Rose (Road Kill MC #3) (21 page)

Thorn

I'm going to blow a gasket. It's not
if
but
when
.

A throbbing vein in my head keeps time with my rabid heartbeat. “So this prick, my sperm-donor... is what? Some fucking French kingpin?” I throw up my hands.

Juliette bows her head, her shoulders rounding. A horrible sound comes out of the lips I just hammered with my special flavor of brutal tenderness.

It's a sob.

Fuck me.
I don't walk—I stride like my life depends on it.

I'm at her side in a second. I jerk Juliette from the chair. It's what I know I can do.

I nail her lips again with the hardness of my emotion.

My love.

Because that's what it is. I fucking love her. The thought of Rex touching a hair on her head makes me insane in ways I can't count.

I latch onto her hair with my fist. “Tell me he didn't.” I move my lips over her mouth, and she matches the press, neither one of us breathing. “Touch you—ever.” I tighten my hold on her hair, and she gasps, her pain threshold reached.

“Thorn, settle the
fuck
down,” Kiki says.

I ignore her.

“No,” Juliette answers me.

I reward her by softening my hold.

I pull away, but we're still tethered. She wears my kiss in a red so deep, it looks as though it'll be a bruise tomorrow.

“Tell me. Fuckinʼ tell me before I go crazy.”

“Too late,” Kiki mutters.

I shoot her a glare.

My eyes go back to Juliette. A primitive protection blooms inside me like a raw sore. It won't heal until I beat down every person who's ever hurt her.

“Shepard kept me from King.”

“
Kept
you?” I growl.

“
Protected
me,” Juliette says, swiping tears that flow again.

I suck in a rough breath.

“So this prick is head French honcho. Shepard cherry picks”—Juliette flinches, but Kiki goes on—“breaks in the girls, spends time on the ones who can do everything, and King gets the best.” Kiki summarizes all the bullshit perfectly.

Juliette's silence is confirmation.

I fold my arms. “There's more?”

Juliette pushes her black hair behind her shoulders. “Roi had a run when he was in America, strengthening ties for his... activities here.”

I want to go to her so badly, I step forward. Then I remind myself that my bio-dad is basically a French pimp.

“When?” Kiki asks.

I look at Kiki. She's circling the knowledge before Juliette gives it to us. A knowledge that's been obvious since I saw the prick's photo, Juliette's reaction—and remembered Kiki's history.

Juliette raises her chin. “In the 1980s. He was here in Seattle.”

Kiki's face blanks. “A man like that would have needs. Be used to getting everything he desires.”

It's really better if she puts the puzzle pieces together herself. I face Kiki slowly, waiting.

“Oh my God,” Kiki whispers.

Yeah.
My hands fall to my sides.

“Who's your dad, Kik?” It's a beautiful and raw realization, the only good thing in this whole fucked up mess.

She shakes her head in apparent denial. “Some white dude.” She says it slowly, unbelievably.

I shake my head. Not just
any
white dude. “No.” I stab my finger at the 8 x10 glossy photo on the table.

He looks European because he is. Just like I'm not “black,” I'm Haitian. I'm also more. As Kiki is.

We gaze at the photo. The subject is unaware of being photographed. He’s a muscular man, his face slightly in profile. Full lips and a roman nose are framed by dark hair and light eyes, color unknown in the black and white still shot. He's tall. The scale is obvious because a small woman of color stands by his side.

The only thing that mars the photo is the dangling cigar that's jammed between his cruel lips.

*

Kiki's hands fly to her mouth like captured birds of nervousness. She shakes her head, curls flying. “It can't be?”

Juliette moves around me, and I fight against touching her. She places a hand on Kiki's back. “There were a lot of children made when King spread his seed.”

Kiki's eyes widen, her hands falling limply beside her.

“So this goddamned chump went around fucking everyone and leaving them with kids?”

Juliette is silent, not denying Kiki's words.

Her nod makes me want to howl. I turn away from them both, hiding my thoughts.

We stand together in the deafening silence.

I whirl around. “How do you know? And… what women...?”

Juliette sighs. “He doesn't... enjoy a woman unless she is non-Caucasian. He preys on woman who are needy. Malleable.”

More silence fills the room like thick molasses.

“Beautiful?” Kiki asks in a sad voice.

I close my eyes as Juliette whispers yes.

