Twelve of Roses: A Dark Standalone Read online

  Con sighed and shook his head, making a hand motion over my shoulder. A quick glance in that direction showed the other Burrows brother waiting for him by their Hummer.

  “I’m going to take you home.”

  That didn’t sound like an offer. It came across as a statement.

  When I finally looked up at him again, I had to force myself to keep breathing like a normal human being. His gorgeous eyes peered into mine, piercing, like he could see straight through me. I stared back, utterly fixated.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked slowly, giving me a peculiar look.

  “I can’t leave Grandpa’s truck.”

  Great. How long was I staring?

  “Justin can drive it back.”

  He wrapped his large hand around mine. It emanated warmth, and there was a roughness to it from working at his family’s construction company.

  I let him lead me towards his car, trying to ignore all the stares as heads swerved to watch us and palms covered mouths to hush whispers.

  My feet moved robotically; I didn’t want to cause an even bigger scene than we already were.

  I hated being the center of attention.

  No matter how many times I told myself that people’s opinions of me didn’t matter, I still let them affect me.

  I squeezed my drink so hard I’m surprised the Styrofoam cup didn’t explode. My gaze darted around the parking lot, seeking an invisible outlet to escape through. Time seemed to slow, and the short forty-second walk to his truck felt like it took an hour.

  I could have said no, refusing to budge a single step. It would have been easy to plant the heels of my flip-flops in the ground and tell him to go screw himself.

  But I didn’t.

  I didn’t want to.

  Maybe the venomous whispers would be worth it. The guy I’d spent restless hours gazing upon like an addict seeking out their next fix was finally paying attention to me.

  “What’s up?” Justin asked as we approached the vehicle.

  “I need you to drive Earl’s truck back. I’m taking her home,” Constantine explained.

  “Keys in it?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, darting a quick look into his hazel eyes.

  “All right then.” He shrugged, brushing past me without seeking a better explanation.

  Con helped me climb into the passenger seat of the Hummer before circling around to the driver side. I settled into the warm leather seat, trying not to give away that I was deeply inhaling his woodsy cologne, watching him from the corner of my eye.

  He had the whole sexy bad boy thing down flawlessly, without being one of those douchebags that went out of their way to fit that mold. It was naturally him.

  You know the type: tall, the body of a god, swagger that makes your stomach flip, and a voice that could melt honey.

  That was Constantine.

  “You cold?” he asked, already reaching to turn down the air.

  I shook my head, stuffing my straw back into my mouth.

  “I’m sorry for being a dick, okay? I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Rosie.”

  He reached over and gave me a light squeeze; the concern in his voice caught me off guard. His younger sister, Victoria, was one of the ‘friends’ I didn’t associate with unless we were in the same vicinity. He had no reason to care about my welfare. But still, it made me made smile and caused my shoulders to relax some.

  “I get it, but that truck is probably safer than yours. It just isn’t as pretty. He looks much manlier,” I teased.

  “Manlier? Ouch. Way to wound an ego.” He rubbed a hand across his chest.

  I shook my head, laughing under my breath.

  “You should do that more often,” he commented, his mouth tilting up at the corner. I bit my cheek, hiding the cheesy grin that threatened to overcome my face.

  This simple interaction between us felt so natural, and I didn’t feel the need to hide inside myself. It fed my fantasy of being with someone way out of my league. He was beautiful, and beauty was something I decimated. Everything I touched, I tarnished. Everyone I loved, I lost.

  Not only was he beautiful, he was normal. And I was…

  Well, I wasn't anything other than Roselynn Morgue. There wasn’t any specific label that defined me.

  One thing was clear, though: I needed to pluck the treacherous thoughts of this man from my brain before they took over my life.

  We both stayed silent for the remainder of the ride. He seemed to be dwelling on his thoughts, and I continued to be lost in mine.

  Chapter Three

  I watched her walk to her front door, smiling when she looked back at me and waved before disappearing inside.

  The second she could no longer see me, I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Having her so close and not being able to touch her like I wanted was fucking torture.

  I loved the scent of her body wash. Mandarin and mimosa. I’d been in her bathroom enough times to know that it was the only kind she ever bought.

  Watching her was one of my favorite things to do. I knew she watched me, too. Keeping it a secret from the other was one of the many things we had in common.

  She didn’t know I watched her through my upstairs window.

  She didn’t know I was there any time she decided to brave the outside world.

  She didn’t know that sometimes I crept inside her room at night and watched the way she slept.

  I wasn’t crazy or anything. On the contrary. I was like everyone else. Didn’t we all like to keep tabs on our most valuable items?

  Roselynn Morgue was an incredibly special girl. Sadly, she didn’t know that yet.

  I couldn’t wait to leave this town behind and disappear with her forever.

  Chapter Four

  Present

  When my server finally came back up to me, I was ready to go behind the bar and make my own damn drink.

  "Sorry for the wait. What can I get you started with?"

