Black Rose (Lewiston Blues Series/Black Family Saga Book 3)

by Scully, Felicia X.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One - Coco

  Chapter Two - Luke

  Chapter Three - Coco

  Chapter Four - Luke

  Chapter Five - Coco

  Chapter Six - Luke

  Chapter Seven - Luke

  Chapter Eight - Coco

  Chapter Nine - Luke

  Chapter Ten - Coco

  Chapter Eleven - Luke

  Chapter Twelve - Coco

  Chapter Thirteen - Luke

  Chapter Fourteen - Coco

  Chapter Fifteen - Luke

  Chapter Sixteen - Coco

  Chapter Seventeen - Luke

  Chapter Eighteen - Coco

  Chapter Nineteen - Coco

  Chapter Twenty - Luke

  Chapter Twenty-One - Coco

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Luke

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Luke

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Coco

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Luke

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Coco

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Luke

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Coco

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Luke

  Chapter Thirty - Coco

  Chapter Thirty-One - Luke

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Coco

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Luke

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Coco

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Luke

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Coco

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - Luke

  Chapter Thirty-Eight - Coco

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - Luke

  Chapter Forty - Coco

  Chapter Forty-One - Luke

  Epilogue

  Join the Scully Street Team

  More Books by F.X. Scully

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  BLACK ROSE. Copyright © 2014 by S.C.O.R.C.H All rights reserved. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, other than brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. AMAZON EDITION

  Cover Design: Scorched Designs

  Editor: Tirzah Price (www.trueblueeditorial.com)

  For J.J.W

  Time may pass, but things remain the same.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Coco

  April 1998

  I slip my arms around his neck, my lips grazing the back of his ear as I whisper, “What big hands you have.”

  Dash turns his deep green eyes on me, with a lazy smile. “The better to take you with, my dear.”

  Before I can respond, he pulls me onto the couch and into his lap, fitting his perfect full lips over mine. He groans as he kisses me, an action that always sends swirls and flutters through my core. “You taste like fucking chocolate,” he murmurs against my collar bone.

  “It’s this new lotion I’m—”

  He seizes my lips with his own, taking my breath in the process. “No,” he says between kisses. “It’s all you. Let’s go to bed. I’m hungry as hell.”

  He rises to his feet, taking me with him. I wrap my legs around his waist as our lips connect again and he paces backwards with little effort until his back is flush against the wall.

  “You have any idea what I’m going to do you right now?” He sinks his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back to look at him.

  “I think I have a pretty good hint?”

  “Three months,” he says, gravel in his tone. “Don’t ever make me wait that long again.” His hands find my waist once more and I squirm, my thighs like a vise on his rock hard sides. He yanks the loose, cotton tank top over my head, frowning as he balls it up in his fist.

  “What?”

  “I should be asking you. What the hell are you wearing? Are those flowers on your shirt?”

  I roll my eyes and rock closer to him, placing soft kisses along the side of his cheek, back toward his ear. “Does it matter? Besides, you should see what I’ve got on underneath these shorts. You can send the thank you card to Victoria Secret.

  Another groan escapes him and he encircles his strong arms around my waist as we make our way toward his bedroom.

  “Goddamnit, Coco.” He kicks the door open, his grip on me tightening as my nails bite into his skin. “I still can’t believe you’re mine. All mine.”

  And every time he says that I think the same thing. The last ten years of my life flash through my mind. For the most part they’ve been boring as hell. Nothing but studying and doing everything in my power to be the perfect daughter. For the least, and most definitely the best, part they’ve been the moments spent being the girl my family doesn’t know I am. The one who started a fan club with her best friend for a largely unknown band, a band who shot up to stardom just like we always knew they would. I was the girl who snuck out to every show, followed the every move of four guys who might otherwise have just been nobodies. I was the one invited back to their ranch in Washington for an epic party that changed my life. That brought me that much closer to Dash Martin. This man. My man. My boyfriend of six and a half years. A man I’d do anything for. A man who seems to want me, for whatever reason, as much as I want him.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper.

  Shirtless, he hovers over me. His taut arms cage me within his intoxicating presence. He’s never been one for cologne but his scent drives me crazy anyway. I dream about it when I’m away. I drool over it when I’m near.

  I reach up and graze my fingers across his smooth chest, tracing the maze of ink over his muscles.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” He smiles, his lip ring reflecting the dim of the light above us. “You should move in.” He pulls the corner of his lip into his mouth, staring hard at me.

  “I…”

  The muscles in his biceps jump, as he continues to gauge my response. “Why not?”

  “Well—because I…”

  “You said your dad’s gonna retire in Sagle. Cole’s been living with Maya for over a year. No point in you living in that big house by yourself. Not when I’m right here.”

  I clear my throat. “Why don’t you move in with me?”

