Fight Dirty (Black Rose Kisses 1)

I’ve noticed over the time I’ve spent here that Rory tends to leave the house often by himself. There’s even a set schedule to it, if I’m guessing right, and he goes somewhere alone for several hours three or four times a week.

Usually when I’m done with classes, he’s just getting back, but on Saturdays it’s easier to see when he leaves in the late morning and comes back sometime after dinner.

It’s like clockwork, and I want to know where he’s going. If it has anything to do with my dad, or even if it’s just Black Rose business, I want to know what it is. The only upside of having to stay with these guys is getting the chance to learn their closely guarded secrets.

I can’t just flat out ask him, because there’s nothing subtle about that, so on Saturday, I wait for him to leave, thankful that Sloan seems to be off somewhere himself and Levi is in the gym.

Once I hear his car start outside, I count to five and wait for him to pull away. Then I slip out of the house and grab my bike, which the guys made good on having someone bring over, thank fuck.

I ride after Rory’s car at a distance, trying not to be seen.

He’s not driving in a way that seems sketchy or like he doesn’t want to be followed at all, just like he has somewhere to be, and I narrow my eyes and keep going.

After about thirty minutes of driving, he parks on the street in a nice neighborhood and gets out of the car like he’s about to walk the rest of the way to wherever he’s going. I leave my bike a bi

t away from his car and follow on foot too, trying to be quiet so he won’t be able to tell I’m there.

We’re a long way away from the heart of Fairview Heights, and the neighborhood has a suburban feel to it. I walk past nice, well-built houses, the kind with real lawns and porches with swings. No one else is out, and it’s a quiet late morning. Luckily, the streets are lined with trees, making it easy to hide behind them and peek out to make sure I can still see Rory.

Or at least, I could see him. About a block away from his car, he turns down an intersecting side street, but I wait too long to follow him. By the time I make it around the corner after him, he’s nowhere in sight.

Fuck.

I press my lips together and scan the sidewalk, cursing inside my head.

Where the fuck did he go? He was right there, and then—

Before I can finish that thought, a hand clamps around my wrist as someone grabs me, yanking me around to face them. I yelp in surprise, adrenaline spiking. I’ve got my fist raised, ready to fight back, when I realize it’s Rory. Shit.

He sees the look of recognition in my eyes as my fist lowers slightly, and he must know I’m not about to punch him. Still, he pins my arms and leans in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear.

“You’re a pretty fucking bad spy, you know that?” he murmurs, and he sounds almost amused by it.

Motherfucker.

Clearly, he knows exactly what I’m doing here, and I give up the fight, going limp in his arms with a little sigh. I figure he’s going to send me back to the house, or tell Sloan I snuck out and let him deal with me, but instead, he lets me go and steps back, giving me a once-over.

“What the fuck are you doing, Mercy?” he asks, folding his arms. “You’re supposed to be at the house.”

He says it like he’s talking to a wayward kid that snuck out after curfew or something, and I glare up at him, immediately getting defensive.

“I was just curious,” I tell him. “You disappear all the time, and for all I know you’re running drugs or something.”

True to form, Rory just chuckles. “Come on,” he says, shaking his head. “Come with me.”

My eyebrows shoot up immediately.

I half expected him to make me turn around and head right back to the house, or lock me in the car if he wasn’t going to take me there himself. Especially since I snuck out and followed him, getting all up in his business when I’m supposed to be at their house unless I have an escort or whatever.

But I’m not about to question it. I don’t want him to send me back to the house, and this might be a chance to learn more about him. So I follow, glancing around at the neighborhood we’re in and taking it in more than I did when I was following him.

It’s different from the place I grew up in, and even different from the area where the guys’ house is. This is more homey, a place where people probably raise families. Where their kids can play in the yards and swim in little backyard pools. It’s like one of those neighborhoods from a sitcom or something, and I’ve never really spent much time anywhere like this before.

Rory walks toward a nice house, a little smaller than the ones around it, but well-maintained all the same. There’s a little garden out front, and flowers in the window boxes. The front door is painted a sunny shade of yellow, and it looks warm and inviting.

I hesitate as we walk up the driveway, my eyes narrowing, and Rory turns around to grin at me.

“You wanted to see where I’m going.” He gestures to the yellow front door. “This is it. Come on, Hurricane, you’re not chickening out now, are you?”