Frayed Rope (The Ugly Roses Book 1)

by Harlow Stone

  He doesn't want to tell me.

  “Yes, now spit it the fuck out!”

  I’m reaching in my bag for my phone. I’ll call her, and then I’ll know what the hell this is all about. Oldie pipes up before I get the chance.

  “Ma’am if you could-” I cut him off.

  “Don't fucking ‘ma’am’ me officer! I said spit it out.”

  I find my phone and I begin scrolling through my contacts to get to my mother’s mobile number.

  “MS O’Connor, your family was in a car accident”

  Miller tells me softly but firm enough to grab my attention. The blood is rushing in my ears. I know I have to ask it but I don't want to. I don't want to hear it. I know what he’s about to say because if it were a better case scenario they would be rushing me to the hospital, or the hospital would be calling me to tell me to rush there.

  My breathing is becoming shallow.

  Fuck Fuck Fuck.

  Dick detective Braumer cuts off my train of thought with the most un-sincere voice I’ve ever heard.

  “I’m sorry MS O’Connor but none of the members in the vehicle survived the accident.”

  He’s sorry........

  An Accident?

  I can’t fucking breathe.

  My phone falls to the floor.

  Then I do too.

  I stare out the window as I remember when my life started turning to shit. I know my dream occurred because the day of their death is coming.

  I hate it.

  I want to forget why I’m here and why this all happened. I wish so fucking bad that I was in the car with them that day so I wouldn’t have to be here, I could be with them instead. I understand that its twisted fucking logic but sometimes we can’t help how we feel.

  I shake myself out of it for now and head for the shower. Today might call for some extra wine and comfort food. The rain began late last night and it has yet to let up. I don't enjoy the simplicity of rainy days like I used to but I’ll make fucking good on the food and wine.

  * * *

  My cart is half full of the makings for comfort food; a good Irish stew is on the menu for tonight. The other half of the cart is filled with alcohol. One might pass me and think I have a problem, but since I never really gave two fucks about what other people think of me, I’m not about to start now.

  The grocery store is pretty quiet today; obviously people aren’t very eager to venture out in a torrential downpour for food. Once again I’m not most people; therefore shopping while the store is practically empty pleases me.

  It’s cooler because of the rain and I get to wear my full armor today. Long black jacket with high collar around my neck, tall black boots once again with my knife tucked inside. The rain also warrants my trendy hat so I feel well and truly protected at the moment. No marks visible and the only skin showing are my hands and face. My tights too are black which suits my overall mood.

  Despite my release with Ryder yesterday which was fucking heaven, my shit mood still occurred when I woke up this morning. I don't suppose that will change any day soon since I’ve been this way for years, especially around the day of their deaths.

  Someone might wonder why I don't call it the ‘anniversary’ of their death.

  The reason is that an anniversary usually signifies some sort of celebration.

  Wedding anniversary, anniversary of graduation, an anniversary is a day that ‘celebrates’ a past event that occurred on the same day.

  So, in my opinion why the fuck would someone want to celebrate an anniversary for death?

  It’s bullshit.

  Celebrate their birthdays; celebrate their life randomly throughout the year. But for god sakes unless someone was suffering and death took away their pain I see absolutely no reason to consider their death any type of anniversary.

  My entire family was healthy, and not for one damn second do I believe any of them were ready to die.

  Aside from my bitchy rants that I know will surely continue throughout the next month, or year, my sharp wit and sarcasm are the only things that give me some sense of normal anymore.

  Which is good because I might need some of that wit or sarcasm rather soon. I begin to head towards the checkout when an irritating voice pierces my eardrum.

  “If it isn’t Belle, I believe you owe me an apology.”

  I’m embracing my bitchy attitude as I turn my head to the left to greet the plastic behind the voice. Once again fake tits pushed up to her neck and she’s dressed for a day at the beach, instead of a rainy day in a fishing town.

  Stupid cunt.

  To top it all off, her cart is filled with salad.

  Go fucking figure, they’re all the same.

  Being supremely thankful for my shit attitude today I respond to her.

  “Apparently you’ve been watching too much Beauty and the Beast, seeing as I’m not Belle, she’s a Disney character Ginger. Oh, and I don’t owe you shit.”

  I’m not about to give her the time of day, but I sense this little argument isn’t finished. I’m in the mood for a good confrontation despite Tiny’s words of wisdom, so I’ll let her think she has me. For a minute or two.

  “You rudely ruined my date, so yes I think you do.”

