Spiked Roses: The Complete Top Shelf Series

by Alta Hensley

  He stood when I arrived, and asked in a raspy voice, “What are you doing? You don’t have to do this. This is my problem, not yours.”

  “You did this all for Minka, and I had always wished I could have done more too. So now I can. I can keep Minka’s husband and daughter together.” And that was the truth. I was alone. I had no one to miss me… unless you counted the recent experience I had with Makayla, but no one else. A father and daughter should be together. Family always. I didn’t have family. “And besides. Face it man. I’ve always been luckier than you.”

  Rhett shook his head. “I asked you to stay with Makayla. I needed you to keep her safe.” He glanced at the gun on the table and then at me. “Don’t do this, man. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you… die.”

  I nodded toward where Makayla sat, knowing it was just a matter of time until Rhett saw her there anyway. “I couldn’t stop her from coming. I tried. But I did my best to get her through the first part of the ritual. It’s over, and now she needs you. Leave the last part of the ritual to me.”

  Was I being a brave fool? Yes, but when I saw my sweet, innocent Makayla sitting over there on the bench, I realized there wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d promised her I would try to save her father, and that was exactly what I was going to do.

  Before Rhett could wipe the shock of seeing his daughter naked and used as part of the ritual off his face, the master of the ceremony cut in. “Let us proceed.”

  He then placed his hand on my shoulder and pushed me down into the chair Rhett once sat in. The blindfold was then placed over my eyes and pitch darkness took over. Odd how the minute the blackness took over, I could actually hear my own ragged breath as I was about to face the sick hand of luck.

  “Domine, Redémptor noster, qui teipsum morti tradidísti, ut omnes homines salvi fíerent et ad vitam possent de morte transire, clementissimam pietatem tuam humilter deprecamur, ut digneris omnes servos tuos intueri lugentes et pro amisso propinquo suo suppliciter exorantes. Illi omnia peccata dimitte, Domine, qui solus es sanctus et summe misericors, qui per mortem tuam portas vitae tuis fidelis reserasti. Ne fratrem nostrum a te separari, Rex aterne, permittas, sed virtute gloriae tuae locum ei lucis, beatudinis et pacis largire. Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum,” began the chant again.

  I pictured my time at the lake with Makayla to try to chase away my fear. I didn’t believe in God, so I had no one to pray to really. I could hear the heavy breathing of all the men around the table. Had they come to peace with the fact that they could die? Were they terrified? Or were they so arrogant to believe they were going to be just fine and the chamber would be empty on their turn?

  “Player number one, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

  I hated not being able to see what was going on, but did I really want to see the man before me die? I quickly figured out by my placement that I was going to be player number five. Not last, not first… was there really a good spot to be in? The luck of the trigger pull could end with the first man.

  I heard the click of the trigger being pulled and then nothing.

  No gunshot, but instead the loud exhale from what I assumed was the man who had put the gun to his head and hoped there would be no bullet.

  Player number one was still alive.

  “Player number two, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

  This was a sick and twisted experience. I didn’t want to hear the gunshot go off because it would mean a man just died. But then at the same time, I held my breath desperately hoping the gun would go off because it would mean my turn would never come, and I would be alive. To have to sit at a table and wish for another man’s death turned me into the living and breathing Devil—evil, sinister, and a pure monster.

  The click of the gun, but no gunshot.

  Player number two was alive.

  “Player number three, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

  I waited, wondering what poor Makayla was doing right now. Was Rhett standing by her? Would he be able to comfort her if the chamber was full on my turn? Had I made the right decision?

  The click of the gun, but no gunshot.

  Player number three was alive.

  Three more players and one bullet remained.

  I had a one in three chance of living.

  I sat in between player number four and player number six.

  One of us was going to die.

  Player number four was close enough to me that I could hear the revolver be placed in front of him. I could hear his breathing. I could smell his body odor, and all I could do was wait.

  “Player number four, it is now your turn,” the master of ceremony announced.

  The man fumbled with the gun, and his elbow bumped into me when he raised the revolver to his temple.

  The sound of the revolver firing, the loud echoing bang, the sound of death was one of the worst and one of the best sounds I had ever heard.

  Wet, sticky blood splattered all over my face. Thick, metallic, signs of death were dripping off me. Chunks of human flesh and brain matter fell from my cheek, but I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. My ears rang from the close range gunshot, but I could still hear gasps, cries, and the thank god whispered next to me by player number six.

  Player number four was dead.

  Not sure I would be able to lift my hands to remove my blood-soaked blindfold, and feeling bile build in the back of my throat, I thought of Makayla to give me strength. She would need my comfort. No doubt the stress, fear, and then mortification as she had to watch the man die right before me was all too much to take. I had to be strong for her, even though I felt about as far from strong as I could be. With shaky hands, I removed my blindfold and tried not to focus on the dead man lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The other men at the table had blood splattered on their pale faces as well, but each man eventually stood with heavy shoulders. I knew they felt the same way I did. Relief and guilt. Happiness and shame. Alive and not dead.

