”
He rambles something in Spanish as he wipes the area with the wet gauze. It’s freezing, and my body automatically tenses before I allow myself to relax. It’s coming. The bracing, all-consuming pain. Soon it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt so bad that after a while it’ll stop hurting, and I’ll be numb. I’ll be numb everywhere.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry, my mind screams.
He nods, and his eyes rake over my other tattoos.
The first is a quote inked in calligraphy: I love because I am loved. It sits below my bra on the left side of my torso. The second is in the same place under my right breast. More writing, this time in cursive, but the words are less sweet. I am nothing. The third is below it, on my ribcage. The kanji symbol for hate. I’m hoping he doesn’t know what the character means, but something tells me he does. The fourth tattoo starts at my left hip. My pants cover part of it. Five stars. The first is the largest. They get smaller as they go up, past my waist, the final star resting on a rib.
The tattoo Tony is doing today will be fully colored. The first tattoo I’m getting with color. It’ll be an iris flower—a symbol of faith—with thorn-covered vines curling on either side.
More plastic ripping and then he brings over a razor. “I’d walk you through the steps, but it looks like you know the drill.” His words are filled with accusation. He doesn’t approve.
“I do.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to spill his thoughts. He wants to, I can tell. He wants to ask me why someone too young to have a single tattoo would already have so many. Why I would subject myself to such permanence at such a young age?
Instead he grumbles words I don’t understand as he runs the disposable pink razor over my skin. When he’s finished, he tosses it in the trash and wipes the area clean with more icy cold gauze.
The alcohol dries quickly, disappears. I wish my pain could vanish that easily, but it can’t. It won’t.
Tony takes the paper transfer of the iris drawing he’s created on his computer and places it on my skin. Then, just like a press on tattoo, he rubs it on. When he pulls away the paper, I glance at the flower.
He looks at me. “Is that gonna work? Last chance.”
“It looks great,” I say and lean back, allowing my head to rest against the chair. I could tell him to put it anywhere, as long as it’s on my body quickly. Because the truth is, I don’t care about placement. For me, tattoos aren’t about the art. Inking my body isn’t my form of expression. It’s about pain. They are my medication. When it’s over I’ll be able to breathe easier. It means I’m healing. Getting better. Another year of living while my parents haven’t.
At least that’s what my shrink says. I have my doubts, but I want to believe she’s right. She’s the one who convinced me to get a tattoo. I was fourteen the first time. Yeah, she isn’t the typical therapist, but then I wasn’t the typical fourteen-year-old.
Tony rips more plastic and mixes the ink, placing different colors of purple, indigo, and yellow in ink caps. He gets a cup and fills it with distilled water, which will be used for cleaning the needles, and turns on the gun.
“Ready?” he asks, rubbing a little ointment over my skin. It’ll help the needle slide around more easily.
I stare into his face. “Yes,” I say, and mean it. I’m more than ready. My body is desperate.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you to hold still.” He stands above me, hovering like a gigantic apparition, his face intense with focus.
“I won’t move, Tony,” I grit out.
He looks at me when I say his name and a quiet tenderness softens his features. “Alright, here we go.”
The first seconds are white-hot pain so intense it takes my breath away. Which is exactly what I want. Because in the next second I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and sink into bliss.
2
You’re So Lucky
Cole
Tonight’s been full of surprises. First, my cousin Evan found a dead body near the field house after winning our pick-up basketball game. We knew the guy too. Shawn Green. He lived in our apartment complex on the bottom floor. According to the police, it looks like he died of a drug overdose. I liked the guy well enough. He was a bit loud and seemed overly anxious to please Evan, but he was easy to hang out with and talk sports.
Before they took the body away, I got a good look at the guy. It looked like he’d been beaten pretty badly. According to my Criminology class, that meant the murderer probably knew him. More than that though, he had an issue with Shawn.
After giving our statements down at the police station, we head back to the gym. I left my bag there with my phone inside. A stupid move, but I’d been distracted. It’ll be a miracle if it’s still there.
Inside, the smell of sweaty heat pummels my nose. There’s a coed volleyball game happening in one part of the enormous gym and several guys are still playing basketball in another portion. A group of girls are seated on bleachers nearby, watching. Occasionally they giggle at what the other said. One of them notices me, says something to her friends and then gets up, coming over. She’s a looker. Pretty in an over-the-top kind of way. I prefer natural beauty, but this girl looks like she has layers of make up on her face.
“Hey, you’re Cole, right?” she asks when she reaches me. Her hair is long blond and curled at the ends. She smells exotic against all the body odor in the room.
“Yeah, what’s your name?” I figure one of her friends told her mine. I recognize a few of them. In fact, I’ve dated a few too.
“Simone.” She brushes her fingers along my arm. “Want to hang out?”
Evan appears at my side when she asks. It blows my mind he doesn’t seem effected by the fact that we saw a dead body two hours ago. It’s like he sees them every day.
“What’s up, girl?” Evan winks, giving her his smolder. The one he’s been practicing in the mirror since I was twelve and he was fourteen.
I’ve known Evan my whole life. He’s my cousin. After my father died his parents took me in, and we’ve been close ever since. He isn’t a nice person. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he’s a jerk. Thankfully, he likes his own space. We live next door to each other in an apartment complex instead of with each other or ten minutes away with his mom and dad.
Simone looks him up and down before scowling. “Pass.”
“Whatever. You only chose Cole because you haven’t feast
ed your eyes on this.” Evan raises his shirt, rubbing his six pack.
The girls in the bleachers notice, squealing their unified approval for Evan’s nakedness. Some even clap.
I chuckle. Now he’ll be worse than unbearable. I’m surprised at the girl’s obvious disdain for my cousin. He and I look alike—same dark hair, same square jaw. I’m an inch taller and a little more muscled, but not by much.
“Cole?” Simone focuses on me, waiting for a response.
“Trust me, Cole isn’t the man for you.” Evan rubs a thumb across his nose. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He proceeds to make obscene gestures.
I can’t help but laugh. Evan’s an idiot, and he thinks way too highly of himself. The only reason I hang out with him is because he’s been like my brother the last seven years.
Simone looks frustrated. “Cole, did you want to go out or not?”
“I can’t tonight,” I say, glancing at Evan. “We’re going to a party. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
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