by Marata Eros
ROSE
A Road Kill MC Novella
Volume 3
New York Times Bestselling author
MARATA EROS
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2016 Marata Eros
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Cover art by Willsin Rowe
Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing.
CONTENTS
Synopsis
DEDICATION
Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett
Marata Eros NEWS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Synopsis
Vengeance
Drake Corbin, aka Diablo, has plans for Rose Christo that reach far beyond getting his property back.
He wants another woman to abuse.
Rose is determined to save Charlie, but when the final verdict is read, her spirit is crushed by the outcome.
After two encounters with Drake, she knows she will not survive a third.
Has Rose misplaced her trust in Noose? Is he nothing more than the callous user of women he appears to be—or is he the very thing she needs to survive her life—and maybe find love…
Hope
Sean King, aka Noose, doesn't need a woman—he never has.
Then Rose Christo earns something no other woman has ever managed—his trust. Noose's carefully built facade begins to slip, and he must admit what she means to him:
More than property.
More than novelty tail.
More than anyone has ever meant to him before.
The woman he loves.
Is Noose ready to sacrifice everything to tie a knot so permanent, no one will recover? Road Kill, him—Rose?
Can she stand what he will have to do to keep her safe?
DEDICATION
My dear brothers, James and William. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you.
Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett:
The BLOOD Series
The DEATH Series
Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6
The REFLECTION Series
The SAVAGE Series
Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6
&
Marata Eros:
A Terrible Love (New York Times bestseller)
A Brutal Tenderness
The Darkest Joy
Club Alpha
The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8
The DEMON Series
The DRUID Series
ROAD KILL MC
Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6
The SIREN Series
The TOKEN Serial
Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6
The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8
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1
Noose
I am a goddamned pussy.
How many times does a bitch have to tell my stupid ass no before I can take the hint?
“How'd that go?” Wring asks.
I glare, stomping to my bike parked a couple of blocks away from Rose's house.
Jerking my shoulders around my earlobes is my reply. I hop onto my bike and turn the key. The engine noise fills the silence I've made.
“That good, eh?” Wring's lips twist, and I flip him off.
He grins. “Did ya ask her out or just lay one on her?”
I snort, kicking my leg over the seat, and sit, crossing my arms. Prick. “I didn't. Shit.” I hang my head. “I saw her, and she looked—goddamn—she looked hot and fragile, and I just wanted to hold her and fuck her and—” I grab my hair, wanting to tear it out of my scalp. “Rose makes me fucking crazy.”
Wring keeps that shit-eating grin going.
My hands fist against my chest. “What's so funny, you prick?” I jerk open my handlebar pouch and hammer out a cig from the pack before tossing it back inside the small leather bag. I jam the cig between my lips, light the tip, and slide the lighter inside my back pocket.
“Touchy,” Wring comments quietly, eyebrows sweeping up.
I fight the urge to flip him off again, squinting through the opaque smoke. “Yeah, I am. Just made a fucking fool outta myself in front of the brothers. Didn't even get the girl.”
“Won't be the first time a girl's made a man do stupid shit. Won't be the last.”
“Got a few more pearls?”
Wring chuckles. “Of wisdom? Nah. But you should have just played it cool. Told her you wanted to start fresh, like normal folk.” My eyes slit further, and Wring ignores me, continuing, “That you'd like to be there for her with the hearing on Tuesday. But no—you had to charge in and lay the whammy on the poor broad…”
“The fucking ʻwhammyʼ? What in the fuck is that?”
Wring's palm waves around in the air. “Kissed her, dry humped her, et cetera.” His eyes meet mine.
I don't have a lot of trouble with blushing. I do now, though. He'd exactly described about where I was five minutes ago—like a mutt trying to hump Rose's leg. I feel about as smart as one. Maybe that's being kind.
I scowl harder.
Wring shifts his weight on his seat, shrugging. “She tell you to fuck off?”
Pretty much. “No, she doesn't talk like that. Rose told me she doesn't want to take a chance with me when she's got her sister's kid to think about. That I might come and go.” I waffle my hand back and forth.
Wring rolls his lips together to keep from laughing.
I want to punch that smirk off his face. Instead, I purse my lips, blowing a smoke ring. I stare at its ghostly outline against the midnight color of the sky, trying to calm my shit.
“Would you?” Wring's eyebrows drag down, hooding his gaze.
My head dips as I meet his eyes. The moon is hidden behind a cloud; light is non-existent. Even the streetlamp across the street is strangled to only a small circle of illumination.
