Blood & Roses (Vigilante Crime Series)

by Kristi Belcamino

  “You saw it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s so funny. We can’t really see the audience because of the lighting, but I just had this feeling about something—or someone—good in the crowd.”

  Rose smiled.

  But then Aria’s own smile faded. “You’re here because of Lane, right? You heard she was back?”

  Rose exhaled loudly before answering. “She’s very dangerous. Your big friend is right to be overprotective of you, but if she came after you, he wouldn’t be any help. I could’ve killed all of you before he lifted a finger just now.”

  Aria shuddered.

  “I’m sorry to be that blunt with you, but you have to be more careful.”

  “Okay,” Aria said in a meek voice.

  “The good news is I don’t think she’s after you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Aria said. She reached into a small vintage bag hanging from a chain looped over her shoulder and extracted a beat-up silver cigarette case. She offered a cigarette to Rose before lighting her own.

  The two women smoked for a few seconds before Rose spoke again.

  “I came to ask if you have any idea where she might be?”

  “For whatever reason, right before she went to see my mom she found me on social media. I have a fake name and everything—it’s Ariel Drake by the way, if you ever need to find me—and she found me and friend requested me. I wasn’t sure it was her at first. She has blonde hair now.”

  “Can you show me the account?”

  “Sure,” Aria said, tapping her phone.

  “Did you see her while she was in town?”

  Aria nodded. “It was awful. She showed up at mama’s funeral and caused a scene at the graveside service. She was picking up the dirt and throwing it everywhere. She smeared dirt all over her face. She even jumped on top of the casket. It was horrible. Such a disgrace. She was drunk or high or just crazy. The priest called her the devil and she laughed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rose said.

  “It was weird. Like she was possessed. And when the priest grabbed her wrists and said he had to get the devil out of her, she laughed in his face. She said, ‘I’m not the devil. But I know who the devil is. I’ve looked into his eyes. He is more evil and powerful than you can imagine. He could destroy all of you with a look.’”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Right?” Aria said. “But then the priest asked who the devil was and something weird came over her. She was terrified. She was shaking and sweating and almost crying. The priest tried to comfort her and asked her who the devil was. She said it was some prince or something.”

  Rose’s mouth went dry. “Prince?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Did she say ‘Sultan?’”

  Aria nodded, eyes wide.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?” Rose asked.

  “She said she was going to make sure mama’s death was avenged. At the time, I just thought it was stupid, crazy rambling. Do you think…?” Aria trailed off.

  “She’s clearly out of her head,” Rose said. “That’s why we need to find her as soon as possible.”

  Aria nodded and bent her head back down to her phone.

  Rose swallowed. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. But for some reason, Lane had gone off the deep end when her mother died and was punishing Rose for it by killing Timothy.

  Aria looked up from her phone again.

  “I’m sorry. The account is deleted,” Aria said. “Which is weird because she just posted a picture yesterday.”

  “What was the picture?” Rose said, heart pounding. She knew by now that anything and everything Lane did was a calculated move. Nothing was chance.

  “It was a picture of her in a forest,” Aria said. “That’s one reason I haven’t been worried about her. We don’t have a lot of forests like that near here. Anyway, she was in a forest, and she was posing by a weird looking statue.”

  It was a fucking clue. For Rose.

  “Weird? In what way? Like what? What did it look like?”

  “It was a big head,” Aria said. “I guess it looked like the Easter Island heads but in a forested area.”

  Rose nodded and reached for her phone. After scrolling on her phone for a few seconds, she leaned over and showed the screen to Aria. “Did it look like this?”

  Aria’s headed bobbed. “Yes.”

  The enchanted forest of Òrrius, just outside of Barcelona.

  Lane had returned to Spain.

  27

  Barcelona

  The water from her bathroom’s shower in the Gothic Quarter apartment was near scalding and yet Rose leaned into it, welcoming the stinging pain of the water. She stayed in until the hot water ran cold, and her body was bright red.

  She got out, slowly dried herself off, and headed into her bedroom. Her hair dripped water onto the floor behind her as she walked.

  Her phone showed several missed calls and messages.

  They were all from Gia.

  Rose had been right. Gia and Eva had been in Rome looking for Lane.

  “We just talked to Aria. She said you were here in town. Please call us. We are staying with Violet. Let’s at least go to dinner and talk.”

  Rose hung up. Good. It didn’t sound like Aria had mentioned the pictures on social media. Or maybe Eva and Gia hadn’t asked the right questions. Either way, they thought she was still in Rome.

  She sent a quick text.

  “I’m in bed, calling it an early night. Totally exhausted. But let’s meet for breakfast in the morning. At the Spanish Steps?”

  That would keep them there for the night, she hoped.

  As soon as night fell, she was heading to Òrrius to hunt down and kill Lane.

  Until then, she was preparing herself mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally.

  There was a chance she would be caught and arrested and sent to prison.

  It would be a worthwhile price to pay to exact her vengeance.

  Naked, she returned to the bathroom and wiped the steam off the mirror in a large circle.

