Chapter 19

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Grumpy/sunshine>>>

Rowan

I'm lost in a pool of heat, riding the tides of everything that happened before Briar fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if minutes or hours have passed since exhaustion stole her gentle words and soft laughter from me. I haven't found the strength to get up, turn the light off, or move away.

Sprawled in my bed with her, I carefully push a few damp strands of her hair from her brow and swallow, hard. The hem of her shirt has ridden up to display a slice of her toned stomach, and I don't know what I would have done if she'd taken it off.

Even now, while she's asleep, my eyes can't stop tracing the bleeding heart printed on the dark fabric. It moves, like a weak beat, with her every inhale, and I am hypnotized.

The ghost of her hands sear my flesh, iron prints and nail bites pricking my raw nerves.

I've never experienced anything like this.

My body is buzzing, desperate, starved, yet I could spend an eternity wanting if it's an eternity where I get to continue holding her.

It is impossible for you to become the monsters you've feared.

Impossible, huh?

From where I'm looking on, it doesn't seem that impossible.

She is a tapestry of torture.

Kisses and bruises speckle her skin, branding her with enough me to ease the still-burning ache in my chest. I was not gentle.

You listen, and you care.

And I would have stopped. I would have. If she indicated in any way that she wanted me to, but she didn't.

I trace her cheekbone with my thumb, dwell on the way her soft skin contrasts my rough print.

I chart her freckles, connect the constellations, map every mark.

She's spent enough nights in my bed that even lying atop the blankets like we are, her scent taints my every shallow inhale. I'm trapped in a pillow of lemon and vanilla. I never want to be free.

You are good, Rowan.

Good.

I circle a bruise on her neck with a fingertip, and I don't know what her definition of good is, but I'm not oblivious to the weight of her feeling safe enough to fall asleep with me. She's made it so clear she doesn't consider me a threat, but I never considered my parents a threat either.

They, too, were careful when they covered me in scars. They made a point of my pain never being a punishment. It was always a learning experience. Always a matter of pride. Always a lesson in loyalty. They turned my feelings of justice against me to justify what they did to me.

Every step of the way, they played games with my mind and led me to trust them in spite of their abuse.

I know now they were skilled narcissists.

Only after I met Corbin a handful of years ago did I become aware how wrong it all was, but by that point it was too late. My childhood was long over. My tangled flesh had been numb for over a decade. The wounds had healed, the scars remained, and there was no reason to fight.

Eyes open or closed, this was my dirty life.

Following orders, I came to terms with the truth.

My life wasn't supposed to be pretty.

I wasn't supposed to be right.

I was the son of a mafia boss.

And no matter what reservations I had concerning our work, my parents didn't train me to ask questions or challenge them. I lived to be loyal. I lived to one day continue my father's bleak legacy as an emotionless pillar.

So, I became aware, but it changed nothing. I outlined their calculations alongside my own until I understood the motivations behind every one of their words and actions.

Understanding them better than I understood myself changed nothing.

Until…until the moment I had to fill their shoes, and the resentment I harbored broke free.

It's been a rocky road making so many changes and overturning so much of what my parents left behind, but to be certain, the first revolt was mine.

When I learned the truth with Corbin's help, I could no longer stomach the person I was raised to be. We mapped a future where I wouldn't have to become them once they passed.

Yet, now, I fear it was already too late. We're nearly the same.

Right now, looking at Briar covered in my handiwork, I feel a sick satisfaction and wonder if this is what my parents felt whenever they were finished with me. Did this twisted pleasure consume them as their cold smiles reassured their shaking, battered son he'd done well?

I'm no less manipulative.

I'm no more gentle.

The only difference between us is that I would have stopped. No matter what I said during the years when I still had breath to protest, they never did.

I don't think Briar's right. I don't think I listen because I care. I'm not naive enough to think I'm that selfless. All I know is that I am desperate to be wanted, and she is the first person in my life who has ever made wanting me this clear.

After so long, I am finally able to breathe.

And it smells like cake. Sweet, comforting cake.

"Honestly," I whisper, kissing her forehead, "if you don't want bite marks, you shouldn't smell like cake. It's very misleading."

Bugsy rattles his toys, complaining for the twentieth time that he hasn't been let out yet today, so I force myself to slip from bed and open his door. Jumping onto my finger, the little black budgie chirps, singing screams. Screams were the first sounds he learned three years ago when Corbin suggested I get an emotional-support pet of some kind to help me through my parents' dirty work.