My mother had been beautiful. “How?”

Juliette's green eyes are filled with the tragedy of her knowledge.

“Drugs. He’s very convincing. They’re young; he’s rich and foreign. He offers drugs, gets them hooked. Uses them, and when he becomes bored…”

I never knew my mom when she was sober. She was always using.

My eyes go to Kiki. “Was your mom ever...” I search for the word, trying to be sensitive when it's not even close to normal for me.

“Okay?” she supplies.

I nod.

She shakes her head. “Always fucked up. Still is.”

“Maybe it's just coincidence?” Kiki wants to believe her mom's a statistic, that this premeditated evil does not exist.

When we both know it does.

Juliette stares at her knotted hands. “You can get DNA testing, Thorn.” Her eyes seek mine. “You have the resources.”

Kiki turns me, her hands biting into my biceps. “I want this prick held accountable. He might be responsible for ruining our mothers before their adulthood even began.”

My eyes lock with Juliette's. “Is this really possible? This Roi—Rex, whatever. He's really getting women hooked on drugs so he can fuck them and leave them?”

Juliette hesitates. “He does.” Her eyes well with tears, shimmering emerald anguish.

My fists clench.

“It’s sport for someone like King.”

“He does it still?” Kiki asks as though she can't believe it, her eyes filling, her hand against her heart.

“Yes.”

I pull Juliette gently to her feet and curl Kiki against my side. “He's a fucking animal. Seeking out the most fragile people and preying on them.”

I've seen some sick shit in my time—participated in some—but I've never been a pimp. To fuck over a woman to get her in bed? That’s a sort of rape in my book.

To beat my own kid for a perverse thrill? That brand of fucked up is beyond what I can stomach.

Doesn't sound like I'm the only kid he abused.

“How old was your mom when she... had you?” Kiki asks against my shoulder.

I do quick math.

“Sixteen.”

Kiki's large brown eyes roll to mine. “Mine too.”

“He was here for six years,” Juliette confirms quietly.

Fuck me.
I'm twenty-nine and Kiki's twenty-three. It makes miserable sense.

“Sounds like Tag's gonna have some visitors coming in,” I say.

“Yeah, bro.” Kiki’s voice is small, sad.

I hate hearing her without that energy she brings. Rex has robbed of us of more than our mothers.

I try to ease her anguish. I'll spare Kik that if I can. “Don't worry, might just be coincidence. You might not be stuck being my sister.”

A smile fills Kiki’s face. She steps back and punches my arm. “That's the only good part of this whole sordid saga.”

My eyelids are on fire from her words. I look at my feet, jamming my hands in my pockets.

Fuck.
I take deep, even breaths. Counting them out.

These two girls have found their way into Thorn.

I can't get rid of them.

I don't want to.

Juliette

This can't end well. I know it, but Thorn doesn't.

I repack my duffel as Kiki watches, but she's not really here. She’s staring out the bank of windows. Her fingers are loosely wrapped around her cup of tea, long grown cold.

“I can't believe Thorn is my bro.”

I can't either, but now that the three of us know, it all makes sense. They're far more alike than they realized. Smart, quick on their feet, strong personalities that don't take no for an answer.

I love them both for different reasons, and some of the same ones.

“God... I could have done a lap with Thorn.” Kiki shudders.

I smile. That's too funny, in a sick way. “That would have been bad.”

Kiki stands quickly, her finger still hung up in the handle of the tea cup. It skitters on the table, rolling toward the edge.

I snake my hand out and capture it mid-fall.

Kiki's eyes snap to mine. “You've got the reflexes of a cat.”

I don't reply, righting the cup again. Kiki moves to the kitchen and grabs a washcloth
.
She wipes up the drops of spilt tea on the table.

“What's the life like?” Kiki asks.

Thorn's gone to his “head doc” appointment. I'm packing, and Kiki's staying with me until he returns.

I should disappear so Thorn can live his life without me, but I'm too selfish to do it.

I hate myself.

I love Thorn
. In a week, I've fallen for him as if he’s a bottomless pit. I keep falling.

No landing breaks my descent.

Kiki's waiting for my answer.

“It's awful.” I raise my head. “It's also wonderful.”

Kiki's surprise is comical, and I laugh.

“So not funny, Juliette. Just sayinʼ.”

