Rose (Road Kill MC #3)

by Marata Eros

  Drake shuts the door. “I know—know you won't do what I want. You're a stubborn cunt, just like you're fucking slut sister.”

  Every time he mentions Anna, the wound of her death reopens. There's no word big enough, dark enough, to explain my hatred for Drake.

  He sneers. “Strip, bitch.”

  I stand. Hating him. Knowing that there is no call to the police. There is no help.

  I sent away the one man who might have helped me—because I was so goddamned sure I could do this and I didn't want the complication of the motorcycle gang.

  Drake looms over me, using his size to intimidate.

  Why does Drake seem so scary, but he's nowhere near as big as Noose, while Noose's size just makes me feel safe?

  I tear off the tight shirt that Crystal lent me and drop it at my feet. The bra is a string holding my huge boobs like a Band-Aid over a scrape that’s too big.

  Drake likes what he sees. “No flat-chested bitches for me. You have the best rack I've ever seen.”

  His erection presses against the denim of his jeans like an obscene pole.

  A lone tear makes a heated trail down my cheek.

  “Rapist,” I whisper.

  His eyelids droop. “You liked what I did to you, Rose.”

  “You're right—a woman who is held down and knows she can't escape while a man works her bits to death, yeah, eventually you'd have broken my body down. But you'll never have me.” I put my thumb to my chest, tears making me half-blind with grief. With rage.

  “Don't want you.” He says, sticking a finger deep inside his mouth. He pulls it in and out, a parody of sex.

  He walks to me, and I back up until my thighs hit the edge of my bed.

  He slaps that wet finger on my forehead. “You're mine to take. Mine to toy with. Mine to fuck. Just mine.”

  “I'm not giving you Charlie.”

  My cheek still throbs where he struck it hours ago. Feels like it happened seconds ago.

  He trails his wet finger from my temple to my jaw. “I know.”

  I shiver and jerk away from his filthy touch.

  He shoves me onto the bed, maybe as hard as he would another man.

  The air is knocked out of me.

  Drake lands on me.

  I can't not fight. My leg comes up, trying for his balls.

  “No, no, Rose.” He smiles.

  I see something between his teeth, and my stomach does a slow roll. His breath reeks of chewing tobacco.

  A sudden urge for Noose washes over me, and I gasp, taking in a lungful.

  Drake pinches my nipple, and I cry out, biting my lip.

  I don't want Charlie to see this.

  Drake jerks something out of his pocket.

  Pantyhose.

  My eyes slit as I’m reminded of what Noose did to Drake. “How's your neck, Drake?” I bite out.

  He cocks his head to the left. “I'll live, but that's what our visit is all about, Rose. Can't have Road Kill sticking their small dicks in where they don't belong. Might get them cut off.”

  You've neutered me, Rose. Noose's words haunt me.

  I blink back tears. They roll out of my eyes anyway.

  Drake watches them, clearly unmoved. “That big prick with the rope? I'm gonna. Fuck. Him. Up.” Drake smiles.

  I cringe.

  “First, since he seems to have taken a liking to your pussy, I'm gonna make damn sure he knows it's not for the taking.”

  He lunges a finger down my jeans, and I clamp my legs shut.

  “You fuck him, whore?” he asks, breathing heavily against my face as his finger digs toward my sex.

  “Your breath reeks, asshole.” I squeeze out from underneath him.

  He finds my soft center and pushes inside me.

  I whimper.

  “Did you, slut?”

  I shake my head, anything to have his finger out of me.

  His finger withdraws, and my relief is so great I can't breathe—or think. Drake's made me know that there's only one man I want inside me.

  And I told him to go.

  Drake sits up on his knees, planting his hand around my throat. “Don't fucking speak or breathe, bitch.”

  His hand tightens.

  With his other, he strips off my jeans then my panties. My bare pussy is naked before him.

  I never felt naked with Noose, only nude.

  With a snap, he wrecks the horrible bra, and my breasts spring free, jiggling with the motion.

  “Goddamn. This will be the hardest thing I've ever done.” Drake adjusts his erection beneath his jeans and takes his hand off my throat.

