by Eva Ashwood
“Nice of you to defrost our freezer for us. It really isn’t necessary though.”
“Fuck.” I grab the pizza and close the door, stopping cold air from wafting into my face. Then I waggle the pizza box at Rory. “Can I have this?”
“Sure. What’s ours is yours.”
I snort. “Somehow, I doubt that’s true.”
He grins. “It’s not. But it seemed like the polite thing to say. And you can have the pizza.”
Walking over to the stove to turn it on, I look back over my shoulder at him. “Where were you?”
He arches a brow, leaning one elbow back on the bar. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Right.” I press my lips together. “No fraternizing with the prisoner.”
Rory chuckles, a low, deep sound. “I wouldn’t go that far. But no, I can’t tell you Black Roses business, obviously.”
There’s a finality to his voice that makes me certain that no matter how flirtatious and laidback he is, he takes his loyalty to the gang seriously. But even though he’s shut that line of conversation down, he doesn’t leave. He just watches me pull the frozen pizza out of the box, his gaze tracking my movements with the lazy focus of a predator relaxing in the sun.
“Can I help you with something?” I finally ask when I can’t take his silent attention anymore. My skin is prickling with awareness, and I’d like to pretend there isn’t heat blooming beneath it, but it’s hard to deny.
“Nah.” Rory shakes his head, one side of his mouth tilting up. “It’s just weird having someone else staying here. We’ve all gotten into our routines, gotten comfortable living together over the past few years, and now the house feels… different.”
I slide the pizza into the oven, then close the door and lean against it, crossing my arms. “You mean you haven’t kept prisoners here before?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not really a prisoner.”
“I’m not?” There’s a harsh edge to my voice. A challenge. “Really?”
He straightens a little, the muscles of his arms flexing as he pushes away from the bar. “No. If you were a prisoner, you’d know it. You’re here of your own free will, aren’t you?”
Irritation simmers in my veins. “If you call being forced to stay here as collateral until my dad pays off his debt a choice, then sure.”
There’s something in his expression I can’t quite pinpoint, and he holds my gaze as he nods. “I do call it a choice.”
He steps away from the bar, moving a little closer to me as the smell of pepperoni and melting cheese begins to fill the room.
“You didn’t have to come with us, Mercy. You didn’t have to cover for your dad’s fuckup. It was his fuckup. His decision to screw us over. He had to know when he decided not to throw the fight that he was painting a target on his back, and on the backs of anyone close to him. But he did it anyway. You were there in the crowd that night. You saw it just like the rest of us did. He was down. It was over. He gave a convincing as fuck performance, putting up a good show before letting Guzman turn the tables on him. He didn’t have to get back up. He chose to.”
I swallow, memories of the fight flashing through my mind. It all plays out so differently in my memory now that I know Dad was supposed to go down and stay down. That he was supposed to lose.
What was it that made him change his mind? Was it just pride?
Why the hell did he do it?
My stomach clenches, and I glare at Rory. “Yeah? And you think I shouldn’t have volunteered to come with you guys? That I shouldn’t have done whatever I could to protect my dad?”
He holds up a hand. “I didn’t say that. I’m pretty fucking impressed you agreed so quickly, honestly. Not everyone would do that. You’re fierce as fuck. Brave too. It takes a certain kind of person to risk everything for someone they love.” His eyes harden a little, something almost like anger tightening his expression. “I’m just not sure what kind of father puts his daughter in the position of having to make that choice.”
I tighten my jaw. I don’t like him talking shit about my dad, no matter what he did. That’s between the two of us, and Rory shouldn’t get to judge my Dad’s worth as a parent.
“What does Gavin want him to do?” I ask, my voice thick. In his short, cryptic text, Dad didn’t mention anything about what kind of task the leader of the Black Roses assigned to him.
Rory grimaces, looking almost regretful as he shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I’d love to tell you, but that falls under the whole ‘can’t discuss Black Rose business’ thing. Sloan is the one in charge here, and he answers to Gavin. It’s not up to me what we tell you.”
The fact that he actually sounds like he would tell me if he could doesn’t make his answer any better. It only makes it worse. Because it reminds me that no matter how normal moments like this might seem, standing in the kitchen and talking while a pizza cooks in the oven, none of this is anywhere near normal.
Regardless of what Rory says, I am a prisoner.
I turn away from him, yanking open the oven door to check on the pizza as I try to get a handle on my emotions and control my features. I don’t want him to see the disappointment on my face.
But either I turn around too slow, or Rory doesn’t need to see my face to know what I’m feeling. I hear the sound of quiet footsteps as he moves a little closer, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and quiet. The usual flirtatious tone is gone, replaced by simple honesty.
“I’m sorry, Mercy. I might not respect your dad for putting you in this position, but I sure as fuck respect you. I meant everything I said, and whether or not you believe it, not everyone would’ve made the choice you did. That’s why I tried to get some food and shit that you’d like in the house. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. You don’t deserve to pay for your dad’s mistakes.”