  Rose stared at her reflection.

  In some ways, she still looked like the skinny young girl she’d always been.

  She’d always looked much younger than her years. She was tall and thin, and her long dark hair somehow made her seem even younger. Her big, doll-like black eyes enhanced the look of youth. But now everything was different. It was the look in those eyes.

  Everything was the same at first glance, yet she hardly recognized herself.

  Something had changed.

  Whether it was the steel glint in her eyes or something else, she knew that Timothy’s death was forever etched on not only her soul but also on her very face.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of the new Rose that was staring back out at her from the mirror.

  You have to stop thinking that way, she scolded herself. You can’t wonder what Timothy would think or say in every situation. That’s a recipe for insanity.

  But she knew that it would take a long time—maybe forever—for her not to wonder what Timothy would think or do or say or feel.

  She had told Timothy she never wanted to be like Eva and Gia. Even though she’d never used the words “assassin” or “killer” when she talked to him about them. She simply said that the two women had led violent lives. He’d never asked for her to explain any further.

  Once, she’d lost her temper and said she wanted to kill someone: a classmate of theirs had claimed Timothy sexually assaulted her.

  As luck would have it, the alleged assault occurred when Timothy was working at his father’s restaurant. Numerous witnesses placed him there. But before his name was cleared, Rose had confronted her.

  In a fit of rage, Rose cornered the girl at school and attacked. Timothy, suspecting something, found them and pulled Rose away before the girl was seriously injured. Rose let him.

  Then, filled with remorse, Rose a
pologized.

  “I’m so sorry,” she’d said. “I don’t want to be like that. I just lost my mind. I’m not like that. I promise.”

  She was trying to convince herself more than him.

  Timothy’s response now echoed in her head: “Don’t worry, I know you would never hurt anybody.”

  He was wrong.

  It wasn’t his fault.

  He didn’t know that without him, she had no reason to remain the same girl he’d loved. She had no reason to strive to live a life without violence in it.

  That girl was dead and gone. Like him.

  In her bedroom, she rummaged around in a dresser drawer full of art supplies until she found what she was looking for—a pair of sharp scissors.

  Back in the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and gave herself one long, last look, saying goodbye to the Rose that Timothy had known and loved.

  Taking the scissors, she cut across the thick strands of hair, letting chunks fall to the ground. She kept scissoring at the strands until she ended up with a messy bob that fell just below her chin.

  Still naked, she stopped long enough in her bedroom to grab the holster and her gun before she headed for the spare bedroom.

  It was time to hunt through Gia’s clothes. Gia had never moved all of her clothes out of the armoire in the spare bedroom, mostly because she still slept over occasionally.

  It didn’t take long for Rose to find what she was looking for. Luckily, the two were about the same size. First, Rose tugged on a tight black T-shirt. Then she found a dark gray hoodie. She zipped it up and immediately pulled the hood over her head. Back in her bedroom, she wriggled into her own skintight charcoal gray jeans and then tucked her feet into black steel-toed motorcycle boots thick with chains and heavy tread. Then she adjusted the holster.

  Opening the safe hidden in the bottom of the armoire, she took out about 1000 euros and folded the bills carefully into a black leather money belt that she wound through her jean’s belt loops. Then she tucked her dagger into the side of her boot.

  Last, she put on dark sunglasses before she walked out of the apartment and headed away from the Ramblas to a commercial district with auto dealers.

  She would not rely on public transportation or hired drivers anymore.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to buy a sporty black Vespa. She offered the guy cash, and he quickly handed her the keys.

  She’d just strapped on the black helmet when her phone dinged.

  It was a text from Gia.

  But this one wasn’t about her. It was about Nico.

  “Hey. Can you do me a favor? Can you swing by and check on Nico? I’m out of town for a day or two. I’ve been trying to call him, but he hasn’t answered. The woman at the desk said she saw him a little bit ago, so he’s okay, but I can’t figure out why he won’t answer his phone.”

  “I’m on it,” Rose typed back.

  She would swing by and say hello to Nico before she went to find Lane.

  It was a good idea anyway. There was a chance she might never see her father again if she ended up dead.

  Rose hopped on her new scooter and sped off down the cobblestone road.

  The feel of the wind on her body eased some of her tension, but she still had a death grip on the handles. Soon, she pulled into the small lot and parked near the door.

  Holding her helmet in her hand, she approached the check-in desk.

  “Hi, I’m Damien Costa’s daughter,” she said, using his Witness Protection name. She wondered if any of that mattered anymore since Nico didn’t even remember he was in witness protection. She sighed.

  The woman, whom she’d never seen before, smiled at her.

  “His daughter picked him up this morning.”

  An icy finger of dread ran across her scalp.

  “I am his daughter.”

  The woman’s brow furrowed. “His other daughter?”

  Alarm raced through her. “Excuse me?”

  “Your sister who is visiting from Italy?” The woman’s eyes were wide.

  “I don’t have a sister.” Rose’s voice was hard. The woman drew back.

  “Oh, dear God,” the woman said. “Then who was it?”