  It’s now that I notice what appears to be a friend with her. I didn't think this bitch would have the gull to confront me on her own. She may have five inches on me, especially with those ridiculous shoes but I’m certain that anyone who looks in my eyes these days gets wind pretty fast that I do not put up with anyone's shit.

  I slow my cart and face her head on before speaking.

  “A little lesson on dating for you Ginger; Most women already know this, but since you can’t clue the fuck in, allow me to enlighten you. When a man drops a woman off at home early, it means he’s done with her. Simple as that.

  “In the one percent chance he really did need to get going, you would have gotten an apology or at least a phone call the next day. Now, judging by the look on your face I’m going to go with the first option, which is that he’s just done. So don’t embarrass yourself, or women as a whole. Pick the fuck up, and move the fuck on.”

  I turned my cart so I could continue towards the cashier.

  “Oh my god you are such a bitch, and for your information it’s not the first fucking date we’ve been on, and there’s sure to be more.”

  I can tell she’s trying to say that with confidence, but it just makes her sound like a two dollar hooker. I look over my shoulder to see her eyes when I reply.

  “I’m truly sorry Ginger; he failed to mention that last night when he had his head between my thighs. But come to think about it, the man has great table manners. He knows it’s not polite to eat and speak at the same time.”

  And with that parting shot, I cash out of the Green Grocer and make way for home.

  Catty Bitches.

  * * *

  I arrive home a little after three and haul ass from the truck to the house. I dump all my shit in the entryway while I rid myself of the wet clothing on the way to my bedroom. I throw on a loose pair of lounge pants and white tank followed by my comfy rainy day cardigan and big wool socks.

  I put all the groceries away and get my stew started. Lots of beef, a few cans of beer and some root vegetables. I’ll let it simmer on the stove for a few hours while I curl up on the couch with some smut and wine. I crave to be like my former self sometimes, and so long as the memories and the anguish don't take over, hopefully a good book will hold my attention.

  The sound of the rain is soothing as I read my book in front of the fireplace. I look at the clock and realize two hours have passed and decide to check on my stew.

  Almost ready and smells divine.

  I add a bit of flour to thicken the sauce then turn up the stereo. I love music when I cook and need background noise. The silence often kills me so the music is always on, other than the odd silence during my coffee time in the morning.

  I hear a quick knock at my back door a
nd Norma starts wagging her tail. Knocking still causes my heart rate to spike, but it’s getting milder as time passes.

  It’s stupid really, what psychopath knocks?

  “Come in!”

  I holler from the island where I’ve begun cutting up some fresh bread to go with the stew.

  “Smells good in here Elle.”

  Ryder says as he shuts the door behind him. He looks damn good again today. Black long sleeve Henley and dark jeans. The sleeves are pushed up so I can see his tattoos and he has a hat on today which always makes him look a little younger. His stubble is still present ensuring to keep his rugged and manly good looks.

  “Well I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting company, but as you can see I have enough in this pot to feed a family so you might as well stay and eat.”

  He has a slight grin on his face that makes me wonder if he just came for the food.

  “I don't want you to think I just come over here for your cooking.”

  The full on smile that graces his face after that statement makes me want to invite him for dinner every day of the week. Maybe lunch too. Fuck, maybe I might even start making breakfast.

  “So you didn’t time your arrival to when I’d be cooking dinner then?”

  I ask on a half-smile. I still can’t seem to manage a full one.

  “Actually I just came over to make sure there were no leaks after I fixed up the eaves and gutters. But if you’re offering food I won’t pass it up beautiful.”

  I turn my head away since the beautiful comment still fucking irks me a bit. Not a lot, it’s nice to hear a man call you beautiful. I just have trouble taking the compliment seriously after everything I’ve been through. I shake it off for the time being and try to keep this dinner as platonic for the moment as possible.

  “Well like I said no worries I have lots. Grab a beer and a chair, it’s just about ready.”

  I carry the bread over to the table while he grabs a beer from the fridge.

  “So, no leaks I take it?”

  I ask to keep the conversation going. I don't want him to make any moves yet. If I can keep this to friends with mild benefits without the amount of passion he began to show me last night this may work. He takes a seat at the table and tilts his head to study me.

  “No leaks”

  He replies in a short manner which doesn’t sit well with me and tells me he’s catching onto my game.

  I’ll have to up my acting skills.

  “Well that's good news”

  I say as I dish out two bowls of stew. I carry them to the table along with the spoons and settle in, avoiding as much eye contact as possible.

  “You alright babe?”

  Of course he would pick up on something. I never fully asked him what he did in the corps or what exactly he does with his security company now, but from the way he assess people and places I’m sure he’s had some form of lie detecting skills.