  “This concludes the ritual for the evening,” the master of ceremonies said as if the fact that a man had just shot himself was completely normal. “Until next year, my brothers.” Then walking over to the dead man, he placed his hand on his back and recited, “Te, Dómine, sancte Pater, omnípotens aetérne Deus, supplices deprecámur pro anima fámuli tui. N., quem de hoc sǽculo ad te venire iussísti; ut ei dignéris dare locum refrigérii, lucis et pacis. Líceat ei portas mortis sine offensióne transíre et in mansiónibus sanctórum et in luce sancta permáneat, quam olim Abrahæ et eius sémini promisísti. Nullam eius ánima sustíneat læsionem, sed, cum magnus dies ille resurrectiónis et remuneratiónis advénerit, resuscitáre eum (eam), Dómine, una cum sanctis et eléctis dignéris; dimíttas ei ómnia delícta atque peccáta, tecúmque immortalitátis vitam et regnum consequátur æternum.”

  Each man with a cane hit the floor loudly six times, and I knew the ritual was complete.

  The nightmare was over, and we could all finally leave the plantation and act like nothing happened. It was the way of The Iron Colt Brotherhood. It was the way of the ritual. It was like some long fucked up dream occurred and if anyone dared speak of the ritual, you risked having to sit exactly where I was moments ago for the next ritual.

  No.

  We would leave.

  And we would never so much as think of putting our name with a stone into the urn again. I would make damn sure Rhett knew this.

  I somehow got my feet to move even though I worried my legs would fold beneath me and made my way to Makayla. She was crying, terrified, but I saw her eyes light up when we made eye contact. Right now was just about her.

  Makayla.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Makayla

  I didn’t know exactly when my heart started to beat again, but the fact that I wasn’t dead from a heart attack or at the very least hadn’t fainted right there on the floor said something for the inner strength I did
n’t even know I had.

  I had watched a man put a gun to his temple and had closed my eyes, silently wishing to hear the gun go off. I had done it for the three men before him, disappointed each time the chamber was empty. As awful as it was—and fuck was it awful—I knew the only way Alec would survive was if one of those men at the table died.

  I had to wish for it.

  And I did.

  I would have to forgive myself for those awful thoughts later, but right now all that mattered was Alec was alive.

  Alive.

  “Come,” he said softly, grabbing me beneath my arms and picking me off the anal dildo bench. “Let’s get you off this awful thing.”

  I gasped as the removal of the dildo caused almost as much discomfort as having it inserted.

  My legs were weak, and I could barely bear any weight. If it were not for him holding me up, I would have surely crumpled to the ground. He removed his jacket that was covered in another man’s blood and tried to conceal my nudity as fast as he could.

  It was hard to believe that Alec was alive. He had somehow walked away from that table, when I was almost certain he wouldn’t.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” I said as I clung to his body, feeling as if I had to just as much as someone had to breathe.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered as he kissed the top of my head. “It’s over now.”

  The sex slaves—scared women—were either getting off the bench on their own, or others were helping them. But everyone was starting to leave the ballroom.

  “Alec? Makayla?” I heard my father say as he walked up behind us.

  When Alec had taken Papa’s place at the table, he wasn’t allowed to come stand by me. The other members kept him to far side of the room—flanked on both sides by the men holding canes—no doubt worried my father would step in and try to save his friend or something. Or maybe they were worried he would rush over to me and try to get me off the bench and cover my body. Regardless, of the reason, this was the first time I had heard my father’s voice in what felt like ages.

  Alec turned to face him, but didn’t release his hold on me. My father pulled us both into a hug and released a sob. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” The one and only time I had seen my father cry was when my mother died. Although I couldn’t blame him for breaking down after all that had just occurred. I hadn’t stopped crying since the minute the Russian roulette part of the ritual began, and I wondered if I ever would stop.

  It was over. It was finally over. I was in Alec’s arms. I was standing next to my father. But I kept crying.

  My father took a step back and quickly glanced at me standing in Alec’s coat as my only clothing. “Why did you come? I would never have wanted you to go through any of this.” He glared at Alec. “You were supposed to keep her safe. You were supposed to keep you safe. This was my mess. Not yours.”

  “He tried to keep me at the lake house, Papa. But I ran away. I couldn’t just allow you to die if it meant I could step in and do my part. As awful as the first part of the ritual was,” I paused, trying to get the images out of my head. “I knew I wouldn’t die from it. I had hoped that my arriving would mean them letting you leave. I had hoped I could save your life, so I left without Alec knowing.”

  My father stared back at Alec. “Why would you do that? Risk your own life for me?”

  Alec pulled me in closer to his chest. “I did it for Makayla,” was his short answer.

  My father looked at me with raised eyebrow and then at Alec.

  Alec decided to make it very clear what was going on between us when he kissed me on the top of the head and said, “I love her, Rhett. I’m sorry. Something happened at the lake house and though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t. And then being here, with all that was happening… I knew without a doubt that I loved this woman and would do whatever it took to save her. I’m sorry if you feel I betrayed you and—”

  “You didn’t betray me,” Papa interrupted. “You saved my fucking life is what you did. You were right when you said you were always luckier than me, and I think had I been sitting at that table… well, I owe you. And I can see you obviously do love her. There’s no denying that fact.” He then looked at me. “Well? Do you love him?”

