Chapter Ten
ROSIE
Idon’t know where I am.
I can’t see anything.
My hands are tied.
Don’t panic Rosie, deep breaths and think. This is what you’re good at, I tell myself as I calm my racing heartbeat and control my breathing. This is hardly the first time I’d found myself in a situation like this, and I was always prepared, like the good little girl scout I never was.
I’d been visiting my parents’ graves, laying white roses on their headstones in the wake of the church fire. That had been their church, St Mary’s, the one they had gotten married in all those years ago. It was where I was baptized and where we went every Sunday for service. I remember sitting in the hard, cold pews as a teenager, hating the way the prayer cushion itched beneath my knees and the priest spoke like in a dull monotone. I remember my father looking so serious in his suit, but whenever he would catch my eye, he’d pull a funny face, making me laugh until my mother, in her Sunday best, would give us both a glare and silence us both. It was where the Christmas carol service and mass was held each year, where we’d drink mulled wine, watch a nativity retelling from the Sunday school children and light candles in prayer, thankful for the things we had in our lives.
It was where their funerals had been held, in secret of course since Belcastro and Felix had tried to deny me that, even though churches were supposed to be neutral territory. When I’d heard that my tio Matteo had stolen their bodies, I’d risked everything to return to Newtown for the funeral, scattering their ashes in the family plot with Lola and Matteo as the only witnesses. That church was tied up in so many memories of my parents, and now it was gone, just like they were. Everything that tied me to them had been ripped away and yet I was the bad guy.
When I find out who had disobeyed my orders and used me in their campaign against Julian, I am going to skin them alive and make a coat out of their flesh. I had specifically instructed them not to get innocent bystanders and Family members involved. There were kids inside the building. Children who’d done nothing. I brought thirty-five roses with me, one for each life lost and I couldn’t stop the tears that came as I laid them down. Death was part of Family life, but this was wrong. This has crossed a line and someone has to pay for that.
I’d sat on the grass in silence, praying for the lives lost, for those left behind to deal with the pain, surrounded by white roses that were already fading, discoloring slowly as they decayed. I’d heard soft footsteps, as someone approached from behind but I’d just assumed it was Cassie, one of my Captains, who’d accompanied me here this morning as she’d come to lay flowers on her daughter’s grave. That assumption had cost me, as I’d been knocked out cold.
And that’s how I’d woken up here, tied to a chair with rope and a pretty complicated knot by the feel of it. Someone was worried I’d be able to escape, clearly. Sometimes the rumors and legends of my bloodthirsty nature were a help, others, like this, they were a hindrance.
Footsteps above me and the faint smell of damp and stale air makes me think I’m below street level, a basement or a cellar maybe? I can’t hear any running water but I can hear the hum of traffic. Am I downtown? From what I can tell, I still have my clothes on and while my stiletto blade, handgun and my throwing knives have been removed, my ring hasn’t. I carefully twist the band around and using a virtually invisible button disguised as a rose filigree, a tiny blade pops out from behind the large black oval stone. It’s a thin short razor blade, but it’s enough to start cutting the rope. I shake my head a little, and my hair stays in place, which means my hairpins are still in and they’re sharpened, ready for situations like this.
I haven’t spent ten years in hiding and on the run to learn nothing and poisonous hairpins were only the tip of the iceberg. The streets of East Point served to teach me the things my father didn’t, and I had learned a lot about survival there. You have to get inventive sometimes in order to stay alive, you can’t be afraid to get your hands bloody. It wasn’t like Newtown, where there was a clear hierarchy, where one group dominated. Fighting to survive in East Point made Newtown look like a picnic in the park.
Hearing voices getting closer, I freeze. I can’t risk them finding my ring. There’s something familiar about the huskiness I can hear as it nears…it sounds like…
“Jay!” I exclaim with a grin, as a man I recognize as the Left Hand of The Family pulls the bag off my head. He’s cute, his dark hair tied up in a messy bun, a scar cutting through his left eyebrow just above intense dark eyes but his face is too serious for my liking. He’s a mountain of a man, but I’d know that from my surveillance. At almost six foot five, he stood a few inches taller than Julian but he was wider, more muscular and that made sense since he was supposedly Julian’s protection as well as his errand boy.
My gaze shifts, to where Julian stands in a designer navy suit, green eyes narrowed, the color dimmed by the basement lighting. He’s oddly serious today too, staying back with his arms crossed, his mouth pulled into a tight line as he glares down at me.
“You could have just called if you missed me,” I tease with a smile and a flutter of my lashes knowing full well that he doesn’t have my number but his face remains cold. “No need to go to extremes.”
In the periphery I clock only one exit located just behind Julian. It’s electronically locked, which means one of them has to be holding a keycard. There are pipes and fuse boxes down here, but the chair I’m sitting on is the only piece of furniture. The lighting is dull and yellow. I think I’m in his building’s basement, which is interesting. Why bring me here and not to one of the Family interrogations rooms? What was he planning?
“Rosalyn, stop,” he commands, forcing my attention back to him. “You’ve gone too far this time.”
Tilting my head, I frown. “I’m sorry sweetie, I don’t understand . . .”
Crack!
Julian’s Left Hand man just used his right hand on my cheek, slapping me while Julian glances away, avoiding my gaze like a coward. My face stings, and heat blossoms across my skin. Running my tongue over the inside of my mouth, I can’t taste blood, so he hasn’t done any actual damage.