  Using my four wooden bedposts, he ties off my legs and arms until I'm spread on my own bed.

  “Perfect.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask in a hoarse voice.

  “Leaving a message, bitch. Unfortunately, it's more important than my hard-on.”

  He rummages my vintage vanity. The bathroom isn’t big enough for all my makeup, jewelry, and the rest, so I keep everything on the little wooden dresser with a large mirror. His fingers pluck a tube of lipstick off the surface.

  “Whore red. Beau-tee-ful.”

  He jumps on the bed, straddling my waist.

  I yank at the soft restraints. They give but don't loosen.

  Drake draws between my breasts.

  Finished, he sits up, surveying his artwork on my body.

  “That fucker will be spun up. I think I'm in love.” His hand moves to the wound on his neck.

  I smile at the evidence of Noose's violence.

  Walking to my bedside, Drake glares back at me. He looks at me for a long time. Minutes.

  “I'll fuck you. After I get Charlie back, I'll fuck you anytime I want.” He seems to be reassuring himself.

  “It'll be rape, Drake. If that's the only way you can have sex with a woman, you're more pathetic than I knew.”

  His smile is knowing. Certain.

  I'm scared.

  Drake reaches out and pinches my nipple.

  I gasp at the pain.

  One finger trails to my belly button before going low. The digit sinks between my slit, striking my clit and traveling to my entrance.

  “So tight. So wet.” His finger hovers, not entering. Drake's face is a mask of restraint. “At least,” he says in a soft voice, “that's what I remember.”

  Tears flow freely now. “Get out,” I choke on the words.

  Drake just nods, backing toward the door. “Sure thing… whore.”

  My bedroom door opens then shuts.

  After a few seconds, I hear the front door do the same.

  I lie there in a disintegrating pile of fear and anger. Shame is a close second. A full minute later, I realize I have no way to get out of these pantyhose ties.

  I jerk them.

  Tight.

  I'm bound with only a sleeping five-year-old to help, but I would never want him to see me like this.

  I close my eyes. Weary. I don't know how long I lie there in the semi-darkness. Ten minutes?

  A sound has my eyes opening.

  Oh God, he's come back. He'll rape me anyway. I can't help the little squeal of pain that squeezes between my lips.

  But it's not Drake.

  Noose stands in front of my bedroom window, a sheer curtain swirling around him like a gauze cape. The moon has finally shown itself and starkly illuminates each of his features.

  And the look on his face makes me afraid of him for the first time.

  If looks could kill isn't an empty term after all.

  Noose wears it now.

  3

  Noose

  My hands clench into ready fists.

  I'm overreacting.

  No you're not, Noose. Just do it.

  I stride toward Rose's stoop, hating that my boots announce my approach. I hesitate, and the light from the single LED bulb reaches for me. Fingering me.

  Nah. Don't need a bunch of nosey fucking neighbors checking my shit out.

  Turn
ing, I move toward her bedroom window. I'd downloaded the floor plan off the Internet.

  When I say I look into shit, I do. I didn't leave one fucking stone unturned. I know about Rose's work, her kid, the way her house is laid out—even her birthday.

  Eventually, I had to brush my teeth and get the delicious taste of her pussy out of my mouth. Tragedy.

  My grin is fleeting.

  A huge bush, the ones that get big flowers in the spring with deeper-colored throats, serves as a fucking awesome handhold.

  I grip the gnarled branch and hike my ass inside its branches like waiting arms.

  I gaze through the window.

  Can't see dick. Fucking opaque curtain’s in the way. Don't want to freak Rose. Just want to see she's okay. Safe in her room.

  I flat-palm the window, applying pressure, and scoot it over.

  Rose doesn't lock up her shit. We'll be talking about that later.

  Gripping the window track, I hop quietly to the open sill, where the curtain billows with the airflow. The moon skates ahead of me with bluish-white light.

  I jump down, bending my knees to sink to my haunches. My eyes sight the foot of her bed.

  I stand.

  Rose is naked.

