by Eva Ashwood
Maybe I should fight it… but I don’t. I can’t. Not when I’m too busy melting into his kiss and making a soft noise of enjoyment that only seems to spur Rory on more.
With a graceful little movement, he turns us so he can push me right up against the fridge, almost slamming my back into it in a way that’s more sexy than painful. I’m caught between the hard planes of his solid body and the refrigerator, and I know I’m not going anywhere until he’s done with me.
The kiss turns deep and exploring, and my tongue darts out to dance with his. My eyes slip shut, and I let out a shuddering breath into the kiss that just makes him draw back enough that he can nip at my bottom lip with his teeth.
I suck in a short gasp at that, and he kisses the sting of it away before drawing back entirely, giving me room to breathe again.
Those green eyes of his roam over my face, taking it in. I’m sure my pupils are dilated. My face is definitely flushed, and my chest is heaving while I try to catch my breath after that soul-stealing kiss.
Rory just grins, and it’s such a charming and sexy smile that it makes me want to drag him in for another kiss on top of the first one.
The smug asshole.
He nods in satisfaction and steps away completely, leaving me leaning weakly against the fridge.
“You’re welcome,” he says belatedly. And then he walks right out.
He doesn’t make coffee or get a snack or anything, so clearly he came in here for the express purpose of flustering me in the middle of the day. It takes me a good few seconds to remember what I was even doing, and I’m glad I didn’t turn on one of the stove burners before he came in and did all that.
I might have burned the fucking house down.
Trying to get my head on straight, I shake myself and push away from the fridge, opening it and staring inside for a second before I grab the ginger I was going for in the first place.
Fuck. One kiss wouldn’t normally be enough to have me all scattered and distracted. Even if it was a really good kiss.
But nothing is normal when it comes to these three men and the way they manage to keep me continually off balance.
Shaking my head, I go back to slicing veggies, trying to focus on the task at hand so I don’t accidentally chop my finger off or something, but my mind is a swirling mess of thoughts.
I thought I had a solid plan when I came to live in this house. I thought I could handle this shit. But between the phone call with my dad last night and everything that’s happened since, I’m beginning to realize a terrifying truth.
I’m in way over my head here.
24
The afternoon passes in a blur. It’s been a weird day, all things considered, but definitely better than yesterday was.
My dad’s phone call from last night still plays on repeat in my head, making my stomach churn. But at least I’m not drunk or high anymore. As painful and awful as it is to face reality, it’s nice to be clearheaded and not rolling on drugs I didn’t even mean to take.
In the late afternoon, I call to check in with Scarlett, lying on my bed and speaking in a low voice as I fill her in on everything. She seems as freaked out as I am by my dad’s words, which I repeat back to her practically verbatim. They’re seared into my memory, it feels like.
She knows my dad well. He practically raised her too, considering her own home life was pretty fucking shitty and she spent more time at our house than at hers when we were kids.
She knows how determined he is, and just like I do, she knows he wouldn’t say the kind of things he said unless he really thought he might not make it. He wouldn’t worry me for nothing.
But even though I can tell Scar is scared just like I am, she stays calm and tries to talk me off the ledge of panic, reminding me that my dad wins so often in the ring not just because he’s strong, but because he’s smart.
“Thanks, Scar,” I murmur when we’ve talked it out as much as we can. “I love you.”
“You too, hot stuff. It’ll be okay.”
We hang up, and I lie on the bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. I take several deep breaths, letting a sort of calm wash over me.
I can still feel where Rory kissed me, still feel the pleasant soreness from fucking Levi, and for once I’m not freaking out about it. Levi’s promised to help me figure out what’s going on with my dad, and Rory hasn’t really given me any reason to doubt him either.
They’re both better men than I would have given them credit for when I first met them, and finally, that pit of anxiety in my stomach seems like it’s starting to ease a little.
Maybe there’s still a way out of this. Maybe it will be okay.
I need to talk to Sloan though. And that’s… that’s a kind of anxiety all of its own. Out of the three of them, he’s the only one I haven’t seen since last night. I remember him being pissed off when we got back to the house, but I can’t tell if it was him being mad at me for making an idiot of myself in public again or him being angry at the situation. Or him just being pissed because he’s Sloan, and he’s always pissed.
He hasn’t come to check on me, or ask if I’m doing better, which probably doesn’t bode well, and my face heats as I sit alone in my room, thinking about the embarrassment I’m going to feel if he heard me fucking Levi too.
I’m not ashamed of it. We both wanted it, and we’re both consenting adults. But still, I don’t really want to face Sloan if he knows about it. I’m sure it’ll just be another thing that’ll make him irrationally angry.
Whatever Sloan’s weird issue about me being around other guys is, I don’t know if it extends to the men in this house. But if it does, that’s his problem. I’m not going to stop myself from doing what I want just because he’s got a stick up his ass and doesn’t know how to communicate except through being a dick.