I don’t answer. I just close the oven on the half-cooked pizza and stare down at the sleek, dark surface of the stovetop. There’s a long beat of silence as Rory stands behind me, and then he makes a quiet noise in his throat and heads for the door. I wait for him to leave before glancing over my shoulder at where he was just standing.
He doesn’t want me to feel like a prisoner, he said.
And the crazy thing is, in some ways, I don’t. Having free run of the house, being able to use the kitchen whenever I want, and being allowed to go to school? All of those things help preserve some sense of normalcy in my life, making it almost possible for me to pretend these men are just three very pushy, dominant roommates I’ve been saddled with.
But forgetting I’m a prisoner might be more dangerous than being constantly reminded that’s what I am.
Because if I lose sight of who and what these men truly are, I’ll end up paying for it.
I just know it.
9
The next two days pass in pretty much the same way as the first two. I get up, go to my classes, and Levi’s there all the damn time. We get lunch together, and then he follows me back to campus to wait outside while I finish up for the day.
Then we go back to the house.
Rory and Sloan are usually there by the time we return in the late afternoon. I have no idea what they do all day while Levi and I are out. Probably ruin other people’s lives or something.
One nice thing about being stuck living with these men—as if anything is really “nice” about it—is being able to take advantage of the opportunity to try to find out what the hell the deal was with Dad’s fight. Since they refuse to tell me, I’ve decided I’ll have to dig up the answers on my own.
Like Rory said, the guys are all comfortable in their home, not used to having a fourth person around. That also means they’re not used to having to hide anything, and I use that to my advantage. Sloan in particular has a lot of serious-sounding phone conversations, and I manage to find a place on the stairs that’s hidden from the living room below but provides a good place to eavesdrop whenever someone is talking in there.
I manag
e to catch enough of a few conversations to piece together that there’s something going on with the Jackals, the other gang that competes with the Black Roses for control of the city. Their rivalry is almost legendary, and most people fear being caught in the middle of it.
It all seems to point to something bigger going on that I don’t fully understand, and I can only hope that whatever the hell is up, it isn’t going to put my dad in more danger.
Other than going to class every day, I’m basically stuck at the guys’ house. I wander between my room and the kitchen, trying not to linger too long in any one spot out in the open. Rory never misses a chance to tease me in a way that makes me both annoyed and flustered, and Sloan seems content to pretend I don’t exist, only pausing to glare at me when he’s in a bad mood.
Which is basically all the time.
I wish I could do the same and pretend they aren’t there, but between Levi following me diligently every day and the way I can’t ignore the other two, I’m sort of losing my mind.
They’re not the only ones who aren’t used to sharing space like this. I’ve been living with my dad while I go to school to save money, and suddenly being under the same roof as three guys in their early twenties is… an adjustment, to say the least.
They’re all so fucking masculine, walking around all sweaty from time spent in the gym in the basement, or coming down from showers in sweatpants and thin shirts that leave nothing to the imagination. It’s distracting and frustrating on multiple levels.
In an attempt to get some distance and keep myself busy after Levi and I return from school on Thursday, I grab a few tools and a rag from the garage and head outside to where my bike is parked. I’ve already put in dozens of hours and as much money as I could afford to get it running smoothly, but there are still more tweaks to be done.
Late afternoon sunlight warms my skin as I work, and I pause every once in a while to wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. I’ll never be a pro mechanic, but I’ve learned enough from my dad and a couple of his buddies in our neighborhood to know what I’m doing.
I’m so lost in my task that I almost jump when the rumbling sound of a car approaches. Sloan pulls up in the driveway and cuts the engine, staring out at me through the window.
His gaze practically burns a hole in my skin, but I ignore him as he slides out of the car and slams the driver’s side door shut. He’s about to head toward the house when something Rory said the other night flashes through my mind.
Sloan makes the decisions around here.
He answers to Gavin, but he’s the closest one to the top living in this house.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I repeat the question I asked Rory. “Hey. What is my dad doing for you guys?”
None of my eavesdropping has yielded an answer so far, and I want to know. I need to understand what’s happening here, especially if I want to have a real chance of helping Dad as more than just collateral.
Sloan stops. Then he glances down at me where I’m crouched near the back wheel of my bike, his gray eyes narrowing slightly. “Am I the last one on your list?”
I frown. “What?”
“I know you already asked Rory about this. Did you ask Levi too? Am I the last one?”
A flush rises to my cheeks. Shit. I guess eavesdropping can go both ways. Was he listening in on my conversation with Rory the other night? Or did Rory tell him about it later? I don’t know which option is worse, honestly.
Instead of answering Sloan, I lift one shoulder in a shrug, standing up and wiping my hands on the rag before tossing it on the ground.
“Is it a crime for me to want to know what’s going on with my dad? Why won’t you just tell me?” I gesture around at the house and the yard, where there’s not another soul in sight. “Who am I gonna tell? The only people I talk to anymore are you guys and Scarlett, and I’m not gonna tell her anything that could put her in danger.”
