There’s a banging sound from upstairs, and dropping my fork, I get up with a heavy sigh leaving my chest.
I stalk up to the first floor, and when I shove Rosalie’s bedroom door open, I’m met with an overturned table lying by my feet. Rosalie slams the chair against the wall, rage tightening her features.
I stand and watch her until she drops the chair and wildly glances around the room for something else to destroy. Her eyes land on me, and with a cry, she lunges in my direction.
I block the punch she tries to throw, wrap my arm around her waist and hoist her over my shoulder. Her fists connect with my back until I toss her onto the bed.
With a quick move, I straddle her, pinning her hands down on the mattress on either side of her head. Her chest heaves, and with a growl, she tries to buck her hips to throw me off, but it’s useless.
I restrain her without much effort and lean in close. “You think you can fight me, Little Rose?”
She lets out a frustrated cry, turning her head away from me.
“That’s what I thought.” I let go of her wrists, and she quickly crosses her arms over her chest. I grip hold of her jaw and turn her head back so she’ll look at me. Our faces are inches apart as I warn her, “Don’t fucking damage my property, or I swear to God I’ll give you the spanking your grandfather never did.”
Her eyes widen, and it looks like she’s getting the message.
“Do you fucking understand me?” I grit the words out between clenched teeth.
The fear quickly replaces the rage as she whimpers, “Y-yes.”
Letting go, I climb off her. “Clean up this fucking mess and come eat!”
Christ. I’m going to have my work cut out for me with the prickly thorns Little Rose is starting to show.
Chapter 5
Rosalie
There’s a violent storm of emotions ravaging every inch of me. I feel out of control, scared out of my mind, and utterly vulnerable.
Nothing in my world makes sense anymore.
I’ve lost everything, and I won’t even get to have funerals for my grandfather and uncle.
The Priesthood are monsters, and I’m held captive by the worst of them all.
Sorrow overwhelms me, and I roll onto my side into a fetal position. Burying my face in the plush covers, I cry for everything that’s been ripped away from me.
Uncle Ricco will never tell me a joke again. I won’t hear his laughter booming through the house.
I won’t smell the cigars my grandfather loved so much.
I cling to the last memory of the three of us having breakfast. I had fruit loops, and Uncle Ricco kept stealing them from my bowl until I made him his own.
My shoulders shudder, and my tears dampen the covers.
It hurts so much more than when I lost my dad. Because I still had Grandpa and Uncle Ricco to console me.
I wasn’t alone, unlike now.
I also can’t get the image out of my mind of Uncle Ricco’s throat being cut. I keep hearing him gargle and struggle to breathe. I keep seeing him die.
I pinch my eyes shut as tight as possible, my arms wrapping tighter across my chest. I pull my knees up and curl into a small bundle.
How much did my grandfather suffer before they killed him?
The thought of being alone in this hell is unbearable and scarier than anything I’ve ever experienced. It makes it hard to think straight, and my emotions keep spiraling out of control.