  The woman rubbed her eyes and shook her head.

  “You tell me,” Rose said in a stony voice.

  Rose pulled up the picture of Lane on her phone and thrust the phone at the woman. “Is this her?”

  The woman nodded, her lower lip trembling as if she were going to cry. “But with blonde hair.”

  Nico had said Rose’s hair was different.

  It’s just in a ponytail, Papa. The color, he’d said.

  And she had dismissed it as memory loss and confusion.

  “Where did she say they were going?”

  The woman scrunched up her face. “She mentioned Gaudí’s Cathedral,” she said. “So, she’s not your sister?”

  “No, she’s a criminal. A killer.”

  “Oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to call the police?”

  “Tell me exactly what she said.”

  “Well, it was a little odd, actually,” the woman said. “She made a point of saying where they were going several times. She even asked if I had a map to the Cathedral. I think she wanted to make sure I knew where they were going.”

  Rose crossed her arms over her chest.

  Of course, Lane had wanted Rose to know.

  It was a trap.

  28

  Rose parked her scooter a few blocks away from the cathedral.

  Even from that distance, La Sagrada Familia towered above everything else, filling the skyline with its ornate white spires stretching into the sunset sky.

  Although its official name was La Sagrada Familia, most people called it Gaudí ’s Cathedral, after the main architect.

  Rose wasn’t sure if she loved it or hated it. At times, she had felt both emotions toward it.

  Timothy had loved it and tried to point out all its redeeming features. But it was so messy that Rose still preferred the Gothic Cathedral as her favorite cathedral in town.

  Rose knew all about Gaudí’s cathedral, though. Timothy had talked about it often, and they had spent long hours inside the chapel and in the towers.

  He’d told her that besides a brief break in construction during the summer of 2020 during the COVID-19 pandemic, the cathedral had the dubious distinction of being the longest running current construction project in the world.

  Construction began in 1882 under Francisco de Paula del Villar. Antoni Gaudí took over a year later, putting his own Gothic-mixed-with-Art Nouveau spin on the project. When he died in 1926, only a quarter of the cathedral had been finished. Gaudi was buried in the crypt inside, and another architect took over. Rose knew that saints were buried in cathedrals and churches but thought it creepy that the architect was.

  Still, she couldn’t help but admire the man’s vision, even if it wasn’t her favorite cathedral. He definitely had a unique style.

  Up close, the carvings and colors of the tops of the spires looked like something out of a psychedelic nightmare or, as Timothy had put it, “something someone came up with during an acid trip in Las Vegas.”. It also, in Rose’s opinion, had a Disney or Dr. Seuss feel to it.

  Its ornate carvings included fractals, seashells, palm trees, lizards, snails, and frogs in addition to the standard angels, saints, Virgin Mary, and Jesus figures.

  As she entered the chapel, a man stopped her to say the church was closed.

  Rose burst into tears. “Can I just light a candle and say a prayer?”

  The man looked at her and nodded.

  “I’ll be back in thirty minutes, and I expect you to be gone,” he said

  Rose nodded and wiped her tears. They had been real, but they had also served a purpose.

  She scurried to the elevator leading to the Nativity Tower. She didn’t know if Lane would be there, but she didn’t know where else to go. The elevator opened up to a small bridge that led t
o a spiral staircase that wound down to the ground through the tower.

  Rose stepped into the elevator, and it shot to the top. Carefully, she peeked around the corner before stepping out. The bridge was empty. It offered expansive views of Barcelona in all directions. That’s when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

  It was Lane. She was on another tower that was under construction. It was probably about half a story up from where Rose was.

  Lane was standing at its edge, smoking a cigarette. She was wearing a white hoodie. The sun was reddish orange behind her as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. When Lane saw Rose, she gave a small wave.

  Rose’s face grew hot with fury.

  Then Lane lifted her other hand and pointed: Nico stood on the other side of her looking down.

  Lane whispered something in his ear and he smiled.

  Rose wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or angry.

  Lane lifted her shirt and showed Rose a dagger sticking out of her waistband. She then gave Rose a long, slow wink and took one finger and drew it across her own neck before pointing at Nico.

  Rose turned and ran. She’d seen a doorway when she first got out of the elevator. That had to lead to the construction zone. She tried the handle. It was unlocked. The door opened up to a small, enclosed stairway leading up. Racing up the stairs, heart pounding, Rose worried she would be too late and tried to block out images of finding Nico lying on the ground with his throat slit, blood pooling around his body.

  As Rose crashed through the door at the top of the stairs, she realized with dismay she was in a different tower. Lane was now across from her, about ten feet away at the same height.

  The blonde had her back to the wall and was holding Nico’s body in front of her. A gleam of silver caught the light of the sun. Lane’s knife was pressed against Nico’s throat.

  “Hey!” Rose shouted. Lane and Nico looked over at her, squinting to see.

  “I’ll kill him,” Lane shouted. “Right here.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To make you suffer the way I’m suffering.” Lane said the words in a hollow sounding voice.

  Rose’s heart pounded.

  She had to say something to stop her.