Play Rough (Black Rose Kisses 2)

That’s hardly true, considering what I’ve seen him do, but I’m not dwelling on that. Not now.

“Okay, fine. What’s your favorite food in general?”

Sloan furrows his brow, clearly thinking about it. “I don’t know. Noodles, maybe.”

“Noodles?” That’s not the answer I was expecting at all. He’s always struck me as the type to like the fancier things in life, especially considering where we currently are. Noodles are pretty normal, everyday fare.

“Sure. They’re versatile. They go with pretty much anything. You can eat them when you’re in a hurry.”

“Huh.” I purse my lips. “That’s very practical.”

“I try to be.”

“Do you?”

When he looks at me this time, his eyes seem to burn, and I know we’re thinking about the same thing. He’s practical when it doesn’t come to me. When he’s not shoving me over sinks or against walls in alleys, his lips hot on mine and all rational thought burned away by the inferno that burns between us.

I glance away, clearing my throat. Tonight isn’t about that, and I can’t afford to let myself get distracted.

Instead, I ask more questions, trying to see what he’s in the mood to answer. It’s not like we’ve never talked before, but this is the most we’ve ever spoken one on one, and Sloan seems a little more open to conversation than he usually does, so I figure I should take advantage of that before it ends.

“So,” I say a little bit later, once we have our waters and a bottle of wine is being brought to the table. “What’s it like having your dad be head of a gang?”

He picks up his water glass and takes a long drink, and for a second, I think I’ve definitely found the line. This is far from superficial conversation about favorite foods or menu items, and I’m sure he’s not going to answer. But then he sighs. His features soften a little as he does, and it’s an expression I’ve never seen on him before.

“I don’t know what it’s like to be any other way,” he says with a shrug. “The Black Roses have existed for a long time, and I was raised as a part of it. The gang was there before I was, so it’s not like I’ve ever been without it. I have to uphold my father’s reputation and follow in his footsteps.”

“It sounds like a lot of pressure,” I offer.

“Maybe. But it is what it is.”

Sloan doesn’t deny my statement, so I feel like I’m right. It’s got to be a lot to put on one person’s shoulders. Sloan’s the heir, the one who stands to inherit everything his dad has worked for and built, but it’s got to come with some downsides.

“Growing up,” he continues. “I knew that if he couldn’t come to school shit or see me play sports, it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t because he didn’t love me or didn’t want to be there. His work was just important, and sometimes that stuff had to come first. The Black Roses are bigger than any one person. It’s not about what you want as an individual. It’s about what’s good for the group.”

I think about that in contrast with how I grew up. My dad came to every spelling bee, every basketball game, every school play. There weren’t a lot of them because I wasn’t really big into extracurriculars like some kids, but he supported my activities to the best of his ability. He taught me how to fight and how to ride a bike. Because I was the most important thing in his life.

But for Sloan’s dad, the gang has to be the most important thing, clearly, and I have to wonder how that felt when he was growing up.

“What did your mom think about that?” I ask him. “Did she come to your stuff, at least?”

He looks down at the table again and then back up at me, and his eyes have more feeling in them than I’ve ever seen before. The emotion behind his gray irises isn’t simmering anger or resentment for once, and it sort of takes my breath away.

“She wasn’t around for most of it,” he says. “She died when I was little.”

I wonder if he knows my mom died when I was young, too. I know Rory told Levi, but I have no idea if he shared it with Sloan as well. I don’t know what any of them are sharing with e

ach other at this point.

“Oh,” I murmur, chewing on my lip. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s a part of the life. She was married to the leader of the Black Roses, and he has a lot of enemies.”

My eyes go wide at that. “Someone came after her? To get to him?”

“Close enough. They threatened her, and he defended her, but she was still caught in the crossfire. So they got what they wanted in the end.”

He sounds a little bitter, but there’s something almost like resignation in his voice too. Maybe it’s been long enough that he’s come to terms with her death, or maybe this is just an expected part of gang life.