Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters 2)

“She wants to stay with me,” Ian speaks up. “Right, Christina?”

Daisy wraps her arm around Christina’s shoulder. “We’re partying together, sorry.”

“She has a voice,” he tells Daisy, waiting for Christina to make a decision.

She timidly points towards the door. “I’m going to stick with Daisy.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and Daisy squeezes her shoulder.

“Girl power,” Daisy exclaims with a bright smile that carries so much energy. It lights up the whole room. “Come on.” She lets go of my hand and clasps Christina’s, swinging her arm as they reach the door. Christina immediately looks relieved and smiles with this newfound happiness.

Ian takes a step forward, and I put my hand on his chest.

“Don’t even fucking try.” That girl has to be fourteen or fifteen, and from what Daisy has told me about her weird night with him, I doubt he cares about that girl’s age.

He stays put, and then I follow the girls out, spotting my brother and Connor on the congested street already.

“Everyone is a giant!” Daisy howls into the night sky. Literally, like a wolf. “We’re in the land of tall people!”

Christina can’t stop laughing, and Daisy turns her head to see me watching.

I raise my brows at her like what the fuck are you doing? And she howls again and points at the full moon. “Like my mating call?” she asks me.

“I don’t see any fucking guys responding to it.”

“I do,” she says with a smile, staring right at me.

“Right. If that’s true, then I’ll be humping you later, sweetheart.” My eyes lighten a little more because this time—there is fucking truth to our banter.

“Doggy-style or are you just going to be grinding on my leg?”

“Not your leg.”

“Higher?”

“Well what’s the other alternative? I’m not going to fuck your ankles.”

She raises her hands in defense. “There are some people into feet.”

“I’m into pussy. Now you know.” My unfiltered response causes her to flush.

She grins. “I should howl more often then.” She’s cute. She always is. I’d kiss her if I could, but I need to check on my brother.

I glance over at Lo. He’s staring at the sky like he wishes he could settle among the stars for fucking eternity and never have to live this life. I hate that look. It’s one that I used to wear when I was fifteen, kicking shit over and screaming at the top of my lungs. I’d end up exhausted, collapsed on the grass of my yard, and I’d look up at the fucking sky and think what am I doing here? Why the fuck am I in this world? Living shouldn’t be this painful.

My life had no meaning until I decided to turn around and meet my brother.

I can’t lose him to this disease…or because of the choices I’ve made.

Connor has his hand on Lo’s shoulder, his lips moving like he’s talking him down from a fucking cliff. I feel like I put him there.

The traffic is gridlocked, taxis barely budging. We have a short walk back to the hotel, and most of the paparazzi have dispersed. Instead, the streets are full of sports fans, those red and white jerseys everywhere.

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower glows green. The screen on the front of the fucking mammoth structure plays footage from the Rugby World Cup.

When I glance back at Daisy, her smile is gone. She shrugs at me and then turns to Christina, whispering in her ear. I wish she had no affiliation to my brother. I wish they never knew each other—then all of this would be so fucking simple.

The girls start watching a couple guys bicker by the curb, fighting about women or maybe the rugby game. I can’t tell from here, but they’re drunk, spitting out their insults and puffing out their chests.

The construction nearby forces people to draw closer than they normally would. Scaffolding juts out from the pub next door, losing space, and plywood and other materials are thrown around the cement, covering divots and potholes.

“Hey, let’s head back,” I tell Daisy.

She nods to me but doesn’t take her eyes off the growing fight. More and more people push onto the sidewalk, separating me from my little brother. I weave in between guys to reach him. Most are models and beefy fans. I even spot a portly guy doing a keg stand, his feet held up by his friends. His jersey falls to his neck, and his large stomach lolls over his jeans. His friend jiggles his fat while they all laugh.

When I near Lo, Connor steps aside a little, but my brother looks pained as he meets my eyes. “You shouldn’t have had that whiskey,” he says, his eyes glassing with remorse. Not I’m sorry. Those two words barely exist in his vocabulary, so I wasn’t fucking expecting them.

“One glass isn’t going to make me fucking addicted, Lo.”

He rubs his lips and lets out a bitter, dry laugh. “Lucky you.” He cringes at his sharp words and just shakes his head.

