AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh.” Roman holds up two fingers, a perfect silver key produced between them. “Had this made last time. You may have it back. It will be of no use to me after you change the locks again tomorrow.”
My brow knits when he offers the key, and I take it and hand it to Ghost when he doesn’t move to do so. He forces a breath, shoving it in his pocket and working to steady his expression. While he struggles to regain composure, he refuses to take his hands off me.
I won’t lie, I like it. A lot.
“As I was saying,” Roman says, directing his attention back to me. It’s more than obvious he doesn’t like Ghost, but he’s still gentle with me. Soft smiles and cautious words, his eyes sad as he takes in the bruise on my cheek. “I wanted to apologize to you directly, Miss Parker. I heard of the trouble you had with my driver and I wanted to assure you, it was not meant to go down as it did.”
“No, I’m sure you had other plans,” Ghost snarls.
Roman raises his eyes, and the temperature in the room drops fifty degrees. “I was merely assuring an angel did not fall to the demons of the night, Mr. Saint. Being thatIwas not preoccupied at the time, one would think you’d be grateful it was only me who found her.”
Ghost’s heart rate feels like a string of punches against my shoulder blade. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Roman’s mouth curls up at the evident fury in Ghost. “Meaning… I intend her no more harm than you do.”
“Thank you for the apology,” I say in a rush, tucking my fingers under Ghost’s sleeve and digging my nails into his arm to ground him. His chest jumps against my back, but Roman will only see it as me holding my love’s hand. “I didn’t figure you had anything to do with what happened.”
Ghost growls, but Roman warms up some. We can talk later. Right now, I need them to separate before someone winds up dead.
“I never would have allowed him near you had I known he would mar your face like that,” he says. “Which brings me to why I’m here…”
“He didn’t hit me.”
Ghost gives me a gentle shake, but Roman nearly freezes, his eyes flicking to Ghost like he may just shoot him. “Beg pardon?”
“N-Norman didn’t hit me,” I reiterate in a whisper. “Neither did Ghost, so don’t–don’t think whatever you’re thinking.”
“Lucy,” Ghost warns.
“It was no one,” I say, cringing at the heat coming off Ghost.
Roman raises a brow, piercing Ghost with a vicious glare. “I let a lot of things go, Saint, but this…”
“I’ve never seen you in action before,” Ghost muses, ignoring the threat. “It’s enlightening, to say the least.”
“My intolerance for wife-beaters is far from seeing mein action,” he snaps back. “I am attempting to extend an olive branch and you are testing my resolve.”
“She isnoneof your concern.”
“I will find out who did that to her face, and I will remove their hands whether you allow her to speak or not, so unless you would like me to start with either of your brothers, I suggest—”
“Hey!” I say sharply. “You can’t extend an olive branch and threaten someone in the same breath. It wasn’t Norman, and I don’t blame you. You don’t have to do anything else to prove that you’re sorry.”
Roman blinks at my tone, eyeing Ghost briefly before working to find the words. This all feels wrong. No one who wanted to hurt me would be so angry at the thought of another man hurting me—no one who associated with the likes of Chuck or Damian had ever so much as flinched at the marks on me.
Ghost may know Roman better than I ever will, and I believe him when he says this man wanted to keep me for himself. But I know what I went through for the last three years. I know what Damian’s capable of, and I know when a man is dangerously angry when I see one.
Roman is livid, chomping at the bit to kill whoever marked me, just for having hurt a woman. He can’t be working with Damian. He just can’t.
Which means we have bigger problems than Roman wanting to take me.
“Wh-Why are you here?” I ask. “I interrupted, you were saying something about why…you’rehere.”
He draws a slow breath and removes the box from under his arm, offering it to me. Ghost takes it, flipping the lid off with a grunt, and I squeak, covering my mouth to keep from screaming.
Inside lay a single black rose on a bedding of white silk, perfectly pruned with every thorn sliced off with surgical precision. That’s not the horrifying part, though.
The stem is tucked in the damp remains of a human trachea, thick blood soaked deep into the pristine fabric underneath. It’s not nearly as clean cut as the rose, though perfectly intact and covered in bruises.