Rory kissed me like he wanted to be the only one I could taste, but somehow, I figure whatever Sloan’s reaction is will be less pleasant.
But I do need to talk to him. He’s the closest to the top of the hierarchy in the Black Roses. His dad is the leader, and if anyone knows what’s going on, it’ll be Sloan. I don’t know what kind of sway he has with his father, but maybe he’ll at the very least have some information I can use. Something to let me know that my dad is okay so that worry will stop eating a hole in my stomach like acid.
The real trick will be getting him to tell me if he does know something.
Of all of these men, Sloan’s the one who’s probably least likely to give up sensitive information. Maybe he has more riding on it, maybe it’s a family loyalty thing, but I don’t see it being easy. And I’m not sure he’s the type to tell me what I want to know after a good fuck like Levi.
There was definitely nothing soft or open about the way we almost hooked up, weeks ago now, and it left him more closed off than he was before, if that’s even possible.
I don’t have a plan, really. I’m not sure what angle to go with or how to best get him to open up to me. The best thing I can think of is just to ask—to let him know it really means something to me and hope for the best.
It’s not a very good plan, but it’s all I’ve got when I leave my room and go looking for Sloan.
The house is pretty quiet, which isn’t that weird for a Sunday. Rory must be with Piper and Jen, and Levi’s probably downstairs in the gym. None of the guys track my movements that closely anymore. They’ve obviously realized I’m not going to run, and that they don’t need to monitor me twenty-four seven.
I make my way down the hall, deciding to try Sloan’s room first to see if he’s there before I head downstairs to look.
As I get close to his room, I can hear his voice, raised slightly in conversation. No one answers him back that I can hear, so he must be on the phone.
My footsteps slow, and I reach out to rest a hand against the wall as I crane my neck a little.
His voice is low, and he’s talking like he doesn’t want to be overheard, but also like he’s trying to convey some urgency to whoe
I can’t tell who he’s talking to just from his side of the conversation, and I frown, leaning closer to the door and hoping the floorboards won’t creak beneath my feet and give me away.
“…time is up,” he says. There’s a slight pause. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll meet you soon. Same place as last time. Just be there.”
He falls silent, and I can’t tell if he’s hung up the call or is listening to what the other person has to say about his declaration. I frown as I stand frozen, thinking hard.
There’s a weird feeling in my stomach, and it isn’t the constant anxiety I’ve been living with for once. It’s more like when I decided to follow Rory, so sure that he was hiding something with his frequent solo trips away from the house.
Only I’m pretty sure with Sloan, it’s not going to turn out that he has a secret family or anything like that.
This feels like something bigger, something more important.
It could be nothing. Maybe it’s something totally innocuous, like him planning to get a gift for a friend or having some hobby he’s embarrassed about. But somehow, I don’t think so.
And there’s only one way to find out.
He said he was going to meet someone, and I make a split-second decision to follow him wherever he’s going. My dad’s life could be on the line, and even though Levi said he would try to help, the one I really need to get on my side is Sloan.
Given how antagonistic our relationship has been so far, I don’t think I’m going to win him over with a few nice words. He’s the kind of guy who only responds to power, so that’s what I need.
Power.
I need something I can hold over him. I need to know more about him.
My pulse counts down the seconds as I stand just inside the door to my bedroom, waiting to hear Sloan walk down the hall and descend the stairs.
This time, I’m much more careful when I tail him. I learned a thing or two when I followed Rory, and I am definitely more concerned about Sloan finding out I’m following him than I was about his easygoing friend.
I give him a bigger head start when he leaves in his car, and I stay farther back as I follow on my bike—far enough back that I risk losing him completely, blending in with the traffic more while keeping an eye on Sloan’s car in the distance.
He’s heading for the part of town that’s under development, all empty lots and construction projects that are half finished or stalled for one reason or another, and that just ups my suspicion even more. It’s not a shady part of town, definitely not as shady as the places the Black Roses usually hang out, but it’s out of the way enough that it seems like the kind of place you’d go if you didn’t want to be found or overheard. It’s usually pretty deserted, considering there’s nothing to do around there.
I let Sloan get a little more ahead of me, keeping track of the exit he takes and then taking it myself, weaving in and out of cars on my bike until I see him again heading down a side street. I catch up pretty quickly, watching from a distance as he pulls into an empty lot. His car idles for a bit before he cuts the engine, and then it’s another couple of minutes before he gets out of the sleek black vehicle.
I hide behind one of the buildings across the street. It’s also empty, either waiting for someone to buy or lease space in it or for the city to decide to tear it down. There’s a good view of the lot and Sloan’s car, and I’m pretty confident he can’t see me.
My heart is racing. Something’s going to happen here, and the sour twist in my stomach tells me it’s not going to be anything good.
Black Rose business can be grim, I know that much, and I really don’t want to see Sloan kill anyone or do anything too violent, even though I know it probably won’t be the first time he’s had to do something like that in the name of the gang he’s a part of. It probably doesn’t even faze him anymore.
