REDEEMING THE ROSE: GILDED KNIGHTS SERIES BOOK 1 Page 11

  In the darkness, in a home I don’t know, near the top of a staircase that might just break my neck today, I’m met with ferocious golden eyes and snarling white teeth.

  I get a mere second to prepare, a moment to say my goodbyes and try to remember where I left my will—only to remember I don’t have one—then the cat pounces, and digs its claws into my thigh. Through my jeans, piercing my skin, the cat declares what he thinks of me walking his home in the darkness without his owner present.

  “Argh! Fuck!” I clip my voice so I don’t wake Nadia.

  I grab the cat by the scruff of his neck and try, fruitlessly, to tear him off my leg. “Get off, you little prick!”

  He snarls, loud enough that Nadia will probably wake anyway, but still, I keep quiet and stumble my way down the stairs.

  My leg feels wet, as though blood pours from his puncture marks, and because of how it stings, I’m able to tear him away. Replace one hurt with another. I hold the snapping feline two feet away and growl when he turns his claws on my hand instead, but I stomp to the bottom of the steps, take a right, and happen to find a laundry room after only a moment’s search.

  Staring into his eyes for just a moment, I snarl back—I’m having a pissing match with a cat!—then I toss him into the laundry and slam the door shut.

  If Nadia hasn’t woken yet, then she might legitimately be dead. But I don’t stick around to find out. I move back in the direction I came, to the bottom of the stairs, then I locate the living room, and beyond that, the front door.

  I’m doing the walk of shame—literally, all the way back to the club where I left my truck—but hey, at least I avoided the awkward morning-after bullshit.

  Arlo, Drew, and David… three motherfuckers who know all about that, I guess.

  * * *

  Abby is new to living on her own. She’s always been sheltered, always lived at home with our parents, and when not there, she would visit one of her five brothers. This is not because she wanted to live this way, but because we kind of forced it on her. The baby of the family, the only girl… the sick one. There was simply no reason for her to be on her own when there are so many of us who want to make sure she’s okay.

  But, somewhere in the last year or so, my sweet little sister grew a little attitude. I mean, it’s in the Rosa genes, I suppose. Still, Abby went from doing anything and everything to please us, straight over to I’m moving out, I’m buying a business, and I don’t give a single dang about what any of you think about it.

  Yes, she said dang.

  Now we have Abby spending her nights alone in an apartment building, upscale as it may be. She’s driving around wherever she wants. Whenever. With whomever. She’s sneaking assistants into town, making job offers before the interview, paying salaries before making sure a chick can do her job.

  But that’s merely more proof that she needs us to watch over her. If I don’t keep an eye on her business, then my sister might lose it all, because she’s too kind of heart, too gentle to say no, and too forgiving to fire someone.

  It bothers me that I want to trust Nadia, but the deep-seated duty I feel for my sister taints what I think I know.

  Parking my truck outside Abby’s building just as the sun breaches the horizon, I slide out with newly tied boots—they were tied while I was walking to the club after one too many stumbles in the dark—and close the door with a soft snick so I don’t wake any of her neighbors.

  It took a lot for me to settle on this building, to acknowledge that, of all the apartment complexes in town, this was probably the safest for my sister. She needn’t live here; my codependency means she has a bed and a room in my home for the rest of our lives. But apparently the guys and I smother her. We’re too overbearing, and she wants a little room to breathe.

  Yay us.

  Moving through the building’s front doors and into the climate-controlled air, I make my way upstairs in the same clothes I wore last night. Thankfully for me, I don’t look like I was out, I didn’t get drunk, didn’t get messy, and Tink doesn’t allow smoking inside 188, so I don’t even smell gross, the way most would after a night out.

  Damn me, I smell of flowers and Nadia.

  And an angry bastard of a cat.

  Stopping in front of my sister’s front door, I consider knocking and affording her the privacy she’s begged for, but I’ve had a bitch of a night, starting with Harrison Best sending me home, and ending with three guys calling the girl I’d just slept in the same bed with.