  I stared at her for a good minute without saying a word. She looked like a Peggy Sue. She had two blonde pigtails and was donning short denims and a plaid shirt tied at the waist, and she had finished off the look with faded brown cowgirl boots.

  Her large, round eyes peered down at me, a wide smile on her cherub face. I suddenly felt dramatically overdressed.

  "Uh, rum and Coke, please." That seemed the safest bet. Those were hard to mess up.

  "Be right back." Aimee (a quick glance at her name tag confirmed) continued to smile and waltzed away again.

  Resting my chin on my hand, I pulled out my phone to check the world of social media. When Aimee sat my drink in front of me a few minutes later and asked if I wanted anything else, I politely waved her off.

  As I was sipping on my tiny plastic straw, a prickling sensation started to needle the back of my neck.

  Someone was watching me.

  I looked away from my phone and slowly scanned the room. My gaze landed on a booth in the back corner. There were two men and two girls all piled inside, laughing and seemingly enjoying themselves.

  My eyes locked with those of the man sitting on the end. He was smiling at something one of his friends was saying. Due to the lighting inside the dingy bar, I couldn't see him clearly.

  From what I could make out from my vantage point, his teeth could be used in toothpaste commercials. He was dressed well, in a gray button-down dress shirt, slacks, and dress shoes. His hair was cleanly styled.

  Given that he was with a group of people dressed similarly to him, I figured they worked together. I toyed with the notion of approaching him, ultimately deciding against it. He was the opposite of what I was used to.

  I looked away, counting him out for what I had come looking for. None of the other men or women inside were remotely appealing to me, but since I was already here, I decided to finish my drink. I didn’t have any dire reason to rush home.

  Molly was gone for three days. Nothing was waiting for me at the house but an a
nnoying hole in the ceiling and the depressing emptiness that made me take a hellish stroll down memory lane.

  Maybe I should get a dog. No. I shook my head to clear the idea from my mind. After what happened to Digz, I didn’t deserve another dog.

  I continued to nurse my drink, drawing out the time I could remain here. Every time I looked in that direction, the mysterious stranger had his eyes on me. He wasn't being discreet about it. Tucking my chin, I smiled to myself, circling the tiny straw in my glass.

  It was on my fourth—and my decided final—drink before my tolerance gave out that I got up to use the toilet before leaving for home. The bathroom was tiny and as clean as could be expected for such an establishment.

  After carefully squatting over a cracked toilet, I sanitized my hands and headed into the hall. With my head down, reading the text that just came through from Darcy, I didn't see the person coming from the opposite direction.

  I slammed right into their solid frame. My cell flipped from my hand and hit the ground.

  "Fuck,” I mumbled, praying the screen survived the fall. My mystery man bent down to retrieve sit before I could.

  "That's a colorful word," he admonished with a quirked brow and a sexy drawl.

  "It was absolutely necessary, given the circumstances."

  Holding my palm out for the phone he had yet to try and return, I gave him a small smile and kept my eyes locked with his, fighting the urge to inspect his entire body from top to bottom. The fragrance of his spicy cologne diffused between us. His face was a sculptor’s dream. He had cheekbones to die for, a prominent jaw line, flawless skin, and eyes the color of coals.

  My staring for a bit too long had a cocksure smile gracing his lips.

  Do you know how much you can tell about someone with a single smile? I don’t think he realized he had just given everything about himself away. At least, everything I had already assumed about him.

  "Can I have my phone back?" I asked.

  He wordlessly held the phone out for me to take, but when I reached for it, he closed his hand around the thin device and pulled away again.

  "I'll give your phone back... if you let me buy you a drink.”

  Now I did openly check him out. He was the perfect height, with a good few inches on my five-four self. Based on the definition in his arms, whatever body he had under his clothes…I wanted to see it.

  I understood that a face like his and a rock-hard body didn’t mean he had a Godzilla cock. Two plus two didn’t always equal four, in these situations.

  I’d frowned down at quite a few hidden buttons, much to my disappointment, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case with him.

  "I'll let you buy me a drink if you tell me your name," I finally responded.

  "Maxwell."

  "Maxwell?" I repeated.

  "I prefer Max."

  Of course you do.

  He gave me another smile, reaching for my hand. My phone slid onto my palm, and he gently curled my fingers around it before letting go. With that one small gesture, my day brightened.

  We both sidestepped at the same time, letting another bar patron sidle past us. A lithe blonde with a scorpion tattoo on her shoulder walked by, dragging her eyes up and down Max’s body and giving him a lust-filled smile before walking into the bathroom.

  He earned himself some brownie points by completely ignoring her and keeping his focus on me.

  "So, about that drink…?" He hinted for my name, holding his hand out for me to move ahead of him.

  "Rose," I tossed over my shoulder, heading for my booth. Max trailed after me, his presence impossible not to detect.

  Once we were both seated, him across from me, he waved Aimee over.

  "Vodka on the rocks—two—and add lime," he ordered, then waved her off and focused back on me.

  She returned in record timing, placing them both down with an ear-splitting grin. I stared at my glass with a frown.

