Nesrin’s face was a picture when I told her she’s not going to the bonfire tonight. I knew she’d have something to say about it, especially with my brother acting like a teenager vying for attention.
I know she’s angry. And I don’t blame her, she should be. I’m an asshole who’s not worthy of her, and my father’s suggestion that she travels to England with me is preposterous.
She should be running away from me, not away with me. But I’ve not been forthcoming with her. I’ve only offered her the bare minimum, and she deserves more than that. I don’t know why I give a shit, but I do.
Shaking my head, I run my fingers through my hair. Bradford is going to return in a couple of weeks, and he will more than likely find me balls deep in my stepsister because, each time I’m near her, I can’t fight this need to have her.
Chuckling, I picture his face at the sight.
My father’s been absent more times than I can count, and I wonder if seeing me with Nesrin will actually get him to see us. Finn, Cass, and I grew up with each other. I took the lead because I was older, but I never felt like I was a good role model.
When I realized they would be looking up to me, I walked away from The Black Knights. I never wanted my brothers to do the shit I did. Even though Cass was part of the group, for a short while, he didn’t go through with initiation. And Finn has never shown interest in following that path. Which I’m thankful for.
It’s almost time. This will be our second night in the greenhouse, the second meeting between us, and I can’t stop thinking about what I want to propose. The bullshit I’ve witnessed over the years is nothing compared to Nesrin hurting herself. I know that the distractions I’ve given her won’t last.
I know she’ll want to go to the fucking bonfire tonight, which only sets the unease coiling in my gut. Having her around Creed is not what I planned for us tonight, but if she asks, I may indulge her.
But there will be rules.
And if she doesn’t obey them, I’ll punish her. The thought of having her on her knees in my bedroom has my zipper tightening. I make my way down the stairs, finding the house silent. Finn and Cass must’ve left already, so I head toward the patio. Time to find my wild rose.
When I finally reach the greenhouse, I’m tense. But the moment I step over the threshold, I find her waiting for me. She’s dressed in black, a tight pair of pants that seem to be painted on her slender legs. Her hips flare beautifully, and my gaze drinks in the pretty curves of Nesrin Ellington.
She turns when she hears my feet crunch on the ground. Her eyes are shining, and I glance down at her hands to find her with a small, silver blade. She doesn’t appear to be bleeding, but I race to her.
“What have you done?”
“You need to tell me what happened the night you and Creed fought.” Her voice seems barren of emotion. She looks empty, as if she’s lost in a world that I can’t enter.
“Listen to me,” I tell her, pulling her closer, my hands on her shoulders, holding her. “What happened? Why are you holding a blade?” Even though I’m asking her, I have a feeling I know what she’s going to tell me.
“I didn’t do anything, Damien,” she bites out, frustration lacing her tone, but I don’t believe her. I don’t know why.
“Please, tell me.”
“I needed to hold it. It’s a safety net.” Finally, she locks her gaze on mine, as if she’s woken from a dream. “It’s how I feel safe in my own mind.”
“You are safe,” I tell her. “I’m here, you’re safe.”
Even though I’m confident in my words, her next question slams into me like a freight train, trying to take me down. “Like the games you used to play?”
“Those games have nothing to do with you, wild rose,” I tell her. My frustration at Finn is taking on a whole new level. He had no right to tell her anything about my past. That’s my story to tell.
“I want to know you,” she finally says, setting the fucking blade down. “Share something of you with me.” Those eyes, they cut me so deep, right down to my soul. She looks right through me, and I know she sees the darkness I hide inside.
“The way you feel holding a blade is the same way I feel holding my stories close to my chest. It’s a safety net. When I was younger, I felt like I needed those twisted games to survive this shit hole.”