My excellent night vision makes out Wring's face. The disbelief.
I suppose I deserve that attitude. Since Afghanistan, I haven't given two shits and a fuck about being solid with any girl. Seems like fucking work.
Hell, it is work.
The thing is, now the work feels worthwhile, like a task that will set me free if I just have the balls to see it through.
“No.” My answer is a knife slicing the soft purr of the bikes.
“Then she doesn't have anything to worry about.” Wring studies my expression. “Spill it. What dumb thing did you do that you're not telling me?”
I bark out a laugh. “It was fucking dumb.”
Wring waits.
“Rose gets back to the club. Doc looks her over, says she'll be okay, just had a nasty shock—”
“A na
sty shock?” Wring smirks.
It'd been a helluva a lot more than that, but yeah.
I nod. “So we start getting into it, and she blows her cork.”
Wring sits up straighter. “No shit? After all that with Chaos—”
“Yeah, I just barely did anything to her and—” I mime an explosion with my hands.
Wring nods enthusiastically. “Nice. Love pleasuring chicks.”
What guy doesn't? Seeing a girl come is the ultimate fuck yes.
But… “See, I know we can't have sex. Rose just went through that bullshit, and my balls are swollen fucking cannons.” I grab my package, and Wring gives a sympathetic expression.
“So she gives me the blow off. I need time—space—whatever the fuck.”
Wring's face looks exactly like Snare's did when I told him. “Hurts, man. Not going to lie on that score.”
I rake my hair back. It's fucked up. I don't have a tie. The mess falls forward, and I flip it back. “Anyways, Crystal comes into my room. Dick's about ready to go boom.”
“No.” Wring's face says it all.
I blow out a tortured exhale. “Yeah. She sucks me off. Feels great. Rose has got me so worked up, I think she'd have to bone me ten times before I'd be outta ammo.”
Wring's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. Humor makes his eyes glitter in the uncertain light.
“Not funny, asshole.”
“Oh, yeah—it totally is.” He chuckles.
Dick.
“This part isn't.”
Wring straightens, his expressions sliding into painful revelation. “No way!” His voice, barely more than a whisper, carries.
I nod miserably. “I guess Rose was looking for me. She found me alright, along with an eyeful of Crystal blowing me.”
Wring winces. “Not good, man. Makes you look like you're a lying sack of shit.”
Yeah. “Thing is”—I spread my arms, dropping ash onto the pavement—“it meant less than fucking nothing, and Rose had just gotten done telling me she didn't want me around—blew me off. Even though we'd saved her from…”
“The rape,” Wrings says easily.
My eyes flick to his. “Yeah.”
“Did you expect her to give you a gratitude fuck, Noose?”
I move my jaw back and forth. “Fuck no, dickhead. I expected her to think I was okay. That I had her back.”
Wring laughs. “Thinking you want more than her back, pal.”
I do.
We laugh.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
Our silence is easy. Always has been.
“Text Trainer. Make sure she's okay then ride over here tomorrow. Lay things on the line after she's had some rest, time to think.”
“Sounds good.” I lean forward and hit my cell. Midnight. I've been shooting the breeze for half an hour. Got nowhere. Didn't solve shit. ʼBout normal.
“Rose Christo might never want a man like you, Noose. Have you considered that?”
“Fuck no,” I answer instantly.
Wring shakes his head. “Figured.”
He doesn't take his eyes from mine. “She's not a club girl. Doesn't know the culture. Doesn't seem to want the lifestyle. Got a kid.”
“Not hers. She's got her dead sister's kid.” My eyes cut him like knives.
Wring raises a finger. “But to her, that kid is a link to her sister, the only one. Her sister who's gone now. Charlie is all she's got. And it's stronger than your need to bone her.”
I don't want to say it, but just hearing Wring say that shit and knowing it's not the complete truth—I can't do it. “It's more than boning, I'm thinkinʼ.”
“I know that.” Wring's voice is level.
“No, I mean—” My inhale is painful, my throat going tight. “I think I might actually care about her.”
Wring sighs, shaking his head and tipping it back, gazing at stars covered by clouds. “No shit?”
I laugh. “Yeah, no shit.”
“Care or…?”
I point at Wring. “Don't say it.”
“Okay, I won't, but don't tell her that. She'll really think you're crazy. Nobody really loves somebody after knowing them a few days, Noose. Nobody.”
I guess I didn't get the memo.
I snatch my cell back and scroll to Trainer's dumb mug.
Status. I tap out then hit send. My cell autocorrects my ass because I suck at texting.