  His sharp laugh annoys me, but I don’t let on. “In your dad’s house? What you want us to sleep in your childhood bed every night?”

  “Your place is small,” I say. “I need an office and I like having my workout room.”

  “I can get a bigger place and I’ll even buy you a gym membership.”

  “I can buy my own membership and I was thinking…”

  Dash rolls onto his back, clasping his hands on his forehead.

  I’m instantly relieved. The way he was hovering went from sexy to intimidating in seconds and I’ve suddenly got a million knots in my stomach. I don’t want to have this conversation again, but I should have known it was inevitable.

  I could stop it all now. Do a little strip tease to show him what he’s missing by bringing this crap up now. Or climb on top of him and shut him the hell up. But morning will come and several mornings after. And the question will linger—like it has for the past two years.

  “Why do you want me to move in, Dash?”

  He won’t say the words, but I’ll go fishing anyway.

  “Because us living on opposite ends of town when we spend most of our time together anyway is stupid. You run off to one ci
ty or another for months at a time, following these assholes around like you’ve got nothing better to do.”

  My stomach twists tighter and I blink back the tears welling up in my eyes. “It’s my job.”

  “Of all the fucking things you could have done with that stupid law degree…”

  “I did what I wanted. I’d expect you, of all people, to understand that.”

  “Forget it,” he snaps. “We’ll talk about it when you’re not all bitchy.” He positions himself above me again, hooking his fingers in the waist band of my shorts. “I can think of a few ways to calm you down.”

  This time it’s my turn to laugh, and like a shrapnel of a response, it’s not the least bit humorous. I jump up from the bed and storm towards the living room. “Screw you, Dash.”

  I’m not even half way out of the room before he catches up with me, curling his thick fingers around my wrist and yanking me back to him. “That’s what I’m trying to do, babe. But you’re ruining the mood.”

  “I’m not the one who brought shit up,” I hiss.

  He’s not at all gentle about it when he turns me to face him. “Would it be that terrible to live with me, Coco? Am I that bad of a guy?”

  I almost laugh again, but I swallow it back. “You’re a great guy.” I smile and reach up with my free hand to brush the dark hair from his eyes. “But I didn’t come here to talk about living arrangements.” His grip on my wrist loosens and, with a little more effort, I free my other hand. I step around him to stand at the foot of his bed, then slowly, I peel my shorts over my hips then kick them off.

  When I turn back to face him, his expression has morphed from tight as a mask to slack and vulnerable. I lower myself onto the bed, leaning back to give him full view of the bright red lace that’s put a major dent in my bank account. Dash doesn't smile like I expect him to. Instead, he lets out a little moan that ensures me the confrontation has ended—for now. But it doesn’t affect me like it normally does. It leaves me cold. Because deep inside, diffusing the situation this way shouldn’t even have to be an option. All I wanted when I came here tonight was to be tucked in his bed and wrapped in his arms. To make up for weeks sleeping alone and dreaming about nothing but the way he kisses me. The way he looks at me like he couldn’t live without me if he tried. But now all I feel is sick.

  I ignore the hollow in my chest and beckon for him to come closer as I scoot back on the bed. “The only person ruining the mood around here is you—in those jeans.”

  One Month Later

  I walk down the aisle for the third time and finally pick up a box of tampons before heading over to the cash. Once inside my car, I toss them in the back seat and let out a frustrated sigh.

  For two reasons, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up what I really needed. I’m not sure I want to know and I’m not sure I want the rest of the town to think they know.

  That’s the thing about living in a place like Lewiston with a name like Rose. Everyone knows who you are. Who your daddy is. Who your brother is. I can’t escape prying eyes and inappropriate questions to save my life.

  Everyone knows that, despite my status of judge’s daughter and cop’s sister, I’ve been dating the former band mate of the notorious Black brothers for the past six years. And if that didn’t shock them enough, they were all floored when they heard I’d snubbed my dad’s offer to take over his half of the law firm in order to pursue a career in entertainment law. But working with top athletes and traveling around the country seemed to smooth over a decision they’d all been sure was a huge mistake.

  But this? There’d be no coming back from this. At twenty-four years old, as successful as I am, you’d think I wouldn’t care. But I do. Besides my life is already complicated enough.

  “Thanks for doing this.” I plop down into the sofa next to my best friend and lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Of course.” Sheila tucks her legs beneath her, angled to face me. “What’d you do with your hair? Your curls. They’re all gone.”

  I scoff. “Three hundred dollars later and he didn’t even notice.”

  “Who? Dash?”

  “I noticed when he shaved his Mohawk off. It was the first thing I noticed.” I roll my head to face her. “Whatever. He’s a guy right?”

  She presses her lips together and she shrugs a little.

  “What?” I ask. Might as well speed up the inevitable.

  “Didn’t say anything.”

