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Her left arm was covered by a dark blue cast which she rubbed at as she spoke. Like it gave her some kind of confidence to say what she needed to say.
I tried to remind myself that we weren’t the only ones who were hurt during our war with her father. Marco DePalma was one seriously fucked up individual. His younger brother Anthony ran the DePalma family business. They were one of the most powerful Italian families on the east coast and had their hands in all kinds of illegal activities. Marco was angry that the family business had been passed on to his younger sibling and had gone all kinds of crazy, killing their father and framing our club for it.
Marco’s plan to bring us down and kill Chelsea had fallen through when we had informed his little brother of what he’d been up to.
Rose had taken a lot of punishment from Marco. He’d manipulated her into thinking she needed to prove herself in order to be regarded a part of his family. And with her mother passing away, she felt like they were all she had left. He beat her, tortured her and in her eyes left her with no other option.
What she didn’t see was what Chelsea and I were offering her. More than just friendship, but family here at the club.
The thought made me furious. Family was more than just the blood that runs through your veins. It’s who has your back in times of crisis. It’s who is willing to stand beside you when you’re facing the firing squad. It’s finding a group of people who’ll love you and support you unconditionally. It’s something we were willing to offer her, but that she’d refused to take.
“Because that makes it all okay, right?” I growled, frustration building inside of me. “Chelsea only just got out of the fucking hospital. We almost lost her. She can’t even walk or talk right. It could take months for her to get back to where she was.”
Her hand went to her chest and I watched as she swallowed back the tears that were building in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, turning away and looking like she was about to make a run for it.
But the asshole in me wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction of getting away with what she’d done. I wanted her to feel the pain that I was feeling. I wanted her to feel the way my heart ached when I thought of her. I wanted her to hurt just like I was.
I was selfish.
“You play the victim well. We all believed it. Chelsea was ready to throw down for you. So was I, but it was all fucking bullshit.” I took a step forward.
She spun around and I saw it. The fire in her eyes that I thought was gone. The spitfire was still there inside her, and I couldn’t help but feel excitement build in me. I wanted her to challenge me. I wanted to see that fire burn because then I knew it wasn’t all just an act. There was something real about her.
“I was a victim! Don’t stand there and think because of all this that you know what I’ve been through, the shit I’ve fought through.” Her breathing was heavy and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “You have your family, Blizzard! You have a clubhouse full of brothers and people who’d stand beside you in the blink of an eye. I had no one—”
“You had me,” I crowed, moving closer to her. I wanted to pick her up and shake her. I pounded on my chest, right over my heart. “I was there… Chelsea was fucking there. We had your back, and you still turned around and fucking played us.”
She pulled at her hair as she cried out, “I had no choice!”
She was falling to pieces in front of me and it took all the strength I had not to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I understood that she’d felt pressured, that her father had forced her hand. But I’d given her so many opportunities to come clean—Chelsea had cared for her, taken her to the hospital when her father had gone too far—but she hadn’t taken them and now she’d made her bed and she was going to lie in it.
“We all have a choice. You made yours.” I spat on the ground ready to end this conversation and walk away.
We both stared at each other, her with tears streaking her cheeks and me with a forced amount of venom and disgust in my eyes.
It wasn’t long before a car pulled up to the curb behind her. She knew it was there, and I instantly knew who it was.
My body went into self-protective mode. I knew there were a couple of my brothers at the gate behind me, but I’d stepped out into the open, chasing her as she had retreated.
She checked over her shoulder as the car doors opened, the wind whipped around her, blowing her hair across her face. My fingers twitched, itching to pull it back and tuck it behind her ear so I could see her beautiful eyes again.
“Rosalie, get in the car.” I recognized the boys as they stepped onto the curb and began to walk forward. Giovanni and Ricardo were Anthony DePalma’s two surviving sons.
His eldest son, Kenneth was once a man who I called a brother.
When Anthony had thought that we had killed his father, he sent his eldest son in to infiltrate our ranks in an attempt to destroy the club from the inside out. After almost killing a brother’s Old Lady, we’d discovered who he was and we had taken him out.
We’d been waiting for retribution.
And my gut was telling me that this was it.
Gio and Rico flanked Rose on either side. I could feel the nerves coming from Rico as his eyes moved subtly between his brother and me. But Giovanni stood firm, unwavering in his anger as he stared me down. A handgun hung at his side, his fingers clenched tightly around it.
“Get in the car, Rosalie.”
Her eyes were bright and wide which told me she hadn’t planned this to happen and she was beginning to panic.
She placed a hand on Gio’s chest in a weak attempt to usher him away, but the kid was angry and looking for vengeance. That was all he could see at this point, and not her or anything else was going to stop him.