“We should go back to the hotel—” An elbow digs into my fucking back, the force pushing me into someone else. I look up and realize a new fight has broken out behind me, between two blue-collar looking guys with beards.

Screaming pierces the fucking air, and I’m being pushed in every fucking direction. Fights break by the curb, shoving people into the slow traffic, ramming bodies into the hoods of cars. Stumbling between vehicles. I hear the smash of glass as people start shattering car windows.

People are yelling about the rugby game, about England’s loss. Angry fucking drunk fans are storming some of the bars, thrusting people aside. I’m trying to grab ahold of my brother. My heart runs wild as my mind catches up with me.

They’re rioting.

And we’re stuck in the middle of it.

I turn my head, and a taller guy decks Lo in the face. Lo snatches his shirt and hits him back in the stomach. The guy doubles over, and someone is pulling at my fucking leather bike jacket, trying to drag me to the ground. I spin around and shove him off me.

Daisy. Where the fuck is, Daisy?! My head whips from side to side. I don’t see where I left her. Christina is gone too.

There are too many people running around, screaming. Fire. Someone started a fire in the pub we were just at. Flames licking the windows.

Fuck. Connor ducks as someone swings at him, and he catches a terrified girl around the waist before she face plants on the cement.

“Daisy!” I yell. Where the fuck is she?! I push people away from me with hostile aggression. Why did I leave her alone? “DAISY!”

Everyone is fucking screaming. Like she said, it’s the land of the fucking giant people. With models taller than her, she doesn’t stick out like she usually does. I start looking at the ground, at fallen people, and I lift up a young girl who cries in pain, her leg bent in the wrong direction. I carry her towards a street lamp and set her beside it, out of harm’s way.

And then just as I go back in, I spot Christina clutching onto the same iron lamp, flinching as a guy punches another man right in front of her, their bodies starting to drift this way.

“Christina,” I call. Tears streak her cheeks.

She meets my gaze and cries harder.

“You okay? Where’s Daisy?”

Christina shakes her head over and over. “She pushed me out, and then she got swept in it. I couldn’t find her…” She sobs into her hand and then points at the center of the riot, where so many men are brawling.

I don’t think twice. I just go back in, another elbow ramming my back. A head knocking into my jaw. I shove and push and dig my fucking way through the people.

And then I see her.

She shakily stands. Blood trickles down her forehead, the source by her hairline, like someone ripped the strands, like they could’ve been caught in something. She teeters, disoriented. I try to reach her, but a couple guys shove me back and punch me in the face. I’m too fucking concentrated on her to feel the pain.

I tear through them, hitting them back with as much force.

Daisy to

uches her forehead, blinking a couple times to clear her vision. And then she meets my gaze, and relief floods her eyes.

“Ryke,” I barely hear her say over the noise, but I see her lips form my name. Sirens blare in the distance, but no cop or ambulance will make it here anytime soon, not with this fucking traffic. Not with this madness.

She stands on the curb. And out of nowhere, some guy comes up from behind her. I watch in slow fucking motion, and I scream as loud as I can. “DAISY!!” I shove against so many fucking people, but it’s like a current draws me back, pulling me under. “DAISY!!!”

He holds a two-by-four, part of the construction waste on the sidewalk and street, bracing the piece of wood like a bat.

I can’t see his face. It’s shadowed by the blur of bodies. But I do see him swing. Just as she turns her head to the side, the board smacks hard into her cheek.

Her body thuds to the cement with the force—limp and motionless.

I fucking lose it.

I barrel through whatever’s keeping me from her, shouting more expletives than necessary. I worry about people trampling her body. And then I finally fucking reach her, the fastest and slowest moments of my life.

I instantly lift her unconscious body in my arms. I have to get her out of here. That’s my only thought. I edge through the masses, glancing down at her once. Her face is turned into my chest, but I feel a wetness seep through.

It’s not tears.

It’s blood.

So much fucking blood, beginning to turn my white shirt into something red.

My heart is in my throat. I can barely breathe. I make it into an area where people frantically try to find their friends, calling out to them in French, German, English, Russian, pressing their phones to their ears.