Play Rough (Black Rose Kisses 2)

He grins that easy grin of his, folding his arms as he takes me in with one up and down look.

“Damn, Hurricane. You were really going at it,” he says. “I’d hate to catch you on a bad day and get pummeled like that.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I realize a second too late that this is where I usually throw in a sassy or sarcastic comment. I’m off my game, and I scramble for something to say.

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

My breath is still coming hard and fast, and the words feel lame even as I speak them. I can only hope I don’t sound as hollow and chewed up as I feel.

Rory’s grin doesn’t falter, which is kind of a relief.

“Aw, come on. You know I’m always watching,” he teases. “How could I resist checking out so much badassery? You’ve got great form.” He winks. “And your stance is good too.”

He’s flirting with me, the way he always does. Teasing and eyeing me like he wants to step in and get his hands on my form here and now.

Usually, I’m down to banter back with him, but not today. There’s no spark of amusement or even annoyance as I stand here and look at him.

Instead, all I can think about is whether or not Rory knows Sloan killed my dad. If he knows that my father is dead, and he’s standing there making jokes and flirting with me anyway.

Fuck.

I have no idea what he and Levi know, and no way to ask. Sloan has no idea I saw what happened, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason I’m still alive right now. It’s too dangerous to even get close to that topic with any of them until I have more information, and I can’t let anyone know that I know.

They have to think that I’m still just here for collateral, or that I think that’s why I’m still here, an

yway. I can’t lose my in with them, or there goes my chance to tear down the fucking Black Roses from the inside.

Right now, the hope that I can make them hurt as much as I’m hurting is all that’s keeping me here, all that’s keeping me going. The only thing that’s stopping me from collapsing in on myself like a dying star, letting my grief and rage consume me until there’s nothing fucking left.

“Thanks,” I say stiffly, realizing I have to say something.

The groove I was in a moment ago with the heavy bag is gone. Instead of just standing here and watching Rory do his workout, I slip past him and head upstairs. He doesn’t stop me, and I’m grateful for that because I just want to be alone.

It’s so goddamned hard to pretend. Every time I close my eyes I see my dad falling, see those blood stains on the ground, and it makes it almost impossible to act normal around them.

But I have to keep it together if I want this to work.

I grit my teeth and head into the bathroom, turning on the water in the shower while I strip out of my sweaty clothes. I have to keep the mask up and my emotions under wraps. The guys can’t know anything is different, or everything will be ruined. If they find out, who knows what the fuck they’ll do to me. I don’t want to end up dead like my dad.

The hot water of the shower helps a little, beating down on my skin and tired muscles, washing away the sweat. I stand beneath the spray, letting it cascade down my body, head tipped back and eyes closed. If a few tears fall, then at least they’re washed away with the water as it swirls down the drain, and I take the time to clear my head as best I can while I wash up.

After what feels like a long time, I step out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, drying off and wrapping a towel around myself before I walk into the bedroom in search of clothes.

Then I freeze mid-step.

Rory is standing just inside the bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe. He grins as our gazes meet, giving me that same look from downstairs in the gym—only there’s more heat in his green eyes now from catching me in just a towel. He’s shameless, and it’s a sign of just how off my game I am that I don’t even feel mad to see him standing in my room uninvited, staring at me like he wants to devour me.

“I told you to be prepared for the tat,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

I almost smile at the joke, my lips turning up just a bit at the corners, but it falls flat. I can’t even muster an eye roll like I usually do. Everything in me is screaming at me to act normal and push through the raw emotions churning in my chest before he figures out something is up, but I’m still having a hard time.

And Rory clearly notices. His smile fades, and he looks at me seriously, making a move like he’s going to step closer but then stopping himself.

“What’s going on, Hurricane? I know something’s wrong.” He cocks his head a little, his brows pulling together. “I could tell downstairs. You never let me get away with that much shit.”

I open my mouth to make some rebuttal, but nothing comes out. Shit. That’s not exactly helping. I just shake my head instead, hoping he’ll think I’m just tired or something.

“Mercy,” he presses, finally taking that step forward. “Come on. I’m not stupid. Just tell me what’s up.”