Sloan stares at me for a long moment. He’s done such a good job of ignoring me for the past several days that having his entire focus turned on me so intensely now makes me feel like I’m under a microscope. I feel like he can see much more than most people do when they look at me, and I don’t like it.
Silence hangs in the air between us, and he hesitates for so long that I almost start to wonder if he’s actually considering telling me.
Then he shakes his head sharply, his eyes darkening. “I won’t tell you because I don’t trust you. You’re your father’s daughter.”
His words piss me off. It’s not that I really expect any of these men to trust me, and I certainly don’t trust them. But I hate the way he’s looking at me with his lip curling up in something almost like a sneer, as if I’m a piece of shit he wants to scrape off his shoe.
As if I’m nothing, and so is my dad.
I take a step toward him, my hands curling unconsciously into fists. “Yeah. I fucking am my father’s daughter. And I’m proud of that. At least he works an honest living. At least his entire livelihood doesn’t depend on wrecking other people’s lives. He’s a better man than you or any of your friends could ever hope to be.”
Sloan snorts. “Tell yourself whatever you need to so you can sleep at night, sweetheart.”
I grit my teeth. “Jesus, why are you such a fucking asshole? At least Levi and Rory make some attempt to not be dicks about this whole thing, but you seem like you’re enjoying it. Do you get off on this kind of thing? On wrecking people’s lives?” I let out a harsh laugh. “I guess you’re your father’s son too. I only met the guy once, and I can already tell he’s an asshole.”
Sloan moves fast, crossing the short distance that separates us and getting in my face. My adrenaline spikes, but I don’t give any ground, not even as he looms over me.
Shit. That was stupid. It was definitely the dumbest thing I’ve done since I arrived here. Scarlett warned me to be careful, and insulting the head of the Black Rose gang in front of his son is the literal definition of the word “reckless.”
But I don’t care. Sloan doesn’t get to talk shit about my dad like that. He doesn’t get to pretend he’s better than me or my family just because he has more power and sway in this town.
Fuck that.
“I would be very careful about what you say next,” he tells me quietly, his voice a dangerous purr.
“Or what?”
Okay, I was wrong before. That was the stupidest thing I’ve done since arriving. I basically just dared Sloan to take out all the pent-up anger that always seems to simmer beneath his skin on me. I just threw down a gauntlet, openly taunting him.
His jaw tightens, and I can feel the tension in his body radiating into me from where his chest brushes lightly against mine. My own body tenses, ready to slip into fight mode and defend myself if need be. If Rory and Levi come outside, I’ll be outnumbered, but if it’s just me and Sloan…
Even if I don’t win that fight, I could at least make him sorry he started it.
But Sloan doesn’t make a move. He just stares down at me, his eyes bouncing between mine.
“You should stop asking questions about shit you don’t understand, princess,” he murmurs gruffly. “Levi and Rory can do whatever the fuck they want, but I’m not interested in making your stay here more pleasant. You’re not here to be our friend. You’re not here to be our anything. And we don’t owe you shit.”
With that, he steps back from me. The movement is slow, almost as if he’s dragging himself away—or maybe it’s just because the air is so thick with tension that it’s literally become hard to walk through.
He turns and heads toward the house, stopping only to toss a few parting words over his shoulder.
“I am my father’s son. And I’m proud of it.”
With that, he disappears inside.
10
I stare after Sloan, my heart pounding hard and fast. A dozen different emotions are crashing around in my chest, and I have to consciously work to uncurl my fingers from the tight fists they
’re wrapped in.
Part of me is relieved he left it at that, but another part of me—the reckless, stupid part—wants him to come back out here so I can punch him in his fucking face. I know it’s dangerous to taunt any of the men who have become my keepers until my dad works off his debt, especially the boss man’s son. But it’s never been in my nature to sit down quietly and put up with assholes.
And Sloan is most definitely an asshole.
The sun is going down, the sky turning from orange to purplish-blue, and I grab the tools and the rag and toss them back in the garage. Sloan is nowhere to be seen as I head upstairs, but my body is still buzzing with adrenaline from our encounter.
Since I can’t take out my frustration on his face, I decide to work off some of the stress by going down to their home gym.
I throw on a sports bra and some sweatpants and toss my hair up into a messy bun before heading back downstairs again, luckily not running into anyone on the way.
In the gym, I wrap my hands and do a couple of stretches, shaking the tension from my body before going over to one of the heavy bags and sizing it up.
It’s bigger than the one I’m used to, but that’s not a problem, and I give it a firm punch to start, warming myself up. It’s been a little while since I’ve trained, so I start slow, feeling the burn start in my arms as I hit the bag over and over again.
It feels fucking good, especially after so long spent doing nothing, and once I feel like I’ve got a good rhythm going, I go full tilt, waling on the bag with hard punches, working my aggression and boredom out with each hit I land.
My breathing is hard, and I can feel sweat beading on my brow, but that feels good too. I’ve always been a physical person, more likely to work out my feelings with my body than with words. Some people like to talk about their problems, but I’ve never had to deal with anything I couldn’t work out by going hard in the gym for a few hours and then taking a hot shower to ease the ache away.