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He stood, and I got to appreciate his massive height. He was always hiding behind a wink, a smile and a sardonic remark, but he was quite a specimen himself. He was a fighter, same as her. Same as me. A lethal force. One that would stand between Rose and the evil that wanted to harm her.
“I leave in the morning,” he stated, starting to walk away from me to the hallway. “Keep her here. Keep her safe. That’s all you have to do.”
His footsteps echoed in the large basement room, and the eerie, dank former cellar took on a haunting appearance.
“You’re wrong, you know.” I couldn’t help calling after him. “She’s ready, and she’s not tender-hearted. She just won’t hurt you because she thinks you’re all she has. She values your life over her own.”
“You’ll have to disillusion her of that then,” he said over his shoulder.
He put his hand on the light switch by the door, and before leaving, he flicked off the single light, plunging me in darkness.The arsehole.
Chapter 33
Rose
Itossedandturnedon the hospital bed. I couldn’t sleep. Brett didn’t open my door to sleep on the chair beside me. I didn’t need him to stand vigil over me while I slept. I wasn’t a child. But I did want to know that he didn’t hate me. That I wasn’t a great disappointment to him.
That he wasn’t going to walk away from me.
At midnight, my door opened, but it wasn’t Brett. The footsteps were more languid; the shoes clicking softer. Even when he sat, the sound of his weight distributing told me it was him. He was sandalwood and leather, like a wooden bookcase with ancient antique books.
His presence made it easier to close my eyes. His slow humming reached my ears, and he may as well have embraced me. I felt surrounded and loved. Then I was able to drift off to sleep.
I woke to the sound of a car starting and panic in my throat. I sat up, the healing wind on my abdomen pulling taught and making me wince in pain.
Alastair had fallen asleep in the chair and jolted awake.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
“Where’s Brett?” I asked, pulling off the blanket.
The roar of the engine outside continued, and I rushed to the door. I was wearing nothing but socks and a t-shirt, and I didn’t care.
Something was happening, and I felt like something was ripping my heart out of my throat.
“Rose,” cried Alastair, following me.
I pushed my way out of the large double doors, and there he was. Brett was putting his bags in the back of a car, the engine warming up the inside. The air was cold, steam was coming out of his nose as he walked around.
He looked up and saw me. Then his eyes flicked to Alastair, and he nodded.
“Dad!” I screamed, ready to jump down the steps and to run through the sharp gravel.
“No, Rose,” said Alastair, as he reached down around my waist, pulling me to him.
Brett turned away, got in the driver’s seat.
“Dad!” I screamed, trying to fight Alastair’s hold but couldn’t. I was too weak and too sore.
“He’s leaving, Rose.” Alastair’s voice was in my ear and I was fighting, throwing elbows to jostle me from his group. “You can’t go with him.”
“Dad!” I screamed again. The wheels rolled, the gravel crunched. It was happening so slow. He was rolling out of the driveway, down the hill. “Don’t leave me!”
The words he had said to the boy before he carved the giant J into his stomach went through my mind.This means war!
He declared war on the New York bratva. On his own brother. A man whose reach went beyond borders.
“No! They’ll kill him!” I was fighting, and Alastair took me to the ground. But that didn’t stop me. I crawled, reaching my claws out to the car. “Jericho! Don’t leave me, please!”
