Rose (Road Kill MC #3) (6 page)

Only his eyes look the same. Deadly. Cold.

They turn on me.

His smile says so much as his gaze taunts me. Mainly, I see
I win
in that stare.

“Son of a bitch,” Dad whispers beside me.

Yes. That.

Anna's killer gives me and my family an ersatz salute.

My stomach rolls. In that moment, I could kill him myself.

I take my place before the judge, Drake's uncomfortably close presence just feet from where I stand.

The judge listens to each side, carefully going through my paperwork.

Drake has a fancy lawyer who’s sleek and refined, and I suddenly know who dressed and groomed Drake.

My attorney is state-appointed, with a rumpled suit and uninterested disposition. Sharp unease uncoils inside me.

Judge Jetson finally looks at me. “I'm not sure why Mr. Corbin has not been given some visitation before now.”

I balk but manage to throw out the most important point. “He was in
jail
at the time of the last hearing, Judge Jetson.”

His eyes latch on to my boobs, and I know. A slight curl to the lips. A tilt of the head.
Holy crap, the judge is in their pocket
. Why didn't it ever occur to me that this could be possible? When Drake couldn't break me, he would grease the right palm. A perfect contingency.

The judge flips the top of the folder of my carefully organized paperwork closed and taps a finger on top. His pale-blue eyes meet mine.

“Yes, I'm aware of that Ms. Christo. That was unfortunate timing.”

I open my mouth, and he holds up a finger.

“The charges against Mr. Corbin were cleared.”

Holy crap
. “Yes, but—” My palms tingle with dampness.

“He has not been in jail or convicted since of any misdeed, is a model citizen who gives to charities, has held down the same job for the last five years, and has petitioned to see his son.”

He strikes his gavel with a sharp tap. “Visitation granted.”

A wheeze comes from Dad's throat and he rushes Drake, screaming about the injustice of the decision.

I agree as they haul Dad out of the courtroom.

I stand there, dazed.

Drake is at my elbow in seconds, and I cringe away from him. “Gotcha.” His breath is still foul, and a memory trigger kicks in, shooting adrenaline through my veins like lit gasoline.

He walks out of the courtroom, but nearly stumbles into a figure sitting as still as a statue in the back.

Noose.

Or I think it’s Noose. Hard to know for certain when he's wearing a mask.

Noose

Rose looks fragile. Beaten.

Leaning back, I toss my arms over the back of the bench. I know the judge. He's dirty. There was nothing I could do to avoid that. He'd been bought and paid for a long time before I ever even knew Rose existed.

I'm hot
as fuck in the back row, heating vent up my ass blowing hot air underneath the bench doesn't help. I'd slid into the last bench seat right after the preceding began.

I listened to Diablo say how he just wanted to see his boy, that it was tragic that Anna Christo was no longer here, but should Charlie not have the attention of a natural parent since one was still here?

God he's good.
He'd been coached, of course.
The fuck. Groomed to the T.

Love the turtleneck.
I can't keep the smile from my face when he adjusted the thing like a tie. Probably abrading the fuck out of his neck.

Good.

My smile vanishes when the verdict goes down. Rose turns, bravely facing the door.

They drag her dad away, the Mom wailing and crying in the background. A fucking hot mess.

I tense when Diablo gets near Rose, and stand when he says something to her. I'm trying to hold my temper. Losing my shit in a court of law will get me nothing but behind bars. That won’t help Rose. Diablo won't touch her. Not here.

I received some odd looks from the guards, but I haven't done anything wrong, just got their attention.
Wannabes.

I finger the small rope in my pocket, wanting to wrap a certain neck. The familiar motion calms me. Gives me focus.

Knots always do.

Diablo strides down the aisle, shaking hands, grinning like a clown. Probably feeling like he's won.

He hasn't.
Unless winning a death warrant is what he's going for.

Rose sort of glides after him, an empty, shocked look in her eyes.

Diablo finally notices me, and his confident stride stutters.

He knows who I am. The mask hides nothing. It just keeps my promise to Rose not to show my face.

It's a mask of the devil. A play on his road name. Because Diablo means devil.

And if I have anything to do about it, he's going straight to hell.

*

Rose watches our standoff. I see her in my periphery, eyes swinging between us.

Finally, she scoots past, going for the door.