“I know. But they took a fourteen-year-old girl out of a poor household, told her she's beautiful, shaped her into a sophisticated, quadlingual, highly trained martial artist, and showered her with riches.”

I shrug.

“Okay,” Kiki says slowly, “but you took off. You dumped all that awesomeness to go on the lam.”

I smile at her old expression, and she waves it away. “I can pull out the verbal stops when I'm in the mood.”

“I see that.”

Her phone buzzes. She glances at the screen, pursing her lips.

“Who?” I ask, sipping my cold tea.

“Chet Sinclair, no E.”

“Is that bad?” I ask.

She nods vigorously. “Hell yes.” Kiki sounds somewhat unconvinced.

My eyes meet Kiki's. “I left because I knew I was a flame, and I'd be held accountable for the murders of men more important than me. I'd burn brightly, and when my fire started to burn out, I'd be extinguished.”

“You have a shelf life, and when your expiration is up, poof—you're gone.”

“
Exactement
.”

Kiki stares at me. “You skedaddled while the going was good.”

I nod, though it's so much more. It is all I can say.

“Why is this Shepard wasting his time? Doesn't he have a bevy of broads to do his nefarious crap to?”

I laugh. Kiki has a way with language. I might speak four, but she has a gift with her native tongue that I'll never possess.

“He does,” I answer.

“Why you?” Kiki searches my face.

Because he wants his wife back under his thumb.

Instead I say, “He wants me to help run his business... and I still have my usefulness.”

If I don't partake, there is always the threat of handing me over to Roi, though I don't think Shep could bear it.

Kiki’s dark eyes, so expressive, latch onto me like a barnacle. “Listen, Juliette, Thorn seems like a tough dude—and believe me, he is. But you seem”—her hand waffles back and forth—“you're under his skin. It isn't going to be good if you work him over.”

“Work him over?” I smile.

“God, you dirty bitch. I know you've worked him over—no deets, baby.”

My eyebrows rise.

“What I mean is—don't hurt him. I know you're all Kung Fu and shit, but I'll still kick your ass. Especially if he really is my brother.”

I cover my mouth, choking on my deception.

Do I love Shep?

No.

Did the young girl I was?

Yes.

But I am her no longer. Thorn has changed all that.

This rough man speaks more than my language; he speaks the language of my soul, my body.

My heart.

I look into Kiki's eyes. “I think I love him.”

“In a week? Is that even possible?”

I lift my shoulders. I wouldn't have thought so. Never in my wildest dreams.

My mind briefly touches on my dream man, the one I conjure when I can't escape what’s happening to my body. That black shining knight come to rescue me is Thorn.

My mind gasps.

Kiki looks away, turning her cell over so the screen faces the table. She taps her finger on the phone, seeming to decide something.

I inhale shakily. Her eyes are steady on my face, considering.

“Okay, so your ass-kicking is on hold.” Her eyes capture mine. “For now.”

I nod.

For now.

*

“I don't like leaving ya.” Kiki's eyes move around the parking lot of the small airport where Mick McKenna's private jet waits.

“I'll be fine,” I say. I don't let on I'm so jittery I'm bouncing off the walls.

I killed a man and wounded another.

My fingerprints are all over that apartment. The name in the system won't trace to me, but who else who knows Thorn, also knows about his connection to me?

“When did Thorn say he'd be here?” she asks.

“Three.” I glance at my small wristwatch. It's noon.

Kiki rolls her lip into her teeth. “I have to get to an orientation for my next stint of school.”

She glances at me.

I cover her hand.

“Thank you.”

She puffs up her lips, looking puzzled. “For what?”

I think of all the things I can list.

“For Thorn.”

She wags her finger at me. “You got it, girl. I had a feeling about you two. Now look!” She sweeps her hand along her windshield. “He's squiring you off for some quality time. He digs you big time.” Her eyebrows move up and down. She grins.

I grin back.

“I dig him too.”

Kiki's lips quirk. “You sound so funny when you try slang. Somehow, it's not you.”

“It was discouraged. Unclassy,” I say before I can sensor myself.

“Eff them.”

I nod.

“Yes. Definitely.”

Kiki leans across the seats, hugging me. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Thorn will take care of me.”

She pulls away. “If you let him.”

I didn't realize Kiki was so insightful. “True.”

“Get outta here, Juliette.”

