Craving Rose (The Aces' Sons 5)

“I’m not forcing her,” I ground out. “If she wants to be with me, she’s making that choice.”

Farrah looked at me sadly. “If you love her, don’t even give her that option.”

My stomach sank.

“Charlie-bear,” Farrah called. “Let’s go.”

I stayed there in the kitchen as Charlie ran down the hallway and left with Farrah. I couldn’t make my feet move. I’d never had trouble doing the right thing, making a decision and following through with it. My conscience was clear because even if my actions didn’t follow with someone else’s version of right and wrong, I knew in my gut they were right.

But I didn’t think I could do the right thing this time. If I had a chance with Rose, I’d take it and the resentment Farrah was so sure would follow.

Chapter 13

Rose

It was drizzling outside when I got to the clubhouse for Charlie’s birthday party, and my hair was wild around my face by the time I walked through the door.

“What in the I-married-my-cousin is this?” I asked, pausing with my hands holding my hair back.

“Paintball war,” my mom said, coming out from behind the bar. “The boys went a little overboard.”

“You think?” The crowd was a sea of camouflage clothing and faces smeared with green and brown paint.

“Are you going to play?” she asked, looking me up and down. I’d worn a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, nothing out of the ordinary, but I definitely wasn’t prepared to be running outside getting hit with paint.

“Why did no one tell me that we were doing paintball?”

“I thought I told you,” Hawk said as she walked toward us. She was wearing all black, and had a ski cap pulled over her purple hair.

“Are you planning a little B&E later?” I asked, making my mom snort.

“No way in hell am I putting on camo anything,” she replied with a shudder. “This is giving me flashbacks to the douchebags in high school that constantly asked me for blowjobs.”

“Gross.”

“Mick took care of it,” Hawk said with a smile. I felt a little pang, but smiled back. My older brother had been Hawk’s best friend in high school before he’d died.

“That’s because we raised our boys right,” my mom replied.

Just then, Tommy hopped on top of a table and started thrusting his hips.

“Two out of three ain’t bad,” I told my mom consolingly as she grimaced.

“Are you going to play?” Hawk asked. “You might want to change.”

“I didn’t bring anything else to wear.”

“I can get you something out of your dad’s stuff,” my mom said. “At least a flannel or something.”

“Then, yeah,” I replied to Hawk. “I’ll play.”

“Yes!” She threw up devil horns. “We can work together.”

“Don’t do it,” Molly called from the bar. “She’s been asking all of us.”

“No, I haven’t,” Hawk yelled back. She turned to me. “My loyalty is to you, of course.”

I laughed, but my skin felt tight as I caught sight of Mack across the room. He hadn’t gotten the memo to wear camo, and he was standing with my cousin Cam, wearing a pair of faded, old jeans and a dark green sweatshirt with bleach stains all over it.

“Okay, here’s the rules,” my Aunt Farrah said, stepping onto a chair.

“There are no rules!” Will yelled jokingly.

“Wrong, Wilfred,” she replied, pointing at him. “Number one, inside the club is off limits. Under no circumstances will you bring the fight inside. Number two, no face shots. I’m not taking anyone to the hospital today. Number three, one hit is wounded, two hits is down, three hits is out. Once you’re out, clear the course.”

“There’s a course?” I asked quietly to my mom.

“Wait until you see how they set up the back field. It’s awesome,” she whispered back.

“Number four, if at any time someone wants to quit, all they have to do is put their arms in the air and they’re out of the game. Don’t be a douchebag about it,” Farrah said. Then she climbed off the chair.

I followed my mom into my dad’s room and left wearing a pair of her sweatpants and one of my dad’s old flannels over my sweatshirt. It wouldn’t keep me dry outside, by any means, but it would hopefully keep the paint stains to a minimum.

By the time I got outside, the game had already begun. Everyone was screaming and laughing and racing around the course that my uncle and aunt had set up. There were tractor tires, logs, my dad’s beat up old pickup, and even a little shed made out of plywood for cover. They’d also set up a ton of green netting from the army surplus store, making visibility even worse.

“Here,” Aunt Farrah said. She pointed out all the elements of the paintball gun and handed me a pair of goggles. “Kick some ass.”

“Aren’t you playing?” I asked.

“I’ll be out there in a bit,” she replied. “Working on my strategy.”