Twelve of Roses

“I…haven’t heard from you. Just wanted to check on ya.” Forcing my voice to remain calm, I gripped the steering wheel, fighting every urge to freak the fuck out and scream at her to run far, far away.

“I’m fine, Mom,” she chuckled, saying something else right as the phone began breaking up. “Fucking reception. I’ll call you in—”

My phone beeped twice, the screen flashing that the call was lost.

“Shit.” I hit the steering wheel in frustration.

I drove home as fast as I could. After grabbing everything I needed, I rushed into the house, double checked the locks on the doors, and then ran to the dining room. Sitting on the edge of my air mattress, I eyed the little white box I’d removed from the back seat as if it contained anthrax. It looked like the kind someone would get from a jewelry store. Swallowing, taking a steady breath, I cautiously lifted the lid off and peered inside. My stomach dropped to the floor—right along with a severed finger.

Shining like a beacon in the dark was the wedding ring Con gave me the night we were forcibly wed. It shouldn’t have been recoverable; it was in the house when it burned down.

Con was dead. The Sheriff had assured me that he and the rest of the Burrows didn’t make it out.

I jumped up and ran through my house, checking every window and all the doors, dialing the Sheriff as I went. I circled back through the kitchen, stopping dead in my tracks, my body coming to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway. My heart slammed into my ribs and everything went cold. Ice seeped down to my bare, brittle bones, turning me into nothing but a vestigial organ.

“Sheriff Reynolds,” I heard from a million miles away.

“You told me he was dead,” a voice completely foreign to me nearly wailed into the phone.

“Roselynn?”

“You told me you’d identified him by dental records. You promised we’d be safe! Why did you lie to me?”

That same strange voice demanded answers, clogged with emotion. I couldn’t look away from the black roses sitting on my table. They were perfectly arranged in a vase from my old bedroom.

The severity and realization hit me like a brick. There was only one person who would do this to me.

Constantine.

He was close.

He had been in my fucking house. He wasn’t dead. That was enough to send me into a cardiac arrest. He’d killed that girl because of me, and if I knew anything for certain it was that he was just getting started.

The phone fell from my hand and hit the dull wood floor with a resounding echo. Sheriff Reynolds’ concerned voice continuing to blast through the speaker. A second later, a loud beep signaled someone calling on the other line from an unknown number.

Chapter Eleven

Past

The man I fell asleep with was not the monster I woke up to.

He was already inside me when I opened my eyes, thrusting as if he intended to make me bleed.

“Con,” I whimpered, my body jerking from his harsh motions.

“I’m almost done, Rosie,” he grunted, burying himself to the hilt and pulling out to do it all over again.

I grimaced in discomfort as he brushed against my cervix.

“You were so wet for me when I woke up. Your cunt was begging for my cock, babygirl,” he groaned, grabbing a fistful of my hair at the root.

“Stop.” I pushed against him, turning my head to try and ease the burn on my scalp. I wasn’t accustomed to this; I was still trying to wake all the way up, and my body was sore from his endless sessions the night before.

He dropped his mouth to my neck and began swirling his tongue in a circular motion before biting down hard enough to break the skin. I screamed, shoving him as hard I could, feeling tears spill from my eyes.

“Fuck, yes. Scream for me, Rosie,” he begged excitedly, grabbing my wrists so roughly it felt like the bones would crumble.

Why was no one coming to help me?

He kept pumping into me, ignoring my demands for him to stop. His body finally tensed with his orgasm, and I felt his cum spill inside me. When he rested his sweaty forehead against mine, his lips tried to connect with my own.

I turned away, sickened by everything he’d just done.

“No,” he growled.

He pulled out of me and grabbed hold of my jaw, squeezing until it popped.

“Get off me,” I garbled, weakly fighting against him again.

“You don’t deny me—ever. Do you understand?” His blue eyes darkened to a degree I would never think possible if I weren’t seeing it with my own two eyes.

The Constantine I was familiar with was gone. In his place was a stranger who was mortally terrifying. I struggled to nod, rushing to appease him so he’d let me go.