Twelve of Roses: A Dark Standalone Page 13

  I didn’t want to ogle him. Then again, yes, I did. I mean, damn. Where the hell had he been hiding these past two weeks? This trip would have been ten times better if I’d had this piece of art to look at every day. Preferably from underneath or on top of him.

  One of his most notable features was his eyes. They were gorgeous.

  I would call them blue, but that was like saying the sun was yellow—such an average adjective and hardly accurate. This was more a myriad. They reminded me of the sea, vibrant and serene, something churning deep within them that wasn’t easily identifiable.

  Our staring contest was short-lived as two more girls got on the shuttle and passed between us, both looking as hungover as I was, only way more put together.

  I shifted my attention off the eye candy across the aisle and did my best to get comfortable, toying with the necklace my abuelo had gifted me just before I left for my trip. He’d given Mel and Grace one too, as was customary for him when buying anything for me.

  They were all different, each affixed with a silver pendant of some kind. I had no idea what any of the symbols meant, but it was my abuelo so that didn’t matter.

  I rarely told him no or turned him down. He was the sweetest old man ever.

  At least, when it came to me, he was.

  Once the last passengers were in their seats, the driver turned his radio on low and we began to move. Gracelyn and I watched out the window until we could no longer see any part of the massive Royal Palms Resort.

  And that was that.

  We’d be on a plane heading home soon. Vacation was officially over. As was my self-righteous act of denial. I was going to miss staying up all night without needing to wake at the ass crack of dawn to pretend I knew what I was doing with my life. I hadn’t the faintest clue what I wanted to be when I grew up—and I was grown. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be who I had been.

  I don’t know, sometimes I thought it would be better for someone else to map the whole thing out.

  My parents would rejoice if I simply let them do as they wished without argument. Not that arguing would matter much, anyway.

  The Serpines had a reputation to uphold, after all. I couldn’t risk tarnishing their immaculate image, even if it was utter bullshit. I knew first-hand what happened to anyone who did. My sister had paid the price for bringing shame to our family.

  She’d thoroughly humiliated them, and whomever it was she’d been married off to, when she purposely got knocked up by a distant cousin.

  I hadn’t seen her since the day our mom all but dragged her from the house by her hair. Blood or not, the family wouldn’t tolerate anything they saw as disrespect.

  For those not privy to the real story, my parents simply said she’d taken off to some prestigious university. Was it wrong of me to be pissed at her too? She was the reason I became golden child numero dos.

  Our big brother was cemented in at number one. The kiss-ass.

  That was another key factor of our world: smarmy blue bloods and their selfish, never-ending schemes.

  They fooled people into believing they were good while simultaneously doing whatever was necessary to further their personal agendas. Building familial relations was among them.

  We didn’t choose who we wound up with, they chose for us. Just as they did everything else.

  Following a predestined path came with the elite lineage that swam through our veins. It didn’t matter how we felt about our elders’ decisions. I couldn’t hate or resent them for it, though. I loved my family as much as I could, considering our peculiar dynamic, but that didn’t make me blind to their sordid ethics.

  Gracelyn nudged me with her elbow, interrupting my inner monologue. As I met her eyes, she did some weird brow movement that had me quirking one of mine.

  “What?”

  “Look,” she mouthed with a subtle nod of her head.

  I glanced at the group of guys.

  None of them were paying us any attention. I looked back at Gracelyn, and she shrugged and waved her hand as if to say, “Never mind.”

  As she and Mel began a debate about one of the newer movies coming out, I adjusted how I was sitting once again. The new position gave me a better view of my mystery guy. He was intently focused on the cellphone in his hand.

  Relaxed, and without a smile lifting strong-lined features, his expression was uninviting.

  I’d go as far as to say intimidating.

  I used his distraction as an opportunity to get a better look at him.

  His toned arms had sleeves running all the way down to his fingers, each tattoo a well-placed piece of art on his sun-kissed skin. Every single one of them added to how damn fine he was. He looked like someone you’d find within the pages of a more sophisticated edition of Inked Magazine.

  The tat on the nape of his neck was a leviathan cross being grasped by claws or something. I wondered if it held any real significance to him, or if he was like every other hipster douchebag that thought they were edgy. I dropped my gaze back down to his right arm, studying all the different pieces that were visible beneath the sleeve of his T.

  There was a cluster of roses like the sole tattoo I had on my upper right shoulder.

  His petals were pure black while mine were both purple and magenta.

