She eyed him warily. “No. I am not.” “I see.” “Do you?” she asked sarcastically, but there was something else to it. Something else that made him take a step closer to her. Then another when she didn’t move away from him. Her fingers tightened in the linen of the shirt she wore—his shirt, as if she wanted to reach out to him, but was scared of the thought. He wanted to kiss each tip of each finger. He wanted to tell them all that they could reach for him forever and ever.
“Why did you push me away?”
“It’s easier this way. For you. I don’t know if I can be part of a future with you.”
“Bullshit,” he growled.
She glanced up in irritation, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
“No more lies.”
She half lifted the corner of her mouth. “I may not be a Red League, but I’m a de Rossi always, and that means I value honesty.” “You do?” “Yes.”
“How much of it?”
“All of it.”
“Well, then, I love you,” he said, bearing his heart and halting in front of her. He could smell the jasmine water she rinsed her hair with, could see the smattering of freckles on her cheeks. Even the scar at her lip.
“I...see,” she said slowly; guarded.
“And do you…” Roland coughed. “Uh, love me?”
“Do I, uh, love you?” she repeated incredulously. She laughed and shook her head but hid a smile which sent hope blossoming in his chest.
He scowled at her.
This time, she stepped towards him and wound her arms around his waist, her chin on his chest, her shirt falling open and her bare body pressed against him. The lights went out in his head, and his arms went around her like he were a dying man in an ocean and she was the buoy keeping him above the waves. He brushed a piece of wily hair back, determined to see all of her clear, shining face.
“I do. Love you, that is,” she whispered, tipping her face up and going to the tops of her toes. And before she kissed him, when her lips were an inch from his, she breathed, “Even if you’re an idiot.”
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A Sneak Peek of Persuasion: Rogues of the Red League, Book 2
Roz stood on the edge of the clearing, watching him sleep in the moonlight. He was splayed on his back, broad chest rising and falling, cold air curling from his lips. His hair was shorter than she’d seen it last time she’d checked on him. It was shaved at the sides and a spill of fluffed up waves from the top. Without pomade, it fell haphazardly across his brow. His ears were darted with a number of piercings, golden and glittering against his sun-darkened skin.
He still hadn’t noticed her, and she’d been following him for days.
She crept closer, feeling that void within her turn, the hollowness humming as if it were waking to consciousness the closer she was to his open pour of powers.
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The fool didn’t even know how to turn off the tap. And any creature worth their salt could’ve soaked him dry. What the hell he was doing in the Wildlands was beyond her. But she’d tracked him for so long, she wasn’t surprised by his choice of where he hung his had.
He’d always been a drifter.
She remembered him, even if he’d never remembered her. She wasn’t one of the Red League, but she’d hung around them enough to gauge him just fine.
As a kid, he’d been a swaggering little brat, who laughed at everything and everyone as if they were beneath him. The only time she’d seen him truly and properly beaten was when he’d pissed off Asha de la Cario enough she’d finally smashed his face in. It had been beyond amazing to see.
She’d always been a fan of Asha de la Cario. She liked the woman’s no-nonsense attitude. She liked her loyalty. She liked her flair, and she coveted the brass knuckles set with rubies. The very same ones Tiana de Rossi had gifted her; though Asha didn’t know that. She believed Killian had given them to her.
Little did she knew, that little shit, the shit she’d beaten to a pulp when she was eleven and he was thirteen, was a lazy, cowardly little shit, who couldn’t even handle a little bit of power.
Men.
Such fools. Such useless, useless fools.
Even Tiana de Rossi was a force to be reckoned with, no matter that she had to dress like a man to do it. She had single-handedly brought countless gangs beneath her father’s banner, she’d worked tirelessly to promote an organized system to trade illegal items out and into Adalin, and she’d spent her free time sleeping with the prince—a witchress prince.
She’d spent hours contemplating Roland and his heritage, feeling out his powers with a dexterity she’d had whipped into her as a child. But frankly, if she were being honest, his powers were a bit disappointing. They’d been squashed for so long, she barely had a read on them as they slumbered.
In the clearing beyond, Killian de Rossi murmured in his sleep, rolling on to his side. His small cat, Richard, a tabby missing an ear, mewled in annoyance and had to resettled herself in his blankets.
Meanwhile, she circled in the trees, moving on silent feet, considering her angle. Considering the cat. It was a puny thing, a scrawny kitten he’d picked up on one of his many dips into different cities in his attempt to hide from her. Not that he knew who was hunting him, or that she was, in fact, a she, but she’d made him aware plenty of times that he wasn’t alone.
It made him skittish.
It made him stupid.
Slipping her knife from up her sleeve, she scaled one of the trees whose branches were hanging over the clearing and with years of skill and talent and tightrope walking, she edged to the thinnest part she could manage, check her trajectory, and dropped on him like an anvil.
One hand went to the cat’s scruff and yanking it away, the other, with one with the knife, went to de Rossi’s throat.
The cat woke up first. Richard yowled like he’d caught fire and tried to twist viciously out of her grasp.
Grimacing, she held the cat as far away as she cold, glad for her gloves. Roz hissed between her teeth, and turned down to meet Killian de Rossi’s startled black eyes, shining silver in the moonlight.
He was at least smart enough to look scared.
Then, he was stupid enough to look angry.
“What the fu—”
“Your father sends his regards,” she said, and then stabbed Killian de Rossi in the chest.
* * *
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About the Author
Briana lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband and their fur-babies. She loves curling up with a good book while sipping hot chocolate on rainy afternoons. When she's not reading or working on her next book, she's usually watching YouTube videos on how to fix a leaky sink, how to get squirrels out of the attic, and tackling other odd jobs that come along with living in a century-old farmhouse.
Want to know when Briana has a new release or join her review team? Visit her at
brianablackburn.com
Deception: Rogues of the Red League, Book 1 Page 17