Twelve of Roses

Con was right—no one would get us.

People would label him as a monster that stole a girl in broad daylight.

They just wouldn’t understand.

I wasn’t a bad person. I was just a foolish girl who fell for an unbelievably bad man.

And I was still falling.

Chapter Seventeen

Present

I was rushing around the house, trying to find my misplaced shoe, when Darcy decided to call.

Lauren had called off last minute, and her mother needed someone to open the salon. That text message was received at four-fifty in the morning, which was approximately five hours ago.

I had so much to deal with that it was the last thing I wanted to do, but saying no didn’t seem like the best idea while I was still in the midst of my probationary period. I wanted to show I was responsible. This, admittedly, wasn’t going that well.

After I shut down on Max and he kindly decided to leave, I spent the rest of the night thinking about a blue-eyed devil.

Con had gone silent, and that was never a good thing where he was concerned.

“Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Darcy sang in my ear.

No. “Of course,” I scoffed, spotting my flat at the bottom of the stairs.

She was going on and on about some amazing guy she’d recently met. I owed her more than I was giving her. Our friendship survived because she had no idea what I’d been through. Con made me keep in touch with her and my grandfather after he took me, spinning some elaborate tale about young love and eloping.

She had never fully believed this story, questioning how I could abandon my grandfather after all he did for me. Grandpa on the other hand was unbelievably supportive, always telling me he understood.

When Con and I ‘broke up,’ Darcy didn’t bother trying to hide her excitement.

“Are you okay?” All the enthusiasm in her voice turned to concern.

“I’m fine, just running really behind.”

Was I supposed to spill my guts and tell her that the love of my life was back from the grave? My best friend had no idea what kind of person I was.

“Oh. Why didn’t you tell me that like, an hour ago?” she questioned with a laugh. “Call me later, okay?”

“I’ll text you,” I promised, hanging the phone up and rushing out the door.

The full reality of my situation came crashing down on me the second I turned the key and entered the salon.

Bright sunlight filtered through the front blinds, illuminating what looked like a mangled body. I quickly slipped inside and slammed the door shut, turning the lock. I rested my hands against the frame, trying to calm myself and hoping no one walking by had seen in here.

My phone started to ring. I knew it was him. The timing was too perfect. Hitting the side button to silence his call, I slowly turned around and crept towards the chair, eyeing the back of the woman’s head.

“Oh my god.” I clamped a hand over my mouth, looking down at Lauren’s mom.

There was an infinity symbol carved into her torso—like the one he’d branded on my inner thigh. A single black rose was laid across her lap.

How the fuck did he get her here? When had he done this?

I could see rigor mortis beginning to set on her jaw and neck. He had to have killed her at least six hours ago, which meant he had been the one that sent the text from her phone. When my cell began to ring again, I flinched and fumbled to get it out of my back pocket. With shaking hands, I accepted the call.

“Why?” I demanded to know.

“Well, good morning to you too, Rosie. You really need to work on your social skills.” He clucked his tongue at me.

“Why did you do this?”

“You know how bad I want it to be you instead of them? I keep asking myself why you’re so special and have yet to come up with an answer.”

“I left you for dead,” I pointed out, trying to figure out my next course of action.

I needed to get the hell out of the salon and away from the body before calling it in. If I called it in.

“I deserved it. I broke my promise to you. Do you really believe I didn’t know you were going to run?”

“If you knew then, why did you let me go? None of this had to happen,” I snarled into the phone, jogging through the back parking lot to my car.

“I knew you were going to leave me. I just hoped you wouldn’t.”

“Con,” I swallowed, trying to get myself together. I wasn’t good at handling this shit, which was painfully clear. I felt exhausted—not from lack of sleep, but from life. “You almost killed me. You left me black and blue, and I thought that was love.”