Corbin has always had such grand schemes for after my parents died. He understood why I couldn't just stop or leave and make it out alive while they remained present, so he encouraged me to hold on with a constant they won't live forever. His hope carried me through so many dark days once I began seeing them—and everything—so much clearer.

Heck.

He's probably the reason I didn't flee the second I could have.

He dreamed of something better for me, for us, for Veleno.

He believed that I was better than the person I was made to be.

Sometimes, I guess I believed it, too.

Kissing Bugsy's soft head, I sigh.

Regardless of whether or not I'm able to hunt down the people who took my parents and dispose of them completely if they aren't already gone, the fragmented pieces of my past sins will follow me to the grave. I will always be scarred. I will always need to be twice as vigilant to make sure the few differences between my parents and I are vital ones. Even though it's been months since I've brought Bugsy in to witness screams, he still knows them.

Some things we just carry. Whether we want to or not.

"Bugsy, Bugsy, Bugsy," I whisper into his feathers, and he echos the words before flitting to the dresser. He flicks his tongue against the flat head of one of Briar's snakes. "Careful. If you break that, she might turn you into the world's tiniest chicken tender." I murmur, "I don't know her limits."

To be honest, I don't know much about her at all. I don't know where her talk of severing fingers and blowing up men becomes reality, if it ever does. I've never bragged or joked about the things I've done, the things I could be capable of.

Given how she looks and how easily she smiles, it's hard for me to believe she could carry through on any of her threats.

But I'm not one to make the mistake of underestimating anyone.

Making my way to my cot after brushing my teeth, I sit on the edge and watch her.

Briar Rosanera.

She's a force of nature. A manipulative genius. A calculated annoyance.

An aphrodisiac.

Can I trust her, beyond where our interests align? Can I value her character as much as I value her mind?

Family is family.

My fists clench together between my knees.

Anyone willing to go to war for me has earned my trust.

Rising, I snatch the blanket off my cot and gently drape it around her shoulders. It takes resisting every urge in me to return to the creaking mattress instead of slipping in beside her again

I have a crush.

It's bad.

Real bad.

Severely detrimental to both my logical and emotional health.

But I need to figure out where I stand with her on the whole before I entertain sleeping next to her. If I sleep next to her tonight, I'll sleep next to her tomorrow. And then I'll be uttering her name into the bruises I leave on every inch of her body. Forever.

There will be no end to what I want from her.

And I won't remember to care.

?

The next morning, I'm a husk of a person while Briar, per usual, embodies the sun. She chirps her good morning at Bugsy, whispers an inane, "You look like you'd top chocolate pudding, yes you do," and hums while she gets ready for the day. It's a good thing my eyes don't open fully until the shower starts running, because for some terrible reason Briar didn't care to shut the bathroom door.

We need to have a conversation about exactly what last night means, and I probably need to apologize for my lack of restraint.

Anxious, I tug on a fresh pair of jeans and a new shirt. By the time she's dressed, I'm almost positive she's seen the damage I did, but she doesn't say a thing.

So I pocket my burner phone, flex my fingers, and broach the subject. "Sorry." I clear my throat. "About last night."

She smiles—and it's blinding in a way that sends a shock of panic into the very depths of my soul. "I'm going to lie through my teeth, 'kay?"

I wince. "What…? No, that's not okay."

She tosses her hair back in a distinct I don't care manner before she says, "I'm not offended. Don't worry."

"For some odd reason, I am incredibly worried."

Her laughter is jarringly fabricated. "Other women might kill if they fall asleep with a guy and don't wake up with him, but I'm more reasonable than other women, so I'm not even offended."

"I didn't…mean to offend you. I was trying to respect your space and make sure we could talk about what happened before I started…" My thoughts fizzle.

"I said I wasn't offended, Rowan."

"You sound a little bit offended."

Her brows shoot up. "Really? How peculiar."

"Briar…"

Her arms fold. "Finish what you were saying before. Before you started what?"

My muscles tighten. "Before I started thinking of you as mine. It's important to me that we understand each other. It's important to me that you're okay with…what happened. What I've done to you." I swipe my hand through my hair and clutch the dark strands. "Before I let it go any further, I need to know that what happened in the heat of the moment is still okay. I don't think I'm capable of being much better than my parents at my core, but the least I can do is be open with you about my motivations, expectations, and desires."