Diablo steps into my airspace, and I itch to rope him and pull it tight, cinching that knot until it meets the other in perfect symmetry. Tough to deny the perfection of the fantasy.

I breathe through the sensation. The urge is so strong, I smell the rope and feel the burn of the twine beneath my bare fingers.

“The bitch is mine,” Diablo murmurs so softly, no one but me can hear.

He won't take me like this.
If Diablo thinks I'll lose my shit here, he doesn't know who he's up against.

I smile, my cheeks pushing the mask up. Guards shuffling restlessly around us.

Saying nothing, I turn and leave the courtroom, after Rose.

*

When my feet clear the last marble step, I jog to her side, grabbing her arm.

I spin Rose around. Her cheeks are wet with tears. She’s bit her lip practically in half to keep from sobbing openly. A dot of blood sits like a red gem on her full bottom lip.

I jerk off the mask and drop it at the ground, gathering her into my arms. “It's okay, babe. I'm here.”

“You weren't—” She sucks in a sob and chokes. “Supposed to show your face.”

“Didn't.” My face feels like it's splitting from the grin.

She pulls away, laughing despite herself, then her expression crumples as fast as the laughter came on. “He's won. Drake can see Charlie.” Her voice is a bare thread of sound that tugs me in places I didn't know I had.

Standing water makes her eyes bright. Her dark eyes sparkle with grief.

I can't tell her.
It's against club policy. “We'll get through this, Rose.” Really, the solution is so simple, I shouldn't have to talk about it.

Diablo will die, then there won't
be
any visitation.

Rose won't be an accessory to murder in case things get saucy. My skill with knots won't go unnoticed by the cops if his body is found.

Might have to get creative with corpse hide-and-seek.

Rose has assumed this entire time that it’s been about the kid—Diablo's vendetta with Rose has been about getting his property back.

I think he's become obsessed with Rose, like he was with her sister. It's getting deeper than just wanting his property.

Diablo wants Rose.
And he's not getting her.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and suck her into me, guiding her away from the front steps, out of the open.

My eyes dance everywhere at once. Lariat, Snare, and Trainer are parked across the street. My gaze slides to the right.

Chaos Riders half a block down. Road Kill makes its way to Chaos. The bikes sit; the men are all in each other's faces. Shit's going down.

“Stay here, Rose.”

She clutches my sleeve. “Don't, Noose. Don't give him what he wants. He'd love for you to get in trouble and be behind bars.”

Get in trouble.

I grin, noticing the shiny red mask is still sitting on the ground a ways off. “No worries, Rose. I won't leave you unprotected. I'm rash as fuck, but my brain works okay.”

She slowly nods. But not as though she believes me.

I turn and make my way toward Chaos and Road Kill.

Seems like I can't have one without the other.

*

I glance right before I get to the tight circle of posturing men and see Rose huddled beside her mom. Her dad is still MIA.

Can't blame the guy.
Seeing his daughter's murderer get custody rights to his only grandchild has to blow. I’m not in a position to offer reassurances.

“
Don't worry, Mr. Christo. I'm going to assassinate his ass
” probably wouldn't bring him any comfort. It
would
land me in jail. Then who would have Rose's back? Nope. Gotta play it fucking cool when all I ever run is hot. Going completely against my nature. Necessary.

I turn back around, confident that Chaos won't steal Rose in broad daylight.

One of the Chaos riders has a taped nose.

Nice.
I'd know one of my knot love taps anywhere. I give him a grin and the bird. He flips me off, swaggering to where I stand, my fists clenched.

“Fucking prick,” he seethes.

I just see an image of his cock above Rose's mouth, her wrists bound behind her head.

I breathe through my rage, trying for Zen and missing that shit by a mile.

Leaning against a streetlamp, I cross my legs at the ankle. “Feeling froggy? Jump on my lily pad, dickwad.”

He blinks.
Dumb fucker
. “I bet you're not so tough without your string, pussy.”

My hands are considered lethal weapons. I could go to jail if I give somebody a beat down. Same thing with guns.

Or knives.

I don't say that shit. Believing it is more important. Knowledge is confidence. And that's enough.

There is no acting when you're a killer. There's only doing.

Wring gives me a perceptive glance. Not quite a wink, the gesture says to let the fucker run his yap.

Why not? He's already had a taste of my knot—there's more where that came from if he's feeling like going.

I always feel like going.