Sloan stands next to his car, drumming his fingers on the hood in an impatient gesture. Less than a minute later, someone steps out of the lengthening shadows on the far side of the lot and starts walking over to meet him.
It’s a man, tall and broad, and when he gets close enough that the last rays of light catch his face, I clamp my lips tight around the gasp that almost escapes my mouth.
It’s my dad.
25
He’s alive.
Thank fuck.
He looks tired and worn down, but it’s him. Whole and healthy-ish, and standing right there. It’s the closest he’s been to me since I was taken away by the guys that night.
I want to rush out from my hiding spot and run to him. I want to throw my arms around his neck and breathe in the familiar scent of leather and sweat that I associate with him. I want to convince Sloan that he can let this go, that my dad can go home and rest and not have to face any more horrible consequences for what he did. I’m not sure why my dad double-crossed the Black Roses, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.
I don’t do any of those things though. I stand still, rooted to the spot, and I watch. There’s a flare of hope inside me though, a spark that burns in my chest. Maybe Levi talked to Sloan earlier. Maybe Sloan is going to help my dad somehow. Maybe, just maybe, he cares enough to do it without me asking.
For once, the hope crowds out the worry, and I clench my hands into fists, my heart drumming an insistent beat in my chest as I watch and wait to see what will happen.
Sloan nods a greeting, and my dad returns it.
Dad reaches up and drags fingers through his hair, his gaze darting around the empty lot like he half expects someone else to step out. He seems jumpier than usual, his hair a little longer and stubble on his jaw, and I can only imagine what he’s been through these past several weeks.
The urge to run to him is still strong, and I keep ignoring it. If this works out and Sloan does something to help, then we’ll be together soon anyway. I just have to be patient.
“I can’t do it,” Dad says. He’s far enough away that I have to strain to hear his words, but even from this distance, I can pick out the exhaustion and fear in his voice. He laughs, but there’s no humor in it at all. “I’ve been trying, believe me, I’ve been trying. But I haven’t been able to do it. I need more time.”
Sloan stands perfectly still, gazing at my dad and listening. There’s a thoughtful look on his face, then he sighs. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“Yeah. I know it wasn’t. I’m just telling you where I stand. I can get it done with more time, I think, but right now…”
Dad trails off, and his posture seems to get a little more hunched.
It makes me angry to see it. My dad has never been the type to let life beat him down. Even losing my mom, the love of his life, didn’t knock him down for very long. His heart never fully recovered, but he threw himself into taking care of me, making sure I had everything I could ever need or want, and working his ass off to take care of us both.
He was always laughing and teasing. Even with just the two of us, the house never felt empty or dull. There was so much laughter and love.
The man in front of me though? He seems like a stranger. Like my dad if he aged ten years overnight and lost that strength to his spine.
He seems… broken.
And there’s nothing I can do to protect him from it.
“Come on, Sloan,” I whisper inaudibly, more just moving my lips than anything.
I stare a hole into the side of his head, willing him to do something, offer some solution. Anything that will help. Even granting Dad more time so we can figure something out.
The way Sloan is standing, I can only make out his profile, but his expression makes it look like he’s sorting through the options in his head. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’s going to say.
But in the end, he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans and aims it right at my dad.
Time seems to slow down.
There’s no time for Dad to react, and Sloan’s face is impassive. I feel like I can’t breathe or move or do anything, frozen in place as Sloan pulls the trigger.
Not once, not twice, but three times in quick succession.
The gunshots echo around us, shattering the silence. There’s no one around to hear them though. No one but us.
I watch as my dad’s body jerks, each of the bullets hitting him with brutal force. Blood blooms and stains the shirt he’s wearing, marking the places where he’s been shot. There’s no sound, but I feel it all the way through my body when he collapses, dropping to his knees and then crumpling to the pavement in a heap.
Sloan just stands there for a second, not moving, gun still raised, staring down at my dad’s body. My heart lurches into my throat, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I couldn’t move if I wanted to, stuck still, trying to remember how to breathe.
After a few more seconds pass, Sloan finally moves. He grabs my dad by the ankles and starts dragging him to the car, lifting his body with a grunt of effort so he can dump it in the trunk.
He slams the trunk closed and then hops back in the car, peeling out of the lot and driving away.
It takes another couple of minutes for me to do anything other than stand with my hand pressed against the brick of the building beside me, staring after the car in shock. I feel cold and numb, and the last of the evening light starts to bleed away as I stand there.
Something urges me to move, so I do, running across the street and dropping to my knees in front of the spot where my dad fell. Blood stains the pavement, stark and red and impossible to look away from, even in the dying light.
I stare at the spot until my vision starts to blur with tears. There’s a wheezing sound in my ears, and it takes me a second to realize it’s me. My breathing is coming out in shallow gasps as I start to hyperventilate.
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