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I look across to the bathroom where Rose is taking her time getting ready. “Hurry the fuck up,” I yell, falling to my back, utilizing her dragging feet to my advantage. I close my eyes and flashes of last night come back to me, and with each one, I cringe myself the fuck away from it, not bothering to take the time to think about the finer details. The small flashbacks are hideous. The full picture will likely send me off the deep end. But there’s one thing amid the hideousness poking at my memory that I can’t cast aside so easily. Something she said. About dying. That recollection came to me the second I shot my load into her, falling against her back and nailing her to the wall. She doesn’t care if she dies. That’s been proven. And now she’s actually said it.
And she’s fighting me harder than she has before. A tiny bit of me thinks she’s just being stubborn. The largest part of me is concerned it’s more. But what?
I hear the door shift and drop my head to the side. She’s in the doorway, wearing the British sweater I bought her and those perfect figure-hugging jeans. I scowl at her, stupidly moving my eyes up to her face. She’s not wearing makeup. Why the fuck did she take so long if she’s not spent that time applying makeup? And her hair’s damp, all tugged up into a haphazard knot. She’s made zero effort.
And she’s still fucking perfect.
“About time,” I grunt, cringing my way up to standing. My brain drops from my head into my boots as I walk to the door, feeling somewhat unstable. I hear a small chuckle from behind me and swing around, way too fast. The room swooshes, and I grab the door to stabilize myself, making Rose’s chuckle break out into a full-on belly laugh. The sound would be wonderful if it wasn’t so fucking loud and irritating. I level her with a pissed-off stare, and she quickly snaps out of her fit, straightening and entwining her hands in front of her.
“I guess fucking a whore against the wall didn’t have the desired effect,” she says calmly, her face deadpan. My mood takes a further nosedive as she walks forward, throwing a filthy look my way as she passes. “Maybe you would’ve had better success with Amber.”
And like she’s heard her name, the woman herself walks out of another room, probably after seeing to one of my men. A bit of stress relief before the exchange. I get it. Her eyes take in the scene. Me. Rose. Leaving a room that isn’t mine. “What are you doing here?” I ask, cold and sharp, not that Amber’s used to anything more from me.
“I was just . . .” She thumbs over her shoulder to the door she just came from. She doesn’t want to say it. She doesn’t want to tell me that her pussy was another man’s for a while. What, does she think I’ll give a shit? Stupid woman. “I was coming to find you.” She smiles coyly.
I see Rose’s stance noticeably straighten. “You’re a few minutes too late,” she says, walking away, leaving Amber staring at her back. “He used this whore instead.” Her arms go up in the air above her head, her index fingers on each hand pointing down to herself like flashing arrows. “I’d like to say you missed out on something special”—Rose glances over her shoulder as she reaches the end of the corridor—“but I’d be lying.”
Fuck me, hold me back before I throw her over the gallery landing. I leave Amber where she is, looking bewildered, and stalk after the woman who I think I could take the greatest ever pleasure in killing. Every step I take, my brain rattles and my mood worsens. I hit the stairs, a few steps behind Rose, noticing she’s quickened her pace. She knows what’s coming. I reach for her wrist, missing it when she stealthily moves, leaving me losing my balance and stumbling down the final few steps.
Fuck!
I hit the deck with a thud, and I lie on my back, blinking up at the ceiling. Rose appears, smiling smugly down at me. Bitch.
“All right?” Brad asks, offering his hand and pulling me to my feet.
My ears are red hot. I’m pretty sure they have steam coming out of them. I straighten as Brad’s nose wrinkles and he moves away, looking me up and down. “You smell as bad as you look.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I turn, ready to tackle Rose, but get tugged back toward Brad.
“We have things to do.” He cocks his head, screaming a warning at me to hold back on the pussy shit until we’ve gotten through the day. He holds up my phone, and I snatch it, turning it on. It dings, chimes, and vibrates in my hand when it comes to life.