Her smile falls. "You really have a fetish for over-explaining yourself, don't you, pet?"

"Maybe with my men, given my position, I over-explain myself, but you're different. Our relationship is different. You're not my subordinate."

"Right." She approaches, stopping an inch in front of me to peer up into my eyes. "I'm not your subordinate. I'm your fake fiancee. So…so I really shouldn't be offended." Her expression softens—if slightly. Her eyes plead for me to understand. "I meant everything I said and every moment, but this isn't the start of something, okay? You regret what happened, and I never should have let things go that far. I did get caught up in the moment, and I'm sorry." Stepping back, she looks away and toys with the hem of her shirt. "I should be hearing from my contacts about the Maxim Project sometime today. That's the only reason we're doing this."

Those words spear me through, leaving me without air. Throat tight, I say, "I don't regret what happened, only if I went too far and hurt you."

Her eyes flick my way. "Hurt me?"

"The bruises."

A slight laugh leaves her as a sardonic grin touches her lips. "Please. I get more bruises sparring with Lace. Don't worry about it. It was…fun. I guess." Her smile drifts away again, and she combs her fingers through her damp hair, refusing to meet my eyes. "I'll stop teasing and flirting with you. That's my bad. I suffer from a condition known as poor impulse control."

I don't believe that for a moment. Every action she commits always seems so entirely thought out. Instead of challenging that point, however, I murmur, "The marks don't bother you, princess?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not?"

Heat grazes her cheeks; she still won't meet my eyes. "They're…you."

My heart thumps against my ribs, and my entire chest clenches.

"You're not being malicious. You're just reaching for something to hold onto. I get it. This world is so—" She swears. "—unstable. At any moment, the whole bleeding rock could be ripped out from under us. You don't even need to run in our crowds to constantly be on the edge of danger. Yet, still, everyone stumbles by like shadows aren't lurking around every corner. Existing is—" She curses again. "—terrifying. There's nothing scary about holding on tight to whatever you've found that makes existing…I don't know." Her eyes close. "Bearable."

I think…I might adore her. The real pieces of her. The playful ones. The taunting, tormenting ones.

The desperate ones.

"Briar."

Her jaw clenches, but she forces her eyes to open on me.

"I want you." I lift my hand. "Date me with the intention to marry."

She jolts, eyes wide. "Excuse me— What?"

"I think I was clear."

"Are you crazy?" A spark of realization flings across her expression, and she averts her gaze. "Is this karma?"

Without hesitation, I take her hand in mine. "I can wait for an answer. I won't even tie you up in my bedroom to get it."

Red flares in her cheeks.

I lean down and touch my forehead to hers. "Unless…you'd like me to."

Her back goes rod straight. "Rowan."

"I think you understand that I take things seriously."

"Um." She wets her perfect lips. "Yeah. I did manage to gather that."

"So think about it. And know I'm not teasing or flirting when I ask."

A stilted breath fills her. "Are you sure you're not delusional? Last night was a first for you, wasn't it? Maybe you're a little hyperfixated on the memory? That stuff isn't unique to me, promise. Any woman—"

I kiss her, and she melts. Her weight drops into me until I'm all that's holding her up.

When I pull back, she's flushed, and her eyes are dazed above her parted lips. "I…forgot what I was saying." She gives her head a slight shake. "I'm certain it was very important."

Humming, I draw her fingers to my lips. "Promise me you'll consider making our relationship real, even after we've gotten to the bottom of the Maxim Project."

"I'll…try to think about it."

"I expect nothing less than a full analysis. A PowerPoint listing pros and cons. Perhaps a spreadsheet or two. Just to entice me a little."

She scoffs. "Well, if you're going to be this demanding—"

"I am. You should know that detail so your calculations and projections come out accurate. I am demanding. And committed. And strict. I like predictable."

"I'm not predictable."

"Sometimes, everyone is." Swiping my thumb across the scar on her pinkie, I murmur, "You are a fearsome element. The earth trembles beneath your steps, and the sky covets the shade of your eyes. Ancient forces concede to you whim. In every fathomable way, I find myself enchanted by you, breathless, under the spell of your mercy. Something about you consumes me, and it will be my greatest accomplishment to tempt you until you succumb." Bowing my head, I cup her palm to my cheek. "Let shadows lurk, Briar. I'm holding the sun in my palm."