  One-night stand or not, that shit stings.

  So, ignoring Abby’s pleas for autonomy, I insert my key and push the door open. I move quietly, since it’s still so early, take my key out of the lock, and close the door again with a soft snick.

  If Abby is sleeping, then there’s no way in hell I’ll wake her.

  “Mitchell?”

  I jump at her gentle voice, and turn to find her sitting at her table with a cup of coffee resting between her hands. Steam billows from the top, and the light on her iPad remains on, showing a news article from some big-city newspaper firm.

  “Catching up on your gossip and coffee?” Act normal, Mitchell. Be cool.

  Abby tilts her head to the side, smartass and sass all rolled up into one. “Sneaking into homes and hoping I wouldn’t be mad about it?”

  If I closed my eyes and listened, only listened, to the strength and confidence in her voice, then I’m certain I could let go and know that she would be okay in this big, bad world.

  But I can’t just close my eyes and expect everything to be fine. Which means I see her; I see her too-small body, her too-skinny frame. I see her red hair, and childish freckles. I see her unique eyes that some consider cool, but to me, are a reminder of how different she really is.

  When I open my eyes, I see the scars she tries to cover with clothes. The old port markings on her chest and arms. Her surgery scars on her ribs, and near her armpits.

  Abby wears clothes that cover her from neck to toes most of the time. But right here in her kitchen, right now, she wears a tank top, and a gown that slides off one shoulder and rests near her bicep. She’s relaxed in her home, uncaring that a little of her skin is exposed, and that, I suppose, is a beautiful thing, considering how much she hides herself in the day.

  But still, it’s the very reason I can’t back away and let her live her life without guidance.

  I’ve revived her too many times. I’ve caught her when she’s fallen too many times. I’ve visited her hospital room, I’ve eaten cafeteria food, I’ve seen too many pairs of scrubs, and spent too many hours sitting in a waiting room, all because of the illnesses that plagued her body over the years.

  I’m not gonna stop watching now that we’ve finally gotten to the green pastures.

  “I was coming for breakfast,” I semi-lie. “But it’s early, so I didn’t want to wake you if you were still asleep.”

  “And if I was?” she questions with a feisty smirk. “Would you have gone away and come back another day?”

  “No.” I cross the room and drop down onto the chair opposite hers. “I’d have made food while you slept, and if there were any leftovers, I would have set it in the oven for you to keep it warm.”

  “So are you here to make sure I’m safe, or to eat my food?”

  Rolling my eyes, I lean across the table and snag her coffee. If she’s gonna sass me, then I’m keeping the caffeine. “Why can’t it be both? I’m a multifaceted man, ya know?”

  “Sounds like it,” she teases. “Did you ask her to marry you?”

  “Wh—” My brain explodes inside my skull. The coffee I’ve half-sipped bursts back into the cup as I choke. “What?”

  Smiling, Abby extends her neck a little, then points to a spot that is bare but for her freckles. Then she nods in my direction so my hand goes to my own neck. “She got you here. So now, Mitchell, I sit and ponder who she is, and when I’ll get to meet her.”

  “You need to mind your own business, Cadabby.” I let my hand fa
ll away, and go back to the coffee. “Who I choose to spend my time with is my business, and mine alone. You need to stay in your own lane.”

  “If you’re spending time in bed with a woman, Mitchell, then you sure as heck better love her. In which case, I expect to meet her soon.”

  I scoff at my sister’s ideology that a man and woman must be in love to have sex. Hell, in her world, they must be married to have sex. Not a rule I apply to my own life, but it sure as shit brings me comfort to know my sister isn’t doing with men what Nadia did with me.

  “I’ll be sure to bring a girl home to you someday, Cadabby. But not until I put a ring on it.”

  “Which will be… when?” She reaches across and steals back her coffee. “She marked you, which means I love yous have already been exchanged, no?”

  I snort. “If you say so. Can I get some eggs?”

  “You can cook them yourself,” she replies easily. “I’d love some too.”

