Loan Shark Love

“Sleep, Rosie,” Grey says as I curl into his side. “I’ll keep you safe while you do.”

CHAPTER SIX

Grey

A thick fog cloaks the manor grounds, folding and shifting in the dewy night.

Natalie is asleep in the front passenger seat, and our driver is looking as if he might fall asleep on the spot. We’re on the gravel path that leads up to the large house, and the tires crunch on it. The windows are glowing softly, and I know the staff must have lit the fireplaces and the chandeliers in my absence.

Rose is talking softly in my ear, and I can’t get enough of her voice, as sleepy and hazy as she sounds in her exhaustion. She’s like a balm against my stress.

Her favorite flowers are purple pansies, which she has really only ever seen once on a school trip when she was a kid. They remind her of a happy childhood.

She has only slept in twin beds her whole life, and she’s had to share a room with a cousin for as long as she can remember. Her favorite colors are pink and green, but she doesn’t think they necessarily look good together that way. She admits that I’m welcome to prove her wrong, though. She doesn’t want to pick between the two colors, and she likes both.

I listen to Rosie very carefully as she answers each of my questions that arise from her admissions. I don’t need to write anything down because everything she says I instantly memorize, branding it into my mind.

We’re all yawning as we step out of the car, so tired after the night we had together. Natalie mumbles something, and she stumbles up the stone stairs, brushing her fingers over the ivy that covers the side of the brick manor and half of the stairs leading up to the big, oak door. She uses her key to open the door, and it creaks when it swings open as the driver heads to the back.

Natalie disappears, heading up the stairs to her section of the house where her things have been dropped off, and I know I won’t see her again until the scant hours of the morning.

It’s nearly two o’clock now, and she won’t be up until at least nine or ten in the morning.

I wonder if Rosie is a late sleeper or not.

“I’m going to look around if that’s okay with you,” Rose says, looking awed as she steps into the house, taking in the dark, antique furnishings and warm interior.

“Go ahead,” I tell her, pulling her in for a kiss before she wanders away from me.

I want her to see this place in all its beauty, and I want her to feel as if she belongs because she does. She looks lovely in the low light that burns through the house from the lit fireplaces.

Her skin is radiant, and this house looks good on her.

Rose gently licks my lips, exploring this thing between us, driving my need for her higher. I can’t wait to peel that glittering pink dress from her body and sink myself into her wet warmth.

I watch her walk away, brushing her fingers over everything she passes by.

A hot need to protect her and what is mine rises up within me. I can’t believe someone, and I know who it was, tried to take everything away from me. I can’t even imagine what might have happened if Rose had been hurt because of me.

If I really think about it, I have never understood why people underestimate me, if they do at all. When I was a kid, it was the easiest thing in the world to pick a window lock or even break a window open if I tried hard enough. Almost everyone is capable of it if they really think to try. So why would someone think I’m not able to take a few heads now if need be?

Many people don’t seem to be entirely capable of being confident enough to know they can figure out where to go when they step outside their comfort zone. Most are content to watch their lives pass by them and never take that chance. I have always been one to try and take chances for myself.

Most people are adept at accepting whatever fate has been laid out for them – that is when they feel like they’ve been forced into it without complaint. These things are typical for the people who don’t care enough to help themselves. Most people assume that giving up and letting go is perfectly fine.

But I never have been a man to lay down, and I doubt I ever will be.

Not until my fate is something that I am satisfied with, anyhow.

So I step onto the dark veranda that overlooks the expansive grounds without a plan, and my lack of a plan doesn’t make me any less confident. Why should it? I know this place, and it knows me just as well. I’m safe in my home’s warm, green comfort, and I know I can keep my loved ones safe here.