I wiggle my jaw, opening my mouth before I turn my head back to face them. “Creed, isn’t it? Trust me when I say, you will regret that. I promise you.”
“I don’t give a damn about your empty threats, you piece of shit,” he hisses as he grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head back roughly. It jolts my body enough to distract them from the fact I’m slowly getting through the rope.
“Have we met before? No?” I grin obnoxiously, provoking him. “Then be a dear, and zip it. I have a killer headache and just seeing your face is making me feel queasy.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sigh dramatically. That earns me another backhand, this time he cuts my lip. I can taste bitter copper and that’s fine, it just fuels my resolve. This isn’t my first kidnapping situation. And it’s certainly not my first interrogation. I’ve endured worse and survived.
Julian remains silent, but at least he’s looking at me now, his emerald eyes locked with mine as he stands in the shadows. He’s hiding from me, from what’s being done to me and that’s why my Captains think he’s too weak to lead them. You can’t be in charge of an organization like The Family, where violence is part of our legacy, where people get hurt and people die, and be afraid of inflicting a little pain. I suck on my split lip and moan, the noise low and sultry. Julian’s cheek twitches and I smirk.
“Beautiful but crazy, isn’t that what you said Jules?” Creed smirks as he grabs my chin sharply. “Why did you lie? She’s a hideous person, inside and out.”
“Awh, you called me beautiful?”
That earns me another slap.
This one is harder and for a moment my eyes struggle to focus, my brain rattled against my skull but I don’t let on. Just a little more, I just need to keep going until . . .
“Oh, you have no idea, baby,” I laugh as I feel warm liquid trickle down my chin and my ropes loosen. I think both my nose and my lip are bleeding freely now, but I can’t say for sure until I can separate the pain. My words are said to Creed, but it’s still Julian I’m watching. He’s furious, and even though he looks calm and disinterested as he lurks by the door, I can see the way his eyes flash. The rage that surrounds him is barely noticeable, if you didn’t know him, if you didn’t understand how he worked. But I knew him better than anyone, I’d spent years learning how he thought.
This is about the church. It has to be.
He really thought I was responsible and he wasn’t even going to give me a chance to explain. Fucking coward. He was going to bow to pressure from his Captains and the elders without looking at the facts first. What did I have to gain from burning down a church? From killing children?
The others were right, he was weak.
“Are you getting a kick out of this?” Creed leans in and bellows in my face, spittle hitting my cheek. “You’re more fucked up than I thought.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I whisper before licking his face with a satisfied groan.
It startles him and he jumps back, cursing as he tries to wipe away the stripe of my blood and spit that marks him. With him distracted, I use the time I’ve just bought myself to jump into action, springing up and knocking his feet out from under him. He lands on his back with a satisfying thud and a huge exhale of air, and I think I hear the distinct crack of a rib or two on the cold concrete.
Before he can recover, I’m crouched over him, pinning both his arms to the cold concrete floor with my knees, my razor ring blade pressed against the artery in his neck, my free hand firmly on his throat. Just a little bit of pressure from me, and Elijah Creed would become nothing more than a myth in Newtown’s Family history as another one of my victims. When I carved him open, I would make sure he felt every single cut. Every incision. I might actually eat his heart, just to spite him for the way my face hurts.
“They don’t call me a killer Queen for nothing, baby,” I hiss, invading his personal space like he’d done to me. “And I did warn you.”
The man beneath me looks to his king and frowns as Julian says nothing. Jay doesn’t want to do anything rash; he doesn’t want to risk me killing one of his best men and so he watches, waits for my cue. It’s admirable, but a weakness I fully intend to exploit. After all, this is the game we’ve been playing for years.
“It looks like Jay isn’t going to help you, are you surprised?” I ask in a sad voice, as I lean in close, grinning as blood drips from my mouth and nose onto his skin. Thick, ruby splotches landing with fat plopping noises as he flinches with every drop. “Don’t worry sweetie, Rosie will take care of you.”
I kiss the tip of his nose and chuckle as he growls at me. Taking my hand from his throat I quickly reach up and grab the hairpin with a flower on the end. Creed tries to move, to take back control, but I dig the blade into his skin just enough to bite and he goes still. Smart man. Taking the pin, I stab it into his neck, and before he even registers what I’ve done his eyes are rolling back into his head and he’s unconscious.
“Was that necessary?” Julian finally says as I stand and brush the dust off my dress.
“Was this?” I ask, waving my hand around the dank cellar before pointing to my fat, bleeding lip and bloody face. Pressing my fingers into my skin gently, I work out that my nose isn’t broken, just sore and the gash in my lip is my only real injury. I scoff as I look down at Elijah Creed, the man couldn’t even hurt me enough to leave a scar. This was Julian’s protection?
“Yes. You crossed a line.” His words are tight, said through gritted teeth as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He offers it to me and I accept, ignoring the way my skin tingles where our fingers brush.
Mopping up the blood from my face and following the trail of crimson that had managed to fall down into my cleavage, I raised a brow. “You mean the church?”
“Of course, I mean the church.” He narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. “Why, what else have you done?”
I place my hands on my hips and laugh. “So many, many things. But this one wasn’t me.”