My real name sounds like music. It makes me sad.

I slide out of her Fiat, my fingers clenched around the handles of my duffel.

Each step takes me farther away from Shepard and deeper inside the lies I've woven for Thorn.

I can't win, though it's all I can think of managing.

I walk toward the small building that houses the planes of those who can afford private transport. I don't stand out in a place as diverse as Seattle. I chose this region on purpose because I look like what I am: a woman of mixed ethnicity. I want to blend.

Shepard never thought I did. I remember his words.

*

“
Ma cherie
,” Shepard says, his hands everywhere on my naked body, “he shall not have you.”

I shudder. I don't want to lay with the King of the French Mafia. I want to be like a normal sixteen-year-old girl, putting on makeup and staying up half the night giggling with my girlfriends. Instead, I am clay.

Shepard molds me.

He protects me from the perverse affections of the monster who ruins others.

“How?” I ask, hating the quiver in my voice.

Shepard's dark eyes find mine. He swipes my tears away with his thumbs before rolling over on top of my body. He presses my knees wide, grabbing either side of my face in a hold that hurts. “He cannot have the one I marry.”

A thrill of fear like lightning strikes my guts, causing them to quiver with a deep-seeded resignation. His words kill something inside me.

My freedom.

It's the first time I realize I don't belong to me.

I'm no one.

Shepard pushes into me. With each thrust a little piece of me floats away.

I scatter like dandelion seeds on the wind.

Going everywhere and nowhere.

*

“Miss?”

My face jerks up at the man behind the counter.

“Are you well?” he asks.

I swallow.
No.

“Yes, thank you. I'm fine.”

His eyebrows rise. They’re a fine silver that matches his hair. “Are you the young lady traveling with Mr. Simon?”

I nod.

“You may consider waiting in Mr. McKenna's private lounge.”

“All right.” I scan the building, and shame floods me. I should have been more aware, counting exits.

Stupid, Juliette.
My paranoia is its own monster.

The older gentleman rounds the counter and takes my elbow. His touch fills me with anxiety.

Nerves.

“Through this door, Miss Balland.”

I move to the door he indicates. Silver tone lettering scrolls across the door:
McKenna Enterprises.
He sweeps it open with his right hand.

His grip on my right elbow tightens.

It hits me—a silent D.

No one says my name correctly.

I look into the room. Shepard sits at a bar stool. His suit is impeccable, elbows casually behind him as his Italian-encased shoe swings over crossed legs.

“Is this she?” the older man asks.

Shepard nods.

But I'm already moving toward Shep. I drive my left palm into his solar plexus.

He grunts, and with an expert twist, he wrenches my elbow. I squeal like a stuck pig and make my counter move count. I drive my elbow up like a wing into the beak of his nose.

Shep laughs. “So feisty. Subdue her, gentleman.”

Three men pour from the corners. I shrug off my jacket as I turn and wrap the arms around the old guy from the counter.

He carries himself well and tries to deflect my maneuver.

I'm better, knotting the arms across his face and shoving him at the same time.

He falls, temporarily blinded.

I turn, and the largest one comes for me.

“Careful, she's a tigress,” Shep calls.

He knows what I'm capable of, but the thug coming for me doesn't. He grunts a laugh, and I strike him hard in the jaw. I can't afford to hit teeth this soon. It'll tear up my knuckles before I can get the others.

He drops where he stands. I timed my hit perfectly and nailed the exact knockout spot on the jaw.

The other two come for me.

“Bitch,” one says.

I crouch, hands loose and ready. I don't waste time on words.

He moves in, fast for his size. I swing in a classic roundhouse kick, aiming for his jaw. He jerks backward, and the kick takes him at half-speed.

A fist sails over my head. I clutch the other man's arm, moving behind him as he follows through with the punch. I slam my instep into the back of his knee, and it caves. I jamb his arm between his shoulder blades and shove. He stumbles forward into a freefall.

I turn as a hand lands on my throat.

My eyes flick to Shepard's.

Amusement fills them.

Hate flares inside me like a lit match.

Two men are down. The old man came at me from behind.

Stars glitter in my vision and I slam my palm into Strangler's locked elbow. It dislocates and he howls, dropping me.

I whirl, bringing my foot into old man's stomach. It drives him into the wall.

Shepard is suddenly there.

Pain arrives, and with it—fear.