  Gracelyn and Melantha had the same one. Grace’s was part of the sleeve she had on her left arm, while Mel’s was on her hip. Their colors were different as well. Each hue held a different meaning to who we were as people.

  A devilish depiction of a weeping Virgin Mary was on his inner forearm. Beneath that was another rose, this one by itself with three numbers weaved into its petals.

  On his hand was the face of a woman with skull-like features. I felt like I’d seen this before.

  Beside her was a word I couldn’t fully make out unless I leaned way too close for either of our comfort.

  Not wanting to get caught essentially assaulting him with my eyes, I looked around the shuttle bus, counting how many people were on board and taking in their appearances.

  Had I not become enamored with the guy beside me, I would have already done this.

  There once was a time I would go to the park just so I could people watch. I liked trying to guess someone’s story, keeping in mind that most appearances were misleading. Everyone had a tale, from the grocery store cashier to the person who delivered the mail.

  No one person walked through life the same as another.

  There could be similarities and situations we related to, but in the end, we were all individual souls.

  The thought had me appraising the gorgeous stranger once more. I was curious about him, more so than I should’ve been considering once we got to the airport, I’d never see him again.

  He suddenly glanced away from the screen of his phone.

  I pretended I was looking through the window, which probably made me twice as obvious. It was hard to play off that you’d been staring at someone once you made eye contact. He didn’t call me out on it, thank god, but the hint of a smile had his supple lips curving upward.

  “Are you guys from the area?” he asked, pocketing his cell.

  “Not remotely close.”

  “Where are you from?” Mel asked him.

  “Not here.” His tone was casual but dismissive.

  He didn’t take his eyes off me to answer. Caught up in a tidal wave of blue, his stare seemed to grow that much more intense the longer I looked.

  Piercing.

  That was a good way to describe it.

  He wasn’t staring at me, but into me, as if the armored shell I’d encased myself in was transparent.

  Something about him was oddly familiar. I couldn’t pinpoint what, though. I was one thousand percent sure I didn’t know this guy. He came off as someone who would be hard to forget, no matter the circumstances.

  “I’m Ciaran,” he introduced himself, as if he’d just plucked the thought of me not knowing him from my head.

  “Maverick.”
The guy beside him leaned forward with a smile, offering a small wave after he palmed a few loose strands of hair. His dark eyes lingered on Melantha for a full two seconds before he leaned back.

  “The two assholes behind us are Charon and Kyrous,” Ciaran continued.

  His introduction invoked their laughter, but neither of them looked away from what they were staring at. With him disclosing all their names, it seemed only natural to share ours in return.

  I pointed to each of the girls. “Gracelyn. Melantha.” Then I motioned to myself. “Liliana, but everyone calls me Lana for short.”

  “I knew a Liliana once,” Ciaran mused. “You’re much prettier than she was.”

  “Wow. That was kinda smooth,” Gracelyn jested with a laugh.

  “You should hear when I’m actually trying,” he countered, tacking on a playful smile.

  I was semi-confused. Was that meant to be a compliment? I mean, I thought I was okay looking—cute, even.

  My mother’s Hispanic roots had evenly meshed with my father’s Italian genes. My hair was black as coal, long with soft waves. Eyes were almond brown. Skin naturally bronze, much to Melantha’s dismay since her porcelain pigmentation refused to darken.

  I stood barely over five feet tall, and while my stomach was mostly flat, I’d inherited my mama’s hips with an ass that jiggled to match. I didn’t have self-esteem issues or anything, but I was acutely aware of how I looked in that very moment.

  Yesterday I’d been glammed up and ready to take on the world.

  Now? I didn’t have on a stitch of make-up aside from some lip gloss. My red-bottomed heels, along with a hoochiefied bodycon dress, had been swapped for skinny fit sweats, a crop-top, and some retro Js. The only thing going for me was that I’d taken a quick hoe-bath and brushed my hair right before zombie-walking onto this shuttle.

  “Were you three staying at the Royal Palms?” one of the guys behind Ciaran asked.

  “No. We snuck on here to hitch a free ride to the airport because we blew all our money on coke and dick,” Melantha deadpanned.

  Her tone was so casual, it would be easy to miss that she was being a smartass.

  Grace sighed and shook her head, hiding a smile in the palm of her hand. We couldn’t even be embarrassed; this was simply Mel being Mel. We’d had plenty of time to get used to it.

  I looked between the two guys, trying to determine who was whom. I remembered their names, seeing as Ciaran had just introduced them, but I hadn’t realized they were twins. There were subtle differences between them. One had amber eyes, while the others were nearly the same shade as whiskey. Their hair was styled a tad bit differently too.