  Love?

  Was that what this incredible desire to never leave this man’s side was? His ultimate sacrifice for me proved he definitely loved me. Did I love him in return?

  I looked up into Alec’s eyes looking down at me and nodded, knowing one hundred percent that I did. “I do, Papa. I love him very much.”

  “So what’s next?” Papa asked.

  “I want to take Makayla back to the room and get her cleaned up and then get the fuck out of here. I was hoping we could all go back to the lake house for a couple of days and heal from this horrible ordeal.”

  “I would like that,” I said. “I want to go back there more than anything.”

  My father nodded. “That sounds like a really good idea. I’m going to head home first and tie up some loose ends, but then I’ll join you guys in the next day or two. I think the lake house is exactly what we all need. Minka would have liked that.” He extended his hand to Alec and they shook. “I owe you my life, my friend. I owe you everything.”

  I looked up at Alec and added, “You saved my father like you said you would. You helped me get through the first part of the ritual which could have been a lot worse had you not been here and had I been purchased by someone else. Thank you, Alec.” I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss him fully on the mouth, not caring that my father was watching. “I love you more than anything. Thank you.”

  Alec pulled away from my face enough to look at Rhett squarely. “No more. The Iron Colt Brotherhood is dead to us. Do you understand me? No more favors, no more connections, no more names on stones. We will never step foot in this mansion or deal with any members again.”

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” my father said. “I’m not going to waste this second chance at life. I really did think it was the end, and well”—he looked around the near empty ballroom other than a few members standing around chatting—“I’m sick of these fuckers. Maybe it was good for great great grand Pappy and the other men in my bloodline, but I’m stopping it here. Forever.” Papa leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “I promise you, Makayla, that your happiness is all I ever wanted for you. I’m so sorry, but I will never put you in danger again. Never again.”

  Alec nodded, seemingly pleased with Papa’s response. “Good. Then I’ll see you in a couple of days. I’m going to get Makayla out of here.”

  Without waiting for a response, Alec led me to the room where we had shared the night. I’m sure he wanted to get clean and wash all this death and evilness from our bodies before we made our journey home.

  When we crossed the threshold to the room, and he closed the door behind us, I couldn’t help it anymore. I could no longer fight against the tears that I thought I had stopped in the ballroom. Misery was too strong. It wasn’t the abuse. It wasn’t the humiliation. It was the way he looked down upon me as I collapsed on the edge of the bed. I could see so much pain. He was in as much pain as I, and I didn’t know why.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said in an almost lifeless voice. Each syllable came out like the staccato of rapid gunfire.

  He bent down and lifted my limp body. I wrapped my arms around his neck and allowed him to carry me to the bathroom in his cradled embrace. I didn’t say anything. Nor did he. I just cried.

  He placed me into the shower and turned on the water. Although the water shot out of the shower head at a bitter cold temperature, Alec quickly adjusted the temperature until it was delightfully warm. So very warm. The water washed away my tears, and washed away the terror and pain—yet also a pleasure in the most taboo of ways—that had just occurred.

  He discarded his clothes and stepped into the shower himself. He was naked. And except for all the exposed cocks in the ballroom, this was the first man I tru
ly had ever seen completely nude.

  I stepped to the side a bit so we could both share the streaming water. This was the first warm and pleasant shower that I had had in days. I had to relish the small pleasures in life now, because I’d had a small taste of how easily it could all be taken away.

  “Hand me that bottle,” he said, pointing to a shampoo bottle.

  I did so, and he squeezed it into his palm and then reached for my hair and began to massage it into my scalp.

  I moaned.

  I couldn’t help it. It felt so very good.

  He continued to work the shampoo into my hair as the floral fragrance wafted up my nose, reviving my battered soul. His nude body was so close to mine, yet it did not touch, nor did I feel unsafe in any way. He used the rest of the soapy lather on his hands and ran it over my entire body. It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t lecherous. It was simply a man cleaning a woman.

  I looked at him as he helped me rinse the shampoo out of my hair. He continued to bathe the rest of my body and then did the same to his. Silently turning off the water, he reached for two towels and handed one to me. Once he dried his body off, he used his towel to help dry my hair. He gently squeezed the water out, massaging my scalp again.

  With the most gentle of touches, he placed his lips to mine with a kiss. Heat pumped through my veins and tiny jolts of pleasure sizzled through every nerve ending in my body. My eyes fluttered open as his mouth conquered mine. His kiss had woken me from my slumber. I returned the kiss with a tiny moan as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, deeper to what had become my salvation. He said that I had saved him. But this man had saved me, as well. And this kiss was forever bonding us as one.

  What was once a long, dark, epic story had now finally ended. It was time to leave and go back to the lake house. To go back to what hopefully would be the light no longer draped in shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Alec