I stomp out my cig, light another, then blow a couple of hard rings into the sky. The dark eats them.
I stare at my black screen, cold and soundless inside my palm.
“No response?” Wring asks. “He's never going to patch in. Dumb fucker's always taking a snooze at the wrong damn time.”
My face goes hard. “What if he's not?”
“No way is Diablo going to try for her this soon.”
“I would.” I regret it instantly. I regret letting her walk into that house without checking it out first with my own eyes. Fuck the prospect. He's simply not invested in her the way I am. I'm all in.
Balls.
Mind.
Everything. Soon it'd be my pussy heart. Yeah, already feel the slide down the hill there.
There's no stoppinʼ some types of momentum.
“We know where Trainer is. We'll just go by and see if he's sawing logs. Kick his ass if he is.”
I flick the butt of the cig and hit the kickstand, putting the King into gear.
We pull out, then Wring and I move away from Rose's house, traveling to a dirt trail with a sweet view of her backyard across a kiddie park. If he's been asleep on the Rose detail, I'll pull out his asshole.
If he's not, I wanna know why he didn't answer my text.
My stomach does a flip. Deep down, my instincts are flashing a warning.
I never ignore them.
I won't now.
I gesture to Wring, who interprets it effortlessly.
You go check on Trainer. I'll do Rose, my split hand signal says.
We yoke as I turn around, heading back toward Rose's.
I ignore the tightness in my shoulders, forcing myself to focus on only the things in front of my nose.
It's all the emotional shit that keeps beating the hell outta me I can't ignore.
2
Rose
“Hi, Rose.” Drake strokes Charlie's small arm, and something inside me withers.
“Drake,” I reply, heart in my throat. My voice is calm, though my body remembers what he did to me. Not with arousal, thank God. But like a man who meant me harm. My body's response to the sight of Drake holding Charlie is instantaneous.
Fear, masked as adrenaline, roars through my system like a brush fire.
“I want you to leave.” My voice is breathy; my palms are damp.
“You bet. Just saying hello to my boy.”
Charlie's face screws up in confusion, a tiny pucker of flesh folding between his eyes. “I'm Rose's boy. And my mama, in heaven.” His voice is small but certain as he crosses his arms against his narrow chest.
Drake's eyebrow rises. “Really? Well, there are people here who want you too, Charlie.”
He nods enthusiastically.
My feet are moving—my need to protect is greater than my fear. “Time for bed, Charlie,” I say, my voice bright and soul dark.
Drake grins, stroking Charlie's head.
If I ever wondered about whether or not I was really a mother, that uncertainty vanished in that moment.
“Ah-ha!” Charlie crosses his arms, letting his legs swing from his perch on Drake's lap.
He looks impossibly tiny. Frail.
“I don't wanna go to bed, Aunt Rose!”
“Yeah, Rose. Charlie doesn't want to go to bed.” Drake's voice caresses me with menace.
Keeping my eyes on Charlie, I don't let Drake see my shudder. “Tough—it's been a long day, and we're going, partner.”
I lean down.
Drake's eyes are glued to my tits.<
br />
Fucker.
I scoop Charlie up, and in the entire three seconds it takes for that to happen, I think Drake will hurt him.
Hurt me.
Us.
Drake’s creepy eyes follow us out the door and into the hall.
I set Charlie down then take off his sneakers, jeans, and T-shirt in record time, and he's down to his underpants.
He grabs his penis. “I have to go pee-pee.”
Oh boy. My eyes flick to the door. Drake hasn't followed us.
One of the selling points of our house is an en suite in the two bedrooms it has.
Charlie patters across the polished wood floor.
I hear his urine mainly hit the inside of the bowl then a flush.
He runs back with a smile.
“Aunt Rose?” he asks, rubbing an eye.
“Uh-huh?” I say, my heart racing. Drake is in my kitchen.
Anna's killer.
“Who's that guy?”
“A friend,” I say, gulping the lie down deep, burying it in the graveyard with the others.
“Oh,” he says, studying my face.
I slap a smile on, bend over to kiss him then stand, backing away.
“Nighty-night, dirty worm.”
Charlie makes a stubborn face. “I like sweet pea better.”
“I know,” I blow him a kiss and shut the door.
My fingers shake as I hear the latch catch.
I turn.
Drake is right behind me.
His hand slaps over my mouth, and he jerks me off the ground, hauling me into my bedroom. He tosses me on my queen-size bed.
“Don't fucking scream, Rose. Don't want to wake up the kiddo.”
I shake my head. “Why?”