Old Broken Nose gets a sense of the potential and doesn't exactly back down, but he stays just out of reach, sneering aggressively. His attitude bores me.

Diablo walks slowly to where we're squared off. He points at me. “Consider yourself marked, fucker.”

I uncross my feet, straightening.

“Noose.” Wring doesn't have to warn me. I feel myself sliding into that silent space in my brain where I go when I need to kill.

I plant my feet wide, keeping my arms loose and ready. “Rose is mine. She's my property. What's hers is mine.” I state it, capturing Charlie in the net of ownership without blinking an eyelash. There's no room for negotiation or opinions. I'm staking my claim. To Rose. To her nephew. They're under my protection.

Murmurs break out like a symphony of static.

“The fuck?” Diablo jerks his chin back, shaking his head. “That cunt was always mine. She just didn't know it. She's even sweeter than her sister.” He shoves his finger into his mouth, giving it a suck to the knuckle. He slides it back and forth.

“He's trying to juice ya, Noose. Fuck him.” Snare glares at Diablo.

Drake's plan to irritate me is working. The problem? He's not bluffing. His finger
has
been in Rose's pussy—without her permission, while she was tied down and helpless to stop him.

I owe him death just for that.

I stride toward him, and he meets me halfway. Loud arguing voices around us melt away until it's just the man in front of me. His mud-colored eyes gaze into mine with flat malice.

“I didn't have to rape Rose to fuck her.”
Nuts and bolts, fucker.
Choke on that.

Diablo's eyes widen. I watch him struggle to control his temper. I won't brag about Rose like a conquest. She isn't something to be won.

Rose is the woman I love. And this fucker will not threaten her again. With harm. With rape. With the slow disembowelment of her family.

He's been put on notice. If he goes after Rose now, he's coming after another man's property—a man who's already had her and knows forever wouldn't be long enough.

Diablo gets over the top of his rage like a marathon runner conquering his last hill. His eyes move behind my shoulder.

I know he's sighting in on Rose. I watch his will build in front of me piece by piece.

Not touching Diablo while he stares his intent at Rose is one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Not killing him on the spot takes the lead.

*

Without another word, Diablo turns on his heel and leaves. Chaos follows at his back.

Thrumming unspent energy has its fucking way with me. My need to eviscerate that fucker is so strong, my vision actually narrows at the edges. Dead gray light swims at its periphery.

“Noose.” Snare's voice is at my elbow.

I turn like I'm in slo-mo. “Yeah.”

“Let's get the fuck outta here. Regroup.”

I nod.

But first, I move over to where Rose and her mom are. Their eyes are big.

Her mom's stare condemns me.

“Who is this man, Rose?” Her nose wrinkles.

No “hi, how ya doinʼ”?
It's automatic dislike. On the surface, I probably look a helluva lot like Diablo to her.

Not how I wanted the first intros made. “I'm Noose,” I say, holding out my hand.

Her eyes wide, Rose's mom looks at my hand like I just offered her a snake.

“Mom, this is Sean King.”

Rose's mom stares.

I drop my hand to my side, flexing my fingers once.

Rose sweeps her palm toward her mom, a much older version of Rose.

What—were they ninety when they had kids
?

“Noose, this is my mom, Norah.”

“Good to meet you, maʼam.” Again, training. The military didn't just teach me to be a killer—there were manners tucked in there too.

Norah wakes up from a stupor. “Hello… Sean? Or is it Noose?” she asks, giving me cool, polite eyes.

I look around, feeling helpless. The guys split once the Chaos Riders took off.

I would much rather face them than the probing stare of Norah Christo.

“Noose is my road name. I'm with Road Kill MC.” I jerk a thumb toward my bike then slip a finger underneath my cut, showing the patch of Road Kill to its best advantage.

“Are you interested in my daughter, Mr. King?”

And off come the kid gloves. Fuck, that was fast.
“Yeah.” I don't fuck around with fancy, drawn-out replies. My one-syllable language speaks for me just fine. Rose's stuck-up mom will have to deal.

I'm a better protector for her than anyone on the planet. And Rose needs protecting.

She dismisses me entirely, turning to face Rose, seeming to gather herself. “If you do this, you have no parents. Do you understand? Your father and I cannot live through another Anna.”

Rose swallows, looking from me to Norah.

Finally, she nods. “I know, Mom.” Tears roll from her eyes.