  Shrugging, and happy I now have an excuse to be up and not looking directly into her eyes, I go to the fridge and start collecting ingredients. “Scrambled or fried?”

  “Scrambled, please. With toast and a fresh coffee. Why weren’t you at work last night? You were scheduled on.”

  I grab a carton of eggs from the fridge. Butter. Milk. Onions. I smile at the bright colors inside Abby’s vegetable tray—the reds, the greens, the oranges and purples. I bring my things to the counter, then I go back to the corner cabinet and grab a pan to toss onto the stove. Switching the heat on low and walking away, I come to my ingredients and start tossing things into a mixing bowl.

  “I went to work,” I spit out when the anger washes anew. “But Harrison pulled me and Luc aside before we were called out. He said I’m in trouble for some shit that went down, and—”

  “Cussing, Mitchell.”

  I roll my eyes. “Harrison said someone is complaining about me, and though he can’t afford to fire me, seeing as how I’m good at what I do, and too stupid to leave town and do it someplace else—”

  “You would never leave me,” she cuts me off, and says the thing we both know to be true.

  “Right. Best can’t fire me, but he cares about his image, so he sent me home for the night. It’s his version of disciplinary action. Now he can say he slapped me down, but he also doesn’t lose any staff.”

  “I never liked that man,” Abby seethes in a very non-Abby-like way. “He was pompous and rude ten years ago, and is only getting worse now that he’s looking at politics. I’ll tell you, Mitchell, I will never vote for that man.”

  I crack eggs into my bowl. One, two, three, four. Then I begin beating them together. “Personally, I’d rather run him down with my truck, but apparently, folks frown on that stuff. The only vote he’ll get from me is to get him out of that office and back in his mother’s basement where he belongs.”

  She makes a noise of agreement, then says, “I’m heading up to visit Marcie today.” Marcie is Abby’s teenaged friend. She has cancer, and it’s kicking everyone’s asses, and since Abby has too much experience in the oncology ward, she now considers it her duty to visit those girls and boys who came after her. Donuts, milkshakes, and someone to talk to who isn’t a doctor. “Want me to tell her you said hey?”

  Just as planned, Abby’s words break through my Best-induced-anger, and instead make way for my smile. “She’s a child, and the way she openly flirts is gonna get everyone in trouble.”

  “She thinks you’re cuuuuute.”

  Tipping my head back, I laugh and enjoy the way it loosens everything that Best, then Nadia, then Nadia’s booty-callers, tightened in my gut. “She’s a baby, and I’m gonna tell her mom if she doesn’t knock it off.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.” Pushing up to stand with a tired groan, Abby fixes her gown and comes around to pour two fresh cups of coffee. One for her, one for me. Then she grabs a clove of garlic from the fridge and sets it down by my bowl. “This too.”

  “In your eggs?”

  “In all of the eggs.” She steps away with her coffee. “It’s good for us.”

  “It’s smelly.”

  “Well, until you put a ring on someone’s finger, your smelly breath won’t matter, will it?”

  She’s like a dog at a bone. Unbending and merciless.

  “Mind your business, Cadabby.” But then I snag a chopping board from a cupboard near my leg, a sharp knife from the utensil drawer, and I begin cutting the garlic into tiny squares. “You’re not invited into my private life. I expect you to respect that.”

  “Pfft.” She laughs and plops down at the table with her coffee. “The hypocrisy is astounding. Hey, what are your thoughts on Nadia, now that you’ve had a little more time to think on it?”

  She has a birthmark on her hip, and freckles on her chest. She wishes she was a free bird, and would happily fly away if she could.

  “Um…” I pause my chopping, and glance up. “What?”

  “She did great yesterday in the shop. I didn’t have to repeat myself, nor did I have to explain things that are common sense. She wasn’t lazy. On the contrary, she went above and beyond to make sure she got to everything before I could.”

  “You don’t say?” My voice is low, my brain scrambling; tell me more! But stop speaking.