  "I should’ve probably mentioned that I've already had four drinks. I do have to drive home, ya know?"

  "And where is home?"

  “Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You’re a stranger.”

  “Then let’s work on me becoming a friend,” he replied, not missing a beat.

  “Why do you want to be my friend?”

  Ugh. That word was like battery acid on my tongue. Friend.

  The smile he flashed me was beautiful and innocent. There wasn’t a hint of malice in his eyes.

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t want to be friends with you, Rose?”

  I’m glad he asked. Because yes, there were a shit load of reasons, the most important being how much he valued his life. Getting close to me was the equivalent of predating his death certificate.

  Of course, I didn’t tell him that. I just smiled prettily and tried to let the guy down easy. I knew why he’d sought me out before he said a word, but I wasn’t buying what he wanted to sell.

  “I’m not a friends kinda gal. It’s nothing personal, honest. You seem like a good guy,” I soothed, speaking absolute bullshit.

  Sure, he was a gorgeous sonofabitch, and he seemed genuine, but so did Satan. Well, supposedly. I’d never met the man personally.

  “What does that even mean?” he laughed. “What kind of girl are you?”

  The kind of girl who’s pretending to be someone she’s not. “The kind that drives all the way to the end of town looking for a booty-call.”

  He choked on his drink, then threw his head back and laughed a little louder. It made me loosen up a little more.

  Some men had an issue with women who weren’t afraid to initiate sex. Somehow, we were sluts and whores for getting ours just like the guys got theirs—double standard idiocy at its finest.

  I never had an issue separating sex and feelings. I didn’t worry my heart would be left behind with a one-night stand. I liked to be used. Being fucked, then forgotten, was one of the many screwed-up coping methods I had.

  When Max finally stopped laughing, he leaned forward and whispered, “Well then, I think you’re exactly my kind of girl.”

  “Was it the booty-call?”

  “No, it was your honesty,” he drawled, flashing me another one of his sexy smiles before leaning back.

  I think, in the back of my mind, I knew right then that he was going to be trouble.

  The kind of trouble I was intimately familiar with.

  Chapter Five

  Present

  Max was the kind of man that was determined to get his way. Con had a similar trait, but usually for many different reasons.

  And there I went again. Why was he on my mind so heavily? That’s not to say I didn’t think about him often, but it was getting to the point where that’s all I did.

  Obsession was so fucking hard to cure.

  “I've never seen you in Black Pine before," Max pointed out, pulling me out of my thoughts. He dropped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together beneath his chin.

  "I've only been here about three months. I'm still learning my way around."

  "Here with family?"

  "My sister, Molly. What about you?"

  I glanced over at his friends.

  They were still laughing and conversing, but, every few seconds, one of them would look over at us.

  "I have one brother and one sister. My parents don’t live around here,” he answered, seemingly pleased when my full attention went back to him. Picking my new drink up, I took a nice swig and tried to stop my face from screwing up.

  "I've been staring at you since you walked in the door," he confessed with a sheepish grin.

  "Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” I partially teased.

  Our conversation flowed around nothing all that important. A few more drinks may have been added in somewhere. It felt natural to sit and talk with him. In fact, one could even say it felt like I knew him from somewhere.

  That didn’t last long, though.

  He leaned back, running his thumb over
his bitable lips, looking at me in a studious way.

  "What is it?" I asked, feeling the effects of the alcohol buzzing around in my head.

  "You're a gorgeous woman, Rose. But you're sad. I feel it, and I can see it in those eyes of yours. Did something happen to you? Is that why you moved to Black Pine?"

  Suddenly, I wasn't tipsy enough. I couldn’t be that obvious. Were my problems stamped on my forehead? Maybe they were written across my breasts—his eyes had gone to them more than once when he thought I was distracted.

  I always pulled off happy-go-lucky. It's what I did. The world could be burning down around me and I'd have a cocktail in my hand with a smile on my face.

  Never crack your façade.

  Con had drilled that into my head.

  The ways he used to hurt me became more and more creative when I became immune to something he was doing. Being read so easily made me uncomfortable. I almost started looking around, expecting Justin to appear. I felt like I was being tested, and that was never a good feeling.

  "Well, Maxwell—"

  "Max," he interjected.

  "Well, Max. That's a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I promise you, I'm fine."

  At my bitterly spoken words, his whole demeanor seemed to change before my eyes.

  "Careful. Some people make promises they don’t mean." His voice went low, the drawl a little deeper. I found it oddly seductive, which was completely inappropriate, given the context. Maybe the drinks were doing something, after all.

  “I think it’s time for me to go.”

  Looking away from him, I began digging through my purse for money, tossing enough down to cover my drinks and a tip.

  “It was nice to meet you, Max,” I called over my shoulder on my way to the door, feeling his eyes on me as I stepped outside.

  A few steps away from my car, I heard his voice from across the parking lot. I knew he would follow me. He was so predictable.

  “What about your booty-call?”

  Turning around, I faced him head-on, raising both my brows.