  Unfortunately, none of that helped me determine who was Charon and which one was Kyrous. The twin closest to the window looked as if he were about to say something just as sarcastic in response, but the shuttle suddenly swerved without warning.

  A horn blared from another lane as a mix of gasps, a small squeal, and curse words filled the air.

  I gripped the leather headrest in front of me to stay planted in my seat. Once we were moving forward steadily again, I quickly checked over Gracelyn and Melantha.

  “What was that about?” Maverick wondered aloud.

  As if to answer him personally, the music stopped, and the driver’s voice came through the overhead speakers. “Uh, really sorry about that, folks. The usual route’s shut down. I guess we’ll be taking a small detour.”

  Someone up front, a man with greying hair, began to complain.

  The driver cut him off, still broadcasting his voice through the speaker.

  “Rest assured this will only add about ten minutes to the ride. I know you’ve all got flights to catch—you can count on me to get you exactly where ya need to be.”

  He clicked off, and music began to play once more.

  “He guesses?” a twin scoffed.

  Ciaran said something in response, but I was hardly paying him attention. I was too concerned about our suddenly reckless driver. Gracelyn gave me a tight-lipped smile, attempting to downplay her own concerns for my benefit.

  We cruised past the turnoff we should’ve taken and continued for a good ten minutes before the shuttle turned onto a side road.

  After another two miles or so, it became apparent that all signs of civilization were being left behind.

  It took me another five minutes to notice that there were no longer any other cars accompanying us.

  “This isn’t right, Lana,” Gracelyn whispered.

  I didn’t have a good feeling about this either.

  I wanted to chalk it up to us being overdramatic, but I knew to always trust my instincts. The further we ventured, the worse my nerves caused my stomach to twist. This was more than acute paranoia.

  There was a sign coming up on the right. I peered around Gracelyn to get a clearer look at it. “Route Six-One-Six,” I read out loud as we zipped passed it.

  Gracelyn turned towards Melantha. “GPS how far the airport is from here.”

  “Already on it.”

  The shuttle took another turn, and someone up front demanded to know where we were going.

  “What the fuck’s that?” one of the twins asked. I peered over my shoulder and then straight ahead to follow his gaze, poking my head around the seat in front of me so I had an unobstructed view.

  We were heading straight for a tunnel. A rather large one.

  Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been anything to panic over, but it wasn’t dark enough to overlook the vast blanket of white that seemed to be emanating from within it.

  The driver kept going, his speed gradually increasing. I didn’t understand why. There was no way he could see inside. None. Low murmurs filled the air, a few more people beginning to voice their concerns.

  “My phone isn’t picking up our location, and this route isn’t on my maps,” Melantha said, leaning forward to show us her screen.

  Gracelyn brushed her hair away from her face, tucking the blonde ombre locks behind her back. “Is that normal?”

  No.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Ciaran reassured her.

  He didn’t sound as if he believed it.

  I wouldn’t say he seemed worried—more aware of the fact that things were looking extra sketchy.

  As the front of the shuttle drew closer to the tunnel, the radio crackled. Ozzy Osbourne was replaced with an audible static, and then a rhythmic voice began to speak.

  Ave Satanas, something wicked this way comes. It’s time for the reckoning to begin.

  If you enter the Devil’s Playground be wary where you tread, for demons are lurking with trickery up their sleeves. Here good and bad cease to exist, and not all will make it to the end.

  The price of freedom will be revealed only after bloodshed and rapture. A claiming of one and purging of others.

  The voice stopped short, and the song resumed. I shared a look with the girls. That didn’t seem like regular station interference.

  There was no mistaking what was said. Each word had been precise and clear as crystal.

  “What’s going on?” someone yelled at the driver.

  The radio cut off entirely just as we entered the tunnel. A loud bang erupted, the sound carrying inside. A scream tore through the air as the bus rocked from side to side, swerving through the fog.

  I’m pretty sure we bumped the side wall, sending us careening to the left. Someone was flung into the aisle, crying out as they hit the floor. I dug my nails into the back of the seat in front of me, holding on as tightly as I could.

  There was another bang, lodging my heart in my throat as we began to zigzag aggressively, brakes screeching as the driver tried to stop.

  Everything thereafter seemed to happen in the longest seconds of my life.

  The shuttle emerged from the tunnel.

  We tilted.

  I lost my hold, ripping a nail clean off as I fell from my seat.

  And then there was nothing but screams, grating metal,
and darkness.