  “Rainy days Ryder. Mellows me out a bit I guess you could say.”

  It’s not a total lie, between the book, the wine, and the heat from the fireplace I was quite good and mellow before he showed up. He seems to believe it because his features softened considerably.

  “I hear you.”

  He replies before shoveling a huge spoonful of stew in his mouth.

  “This is delicious.”

  I know it is- everybody loved my stew.

  “It’s all in the beer.”

  I reply on a smirk before eating.

  Ryder went through two and a half bowls before he declared himself full and rinsed his dish before putting it in the dishwasher.

  “A man who helps in the kitchen”

  I say shaking my head.

  “Still leaves me a little speechless”

  I grab the dishcloth and head back over to wipe the table down. I’m almost finished when I feel warm hands on my hips and hot breath in my ear.

  “I can think of more ways to make you speechless vixen. But it doesn’t involve cleaning up the kitchen.”

  He rasps with a long lick up my neck. I can’t help the small moan that comes from the back of my throat. His fingers dig into my hips a little and begin to work their way up. For fear of his hands going under my tank top I decide to turn this power play around.

  I turn in his arms and run my hands up his chest. His palms slide down to rest on my ass which is what I was hoping for. I take in the tanned skin and sharp cut jaw. His silky dark hair falling to his nape. I run my hands up around the back of his neck and brush my fingers through it. It’s much thicker than mine and incredibly soft. I lean up on my toes and summon the inner vixen I left behind long ago, but he seems to know.

  “Handsome, I’m sure there are a number of ways you can make me speechless.”

  My raspy voice declares. Sometimes I hate it, but in times like this I know it adds to the seduction.

  “But I’m a fair woman who likes to keep things even.”

  I say as I run my hands back down his solid chest towards his belt buckle. I slip my hands underneath his shirt and touch his bare skin. His sharp intake of breath doesn't go unnoticed.

  “That being said, I believe it’s my turn to make you speechless this time.”

  I lean forward and press my lips to his neck. I sneak my tongue out as I begin to undo his belt. His hands put more pressure on my ass and he pulls me forward until my hands are squished between us.

  “Fuck you’re full of surprises”

  He says before grinding his erection against me. As much as I would love to feel it inside me, it’s my turn to play tonight. I push back and pull his belt lose as I continue my assault up behind his ear. I pop the button on his jeans and lower the zip.

  I pull my mouth off his neck and look at the tension on his face before easing my hand inside his jeans.

  Commando.

  Christ that makes me happy.

  My hand touches his smooth velvet skin and I attempt to wrap my hand around his incredibly well-endowed self. My eyes widen, while his glint back at me with pure lust.

  He’s not a gherkin! I chant to myself.

  “I guess you’re full of surprises too”

  I smartly say while I stroke my hand down and back up again. His breathing is becoming slightly labored and he squeezes his fingers into my ass. He tilts his head to the side and studies my face.

  “What were you expecting beautiful?”

  He chides playfully and thrusts his hips forward into my hand while leaning down to kiss my neck.

  “Well I’m not sure, but to be clear I should have a better look.”

  I keep eye contact as I pull his jeans down below his ass. I move backwards until I feel the chair and I lower myself onto it. His gaze is challenging me to look down, and when I finally do I’m floored.

  He’s long, thick and perfectly smooth. I love a well groomed man and have refused this very act for those who can’t keep that shit cleaned up.

  Ryder doesn't have that problem.

  In fact I’m eager to get started and my panties are soaked just thinking about it.

  “Meet your expectations vixen?”

  His whisky rough voice cockily asks as I sit stunned on the chair.

  Fucker knows just how perfect he is down here and I’m sure I won’t be the first woman to tell him so.

  Later.

  For now I nonchalantly say, “Yes, it’ll do.”

  He starts to respond but doesn't get the chance to finish because I lick the head of his shaft while running my hand down to the base and underneath his balls.

  I sneak a peek and he’s watching me intently, biting his lips. I lean forward remaining eye contact as I lay wet open mouth kisses down the length of his shaft, adding a bit of suction on the way. I lick my way back up and he hisses out in pleasure.

  “Fucking Christ your mouth feels good.”

  He runs his fingers into my hair and rests his hand there. I open my mouth and take him in as far as I can. His smooth flesh feels good against my tongue and
I hum in pleasure. His fingers tighten in my hair and I know he’s enjoying this. I add one hand back in on the action as the other moves back down between his legs. I stroke in and around before gently rolling his balls between my fingers.

  “Fuck! So fucking good Elle”