  “Didn’t have to.” It still makes me laugh to think about how much things have changed. Ever since she got over her heart break and moved back in with her parents, Sheila’s been…different. It’s a good thing, of course. Living with her older boyfriend and ignoring the rest of the world for months was the worst possible way to get over her sister’s death. Not that she ever really could, but it’s also kind of sad. We don’t see each other nearly as much, we rarely talk and, whenever we do, it usually involves a lecture of some kind—regarding my choice of a boyfriend. Crazy how the tables have turned.

  “I sense a Dash lecture coming on, so we might as well get on with it.” I smirk, crossing my legs in front of me.

  “You do a lot…for Dash. But what does he do for you?”

  I stare at her for a moment, trying to figure out her words. “Wait.” My hand flies to my head. “Are you talking about my hair?”

  She nods. “I remember you telling me how much he likes it straight. How after Cole and Maya’s wedding he told you you should keep it that way.”

  “That was over a year ago,” I mutter.

  “You hate it when your hair is straight. You say there’s not enough volume and it’s more headache than it’s worth.”

  I flip the loose waves over my shoulder. “I got it done professionally. It’s not that bad.”

  “For Dash.”

  I sigh. “I hadn’t seen him in three months. I wanted to surprise him. So I got my hair done and picked up a little lingerie.”

  “And to think he didn’t even notice.” She gets up from the sofa and disappears down the hallway.

  I get the strong urge to call after her, to remind her of her non-existent love life. Of the guy she spends all her time with—a guy who she has no romantic feelings toward whatsoever while the only guy she really wants is off living the life she gave up in Seattle. But it would only be cruel and petty to remind her of what she did to honor her sister. Sheila’s alone because she wants to be. Every decision she’s made in the past few years has been the right one, despite how difficult they’ve been. And that’s more than I can say for myself.

  “I love him,” I say, as she reinters the room. I make a point to avoid looking at the item in her hand, like ignoring it will make the heaviness of this entire visit disappear like a vapor. “And I know he loves me too. We’ve been together all this time. Why would he still look at me the way he does if he wasn’t?”

  “I don’t know.” The sofa cushion shifts and I swallow hard. “ It’s Dash. I didn’t even know he could smile, let alone carry on an actual relationship. But it doesn’t mean anything, unless you both decide it does.” She touches my arm and I flinch.

  I close my eyes, wringing my hands in my lap. “What does it say?”

  “I think you need to talk to Dash.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Luke

  I have hated hospitals for as long as I can remember. Never really had a good experience with them. I guess most people haven’t—they are the place for the sick and dying after all. But for me, each landmark visit to the austere, bleak hallways grew progressively worse over the years.

  My first memory is a blanch-white room that smelled too clean to be normal. Nothing was soft, not the chair I had to sit on in the waiting room or the examination table Dad had to hoist me on. The doctor was the worst of all. Hairy, with thick glasses that made his eyes bug. At the time, I was convinced he was some kind of monster. But he tended to my broken arm and gave me something for the pain. By the time I left Pullman Regional, I was con
vinced I’d let my imagination get the best of me. Until I ended up there sixteen years later.

  It was bad enough my wife’s family didn’t even bother to call me. Bad enough I found out she was on her death bad through her sister. What was worse is the confusion in every second leading up to every hour I sat in that hospital room. She was unconscious and pale. But still just as beautiful as the first day I saw her. And none of it made sense. I’d talked to her that morning, told her I was coming home. I was excited to see her after five long months on tour. I wanted to touch her, hold her, taste her. And in some twisted response, the Universe struck her down instead.

  But the worst was how it all ended. She woke up. She looked at me with those ocean-blue eyes, her ink-dark hair spilling over the sides of the snow white pillow. She told me she loved me. She told me to be the best dad I could be. She promised me she’d be out of there soon, that we’d get back to the life we were meant to have together. She made me leave her side—to go be with our daughter. I listened. I shouldn’t have listened. Because an hour later she was dead.

  Two days later, I’d taken her place on a deathbed of my own. Those few days were the most peaceful I’d had in a long time. Only the Universe wouldn’t put me out of my misery. The Powers That Be insisted I go on living without her.

  And now here I am. In another goddamn hospital. Only, this time, I don’t know what to feel. I spent fifteen years nursing hate for this woman, allowing it to fester in my soul like some kind of flesh-eating disease. But now when I look at her, lying there, unconscious and pale like my wife did, I’m confused. My mind and my heart are at odds. I should keep hating her. Be glad she’ll be gone soon. She’s the one who ruined me after all. But, as with most things in life, it’s easier said than done. I don’t know what I feel. And although my heart is heavy and my mind cloudy, I haven’t shed a single tear.

  “Mr. Black?”

  My gaze flicks up to the man in the white coat standing in front of me. He’s not hairy. In fact, he looks like he could guest star on Chicago Hope, give Clooney a run for his money. He’s not monster-like at all. But his presence is.