  Spread.

  Tied fucking down.

  Adrenaline slams through me, and my eyes delve into the shadowed corners of the room.

  My knife has suddenly appeared in my hand, and I still.

  Waiting for sounds.

  I close my eyes, letting my jaw relax and take in sounds more readily. Training.

  I hear one thing.

  Soft sobbing.

  No stealthy enemies approach.

  No smells other than Rose. Her skin. Her hair.

  Her.

  My eyes snap open, and I walk to the corner of her bed.

  A single word in red is crudely written between her tits.

  Mine, it says.

  Motherfucker.

  The whites of Rose's eyes are too wide. Her breaths coming too quickly.

  “Please don't hurt me, Noose.” Her tears soak the bed beneath her.

  “What? No! I—” I look down at my knife. My eyes go back to hers. First things first.

  I flick out the blade, putting out my free hand. “Gonna cut these ties, Rose.”

  She just stares at me.

  Fuck.

  I cut the nylon at each wrist, her ankles. Shitty knots.

  Rose’s body shudders with sobs.

  I don't know what to do. I'm not a comforter. I'm a killer.

  Instincts, dumb fuck. I drop my thoughts and just act on my feelings. For the first time in forever.

  I dip, scooping Rose into my arms. She weighs nothing. But somehow, she's heavy. Her sadness has weight.

  I kick open the bathroom door and jerk on the hot water faucet. Rose doesn't look at me.

  And my eyes can't move from the word in waxy red lipstick. Mine.

  Rose is nobody's but mine.

  I know whose work this is. Diablo. It's his style, the sick fuck.

  I slide her into the tub full of hot water, swallowing at her beauty. It fucking moves my ass. Her beauty. Her sadness. All of it.

  Gotta get that word gone.

  I grab a fluffy pink sponge thing and soap it up with fruit-scented soap. Rose's deep, dark eyes follow my hands. I move it between her breasts, never touching them.

  Dying to touch them, I want the word off more.

  I move the soft, lathered sponge over and over the word until I see only her skin.

  Rose's tears have dried; her sobs are silent.

  “Did he hurt you, babe?”

  She shakes her head. Her hair is dark honey now, the water having darkened it to molasses.

  I take huge breaths, gripping the tub. “I'm sorry.”

  Her hand covers mine. “For what, Noose?” A sort of hysterical giggle pops out of her mouth.

  My eyes move to hers.

  Her hand rises from the water, covering her mouth, trying to keep in her feelings. It falls, making a splash in the hot water.

  “I told you to go, Noose. You were just doing what I said.” Her eyes glitter like black marbles. “But if I'd just done what my heart wanted, Drake couldn't have hurt me.”

  I allow myself to stare at Rose. Light abrasions encircle her wrists, so delicate I'm afraid to hold them.

  I feather my fingertips over the red mark on her wrist, and her fingers curl around my hand.

  Jesus. My head dips, and I tow her hand to my lips then kiss each finger.

  “Noose.” Her voice is low, husky.

  I can't look at her and do the right thing. I'll want to erase his touch. I'll wanna fuck the memory of Diablo right out of her. I don't need a shrink to tell me that's fucked up.

  Too soon.

  Wrong.

  I got it. But my body doesn't. I can't be here, this close to a naked, wet Rose, and not want to be inside her.

  “Noose.”

  Her voice pulls on my dick like a puppet with strings. I groan, retreating from her touch.

  Her small hand grips mine.

  “I can't Rose. I'm really fucking trying here. I can't—won't hurt you.”

  My eyes are clenched shut. I hear water cascading into the tub.

  Maybe I can just braille my fucking way outta here. I back up. My back strikes the door jamb, and she is against me.

  Wet.

  Soaking my shit. My cut, my jeans—everything.

  My jeans are plastered to my hard-on like wet glue.

  Fuuuuck.

  “Don't leave me, Noose.” Her wet arms wrap my waist, clinging to me.

  That's easy. “I'm not leaving, Rose.” My erection gives a painful throb as though agreeing. God.

  I palm her skull and wet hair clings to my fingers. “Let's get you in bed.”