  “She was eager to learn,” Abby continues, “and carried a little notebook every minute of the day so she could write things down.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “She’s really nice,” my baby sister insists. “Like, not the fake nice where everything is roses and butterflies and fake platitudes. But the genuine nice, where she’s real, and honest, and though she’s not mean, she also doesn’t blow smoke up people’s butts.”

  “Butts?” I exclaim loudly. “Abby! Language.”

  Smirking, she crosses her legs under the table, swinging one on her knee and making me think of my own legs. My thighs ache as I stand, my brain conjuring images of blood and claw marks and golden-eyed cats.

  I scowl and try to push the memory away. “You really like her?”

  She shrugs. “I’m just saying that not every decision can be made with numbers and logic. Sometimes we have to go with our heart.”

  “And your heart thinks you made a good choice hiring Nadia Reynolds?”

  “Yes.” Wrapping both of her hands around her mug, Abby inhales the scent of coffee, while I draw in the scent of eggs. “I think she was the right choice for me. And if she’s not, if she moves along and doesn’t stay forever, then I still think she’s here right now for the right reasons. I like knowing I’m a part of this stage of life for her. And you,” she jabs a pointed finger in my direction, “need to leave her the heck alone.”

  “Me?” Images of her rosy skin flash through my mind. Her cherry lips. Her canary tattoo, and all that blonde hair. The thought of her smart mouth, her long legs. She’s both nirvana and hell for me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you have a tendency to be mean to people, Mitchell. You’re a homebody who is easily offended by extroverts, and let’s be honest, Nadia is the most out-there person I’ve met in a long time.”

  “This is true. She’s super loud.”

  “Leave. Her. Alone,” she repeats. “If you have to stay away from the shop and annoy me only here, then that’s what needs to happen. I don’t want you and her at each other’s throats simply because you’re rude and she’s incapable of being meek.”

  My mind sticks to ‘at each other’s throats’… my tongue, my teeth… but then Abby’s next words register in my head. “She say something about me?”

  “She thinks you’re a little strange, definitely overbearing, and somewhat rude.”

  “She called me rude?”

  Abby only shakes her head and laughs. “You know it’s true, Mitchell. Like I said, she’s the real kind of person. Truthful, but kind.”

  “Calling me strange and rude isn’t kind!”

  “She wanted to use curse words.” Sitting back in her chair unti
l it groans, Abby sighs with contentment, and sniffs the air when the eggs are about done. “I like her. So you’re going to have to control yourself, or you’ll be the reason she leaves.”

  “Tempting offer,” I drawl. “Gotta protect my baby sister from the wolves.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Where are they, Mitchell? Where are the wolves? All I see is an overprotective big brother with an unhealthy codependency issue and too much reliance on me as an excuse not to live his own life.”

  “Geez, Abby.” I bring a hand up to my chest and rub. “Ouch.”

  9

  Nadia

  A Whole Lotta Shit

  “Daddy said that Angelica said that all we have to do is call you, and you can make changes to the existing orders.” Drew is a twenty-two-year-old artist. Or so her college education would have people think. She has thousands upon thousands of dollars in paints and brushes, canvases and tools, all stacked up in her spare bedroom, just waiting to be used.

  But what she has in materials, she lacks in motivation.

  Her college days were spent sleeping in, screwing around, partying at night, and napping her way through class.

  It’s important, I think, to note that she’s not a bad person. She’s just lazy and spoiled, and despite that old adage of children copying what their parents do, rather than what their parents say, she chose to follow in her father’s footsteps instead of her mother’s.

  Aunt Tracey was the epitome of hard work and high energy. Uncle David… not so much. And I guess Aunt Tracey’s mistake was to allow David to influence the children the way he did. Now the damage is done, and it’s been left to me to, well, not fix, exactly. That’s beyond my scope of skills. My role, I suppose, is to contain the carnage.

  My cousins are a smudge on society. They do damage as it is. So giving them millions in spending money would be a terrible choice for the economy as a whole. Therefore, my job is to hold the fort, and drip feed a few dollars here, a few dollars there, while hoping a little free labor will teach them the value of money… and the value of humankind in general.