“Sure. I-I just need to lie down,” I lie.
“Rest well,” he says. His words echo behind me as I hurry towards my room. I walk in a haze, head down and arms wrapped tight to my body. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I usually manage to dodge Zeus’ entourage well enough that I am left on my own, but I feel like this would undoubtedly be the moment one of them catches me in a conversation. Luckily, I make it to my room without anyone stopping me. I shove open the door and enter my room in a rush, slamming it shut and sliding the lock into place behind me. It is a symbolic gesture. If Zeus wants access to the space he could have it.
This whole place is his world. I am only a guest, even if he says I’m his heir. It isn’t mine. Not yet.
I close my eyes and sag against the door. I’ve walked the entire way, but I’m out of breath, my heart racing like I’d run.
“Stay calm,” I whisper to myself and take in a deep breath as I try to steady myself. Slowly I breathe in and out, before I repeat the gesture. In and out, in and out. Again, I take in a deep breath and hold it before I let it out. I feel my shoulders slightly relax and my heart slow enough that it doesn’t feel like it is slamming against my ribs and trying to break free. I am still trying to calm the fuck down with my eyes closed when I smell the flowers.
Roses.
I love roses.
I open my eyes to see arrangements of roses from pale pink to crimson red filling the room. They are in vases on the floor surrounding the bed and make the space look ethereal and dreamy. Like my bed is nestled in a spray of velvety petals. Yellow and white roses are in bunches along the walls and on the dressing table as well. I inhale, the floral perfume of the flowers filling my lungs and I smile.
I start forward but pause when I notice the tray that sits beside the small dining table tucked against the window. There is a telltale domed lid over it that tells me not only has someone come into my room to deliver the flower explosion, but also had brought dinner.
Zeus works fast, it appears.
I debate showering and going to bed, but know Zeus will know if I haven’t eaten. I don’t much feel like testing just how paternal he is, and decide to follow his orders to take care of myself. So I cross the room and sink down into the plush seat. There is a vase of red roses on the table and I reach out, running my finger along a lush petal. It is soft and dewey. When I was a kid, roses had been the one thing I’d loved about my mother’s performances. Her fans, mostly the men that wanted to catch her eye, brought her flowers. The roses lasted the longest. They were also the flowers that had the strongest smell. It didn’t matter if they were luxury from a boutique florist or if they’d been bought on discount at the local grocery store. I could turn roses into something special.
I’d gotten into drying them, hanging them on the walls of whatever cheap motel we were staying in. I turned the petals into sweet smelling potpourri that I could tuck into my drawers to chase away the mothball smell that came with the ancient dressers and closets. I’d even learned how to make rose oil. When my mother cast aside the bouquets, I was always there to scoop them up and use them to bring some reprieve from the life she’d forced on me.
I cup the rose, the bloom beautiful and open. The flower’s scent is strong and I swallow hard. I haven’t thought of roses in so long. Not since I’d left home. I love them, but they have a way of making me feel small.
Not in a bad way, but not in the way that I want to feel small. Not without Law.
I jerk my hand away from the bloom. I don’t want to think about him. I can’t have him, not after what he’s done. I have to let him go. I have to try and start over and deal with life as it is coming at me.
I turn to the dining cart and pull the lid off to see there is stew and bread there. Thankfully it isn’t the rich fare that had almost turned my stomach earlier. I can get stew and bread down, at least enough to settle my stomach until I am able to think clearly. I set the tray down in front of me and pick up my spoon with a hand that barely shakes at all.
CHAPTERSIX
LAW
“You think he’s gonna talk? Should I tail him?” Taylor asks. We’re in my office and unlike his normal routine, that keeps him out of my office, he’d been here for the last half hour since we arrived from Addie’s.
I consider telling Taylor yes. Keeping tabs on Tony isn’t a terrible idea. Not when we’d sent him limping down the hall with a bullet in his leg and nothing but a dirty shirt to keep it under control. On the other hand, I don’t think he is stupid enough to say what happened to him. Not even if he is brought in by the cops.
I need Taylor with me where we can make sense of what Charlaine is finding. She is still where I left her, working away with a cigarette dangling from her lips. Addie is perched near her on the couch and she clears her throat.
“He won’t tell,” she says quietly. “He’s a thief and a shit brother, but he’ll stay quiet. He’s more scared of you now than whoever might come after him.”
I hadn’t pressed Tony for that information. I’d been too fucking pissed. Besides, there isn’t a need when I know exactly who is behind it. Zeus. Fucker.
Taylor opens his mouth and looks like he is going to push back but I wave him off. “Addie’s right. He’s going to keep his mouth shut. He knows I’ll finish the job next time.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t. Going soft on me,” Charlaine mutters. She takes a drag of her cigarette and stretches in her seat. “If this had been ten years ago you would have shot him dead.”
“If this was ten years ago, I wouldn’t have shit to lose,” I tell her.
“What this?” she asks, waving a hand around her at the office. “Never figured you for the materialistic type, Law,” she says, giving me a sidelong look. I know she is talking about the office, the building, the whole of Law Acquisitions. Every square inch of it is full of the best money can buy. I only have it because I know it is the best money can buy. None of this matters.
“Not talking about that,” I tell her and walk towards the windows. “I’m talking about Honey. If I get put away, how am I going to get her out of whatever shit her mother has her in?”
“So now you’re a romantic. Cute.”
Outside the sky is dark and gray. A storm is going to be rolling in soon with the way the clouds swirl and darken. I watch the people and cars move beneath me. It’s all a blur, perfectly synchronized into one moving picture that is hardly distinguishable from one moment to the next. A rumble of thunder sounds, the roll of it muted through the thick glass of the windows. People will start to rush now. Drive faster, run instead of walk to catch the next train to get home before the skies split open overhead. But from where I am standing, there is no change in the ebb and flow of the city. It is constant. The pace doesn’t falter or frenzy. You wouldn’t even notice it had moved if you looked away from it for a second. Everything and everyone in it is interchangeable. You have to watch it closely to track the changes. Pay attention to the details long enough to see just how fluid the city is.