  I sort of walk backward, and she just hangs onto me like her life depends on it.

  It might.

  When she's at the bed, I gently lower her, trying to keep my eyes to her face.

  Jesus, I'm a fucking perv.

  Her hands won't let me go. “Rose, let me get a towel.”

  She nods a little too vigorously. I pivot, stride to the bathroom, and yank a large cream towel from the towel bar. Walking back, I sort of stagger when I get a load of her.

  She's a goddess. The glow of a blue nightlight meets the moonlight streaming inside her room, hitting the side of her body.

  Her huge tits mound perfectly, small nipples erect from the drying water and cool air sliding through the open window.

  Her thighs are pressed together, and all I can do is think of how she tastes.

  Instead of launching myself at her, I walk to the window and close it to a crack.

  I turn with the towel in my hand.

  Rose has lain down on the bed without a word.

  I move slowly to her bedside, my cock one large, flaming flag of pain and need.

  I gulp back my shit and cover her naked beauty with the towel.

  Rose flips it off. The fabric puddles on the floor.

  Oh God. “Rose,” my voice is strangled. “You don't want MC life. You don't want a guy like Diablo.”

  I can't believe I just put my name in the same sentence with his. But someone has to think. Wring would be proud.

  “You're not Drake. You could never be him.”

  I close my eyes, swaying, my hand scrubbing my face.

  “Please, Noose, please make me forget.”

  I press my fingertips on the edge of the mattress, keeping my eyes steady on her face. “No, Rose, you've been through too much. Let's start this right. Whatever this is between us.”

  My mind scrambles for words. Not my best thing—talking.

  “We can go out for lunch or something… like Monday.” I swallow. A sick smile spreads on my face. My heartbeat pounds through my prick.

  Rose laughs, a rich deep sound, and my eyes skip back to hers. “Lunch?” she asks with surprise.

  I nod. I'm reall
y fucking trying here.

  “Noose, we're so far past lunch. I want to have sex with you.” Her bottom lip quivers. “I want you to take away the memory of Drake's fingers inside me. Of his eyes on my body. Of the arousal he forced on me.”

  Tears flow down her face. “Please,” she whispers.

  I cave. But before I go down this road, I have to tell her some shit. I jerk the button on my jeans apart and thrust my dick outta there.

  Better.

  Rose's eyes bulge.

  “My cock hurts from wanting to fuck you.”

  A small smile forms on her lips, and I suddenly want to kiss her worse than I want to stuff my dick into her.

  A first.

  “My terms, Rose. Take my protection. Be my old lady. I can't just fuck you once. Hell”—I flip my hair back—“I don't know if the first hundred times is gonna be enough.”

  Her smile widens. It's a good fucking thing to see.

  My face goes tight. “If that fucker goes near you, I will kill him. No more rope burns.” Her smile vanishes instantly. “There will be no other men. Just me. I'm the only one who fucks you.” I cover her pussy with my hand. “I own this.”

  She sighs.

  That sound from Rose? My prick twitches. I groan. “God, Rose.”

  “Okay,” she says.

  My eyebrow hikes. My finger is already working inside her slit. “I'm not some rapist. I want you. I want you more than food, Rose.”

  Her legs part, and my finger sinks inside her. We both moan at the sensation of me filling her and her wanting to be filled.

  Her hips rise and my finger just begins moving, like I'm not in control.

  Probably.

  Rose grabs my jeans and hauls them down to mid-thigh. “I can't stop thinking about you, Noose. What you did to me…” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

  “Not did, Rose. Do. What I'm gonna do to you.”

  I step back, slowly withdrawing my finger, and kick off my pants. I fold my cut and carefully place it on her nightstand before jerking my shirt over my head by the collar.

  Rose leans back, already naked.

  Thank God for small favors.

  4

  Rose

  I'm done with being ambivalent. That got Drake in here, threatening me again, taking away another piece of Rose.

  I'm not going to disappear like Anna. More than just her death made Anna gone, but Drake erasing her bit by bit until there was no more Anna.