Twelve of Roses: An Anti-love Story

(Bitter & Sick Book 1) Natalie Bennett

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 COPYRIGHT
Twelve Of Roses by Natalie Bennett
© 2023 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written
permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical
articles or reviews and pages where the publisher or author specifically grants permission.
 DEDICATION
To the readers that continuously make my author dreams come true.
 Author Note
12OR V1: is a prequel told between past & present and meant to give a glimpse of the MCs
backstory leading into V2.
If you read the story before the characters decided they needed a longer book, you may want to
pretend V1 & 2 don’t exist. While some of this will be familiar to you, the entire overall story for
these two has changed. This prequel is extremely mild and tame for me, while the triggers for V2 are
extensive and partially why the book will be labeled romantic horror.
I can officially say it is one of the longest books I’ve ever written and I FLOVE these characters
so much.
With that, please keep in mind: this is NOT a hearts and flowers kind of story. The relationship
that will bloom and rot between these pages is twisted, unorthodox, and obsessive while being
downright toxic.
12OR V2: content warning: here
 PLAYLIST
(Spotify)
Jorja Smith—Gone
Lana Del Rey—White Mustang
Echos—Guest Room
J Cole—Your Heart
Jessie Murph—While You’re At It
Jessie Reyez—Same Side
BANKS--Poltergeist
Lana Del Rey—Cherry
BANKS--Drowning
Bad Omens—Just Pretend
Lana Del Rey—Breaking Up Slowly
Jessie Reyez—I Do
Billie Eilish--Lovely
J Cole—She Knows
 Contents
COPYRIGHT
Author Note
PLAYLIST
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Author Note
MUERTE
 CHAPTER ONE
ROSELYNN
AFTER HIM
Every day greeted me with bittersweet melancholy. I had no one to blame for it but myself.
Paranoia and a sense of betrayal had driven me to do something I could never take back.
This hellish existence was my aftermath.
Ruins of what I wrecked beyond repair. A vibrant part of who I used to be was crushed beneath
the rubble and didn’t deserve to be found. She deserved to rot there like I should have been along
with my broken vows. Instead, I was waking up every day going through the typical mundane motions,
living a life I didn’t want to live.
There was no tomorrow, next week, or a month from now anymore. I couldn’t think that far
ahead. I got through each day and saw it as an accomplishment.
Then night came creeping in with silence that allowed echoes of the past to remind me of what
I’d done and all I had lost. I couldn’t win. Whether I was dreaming or awake all my thoughts went
running home to him. It was hard not to get caught up in memories of the beautifully deranged mess we
were. Today was proving to be worse than yesterday, but nothing could compare to how unbearable
the first seven days were.
I lifted one of the front curtain panels and peered out the window, relieved to see that the rain
had finally stopped. If it had kept up for much longer, I wouldn’t have had a choice but to swap the
bucket in the living room with the kitchen trashcan to catch the leakage in the ceiling.
Rubbing my temples in an attempt to alleviate the onset of a headache, I wandered into the
kitchen and grabbed my phone off the counter to check the hour. It was relatively early, just a quarter
past eight.
Too soon for me to try and go to bed if I didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night. I
leaned against the counter and debated on what I should do. The vodka bottle I kept for evenings like
this had been emptied before noon and I was down to my last swisher to roll. I should have picked up
an extra shift. That at least would’ve put me past nine o'clock.
I contemplated what to do for another fifteen minutes and finally decided it was best for me to
get out of the house before I went completely off the rails. I headed upstairs and perused my closet,
choosing a little black dress from the small amount of non-comfort clothes I had left.
As I was in the middle of combing out my hair after a quick shower, my cell rang. I checked the
ID and picked up the call, placing it on speaker so I could still use my hands.
“Did you make it there okay?”
“Yes. I just checked into my hotel. Now you can breathe, mom,” Molina teased.
“I should’ve sent you to voicemail.”
She laughed and something clinked together on her end of the call. “What are you doing?
Besides missing me, of course.”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“What? Really? Where are you going?”
“Yes, really. The spot I mentioned the other day.” I turned to check the side profile of my hair,
satisfied with what I saw. I’d carefully combed it so that the slightly accentuated waves held their
shape and didn’t go straight.
“Molly?” I reached for my bag of glosses and checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“Are you going alone?”
 I almost snorted. “Who else would I be going with?”
“I dunno, Lillian?”
“You mean Lauren? She’s barely old enough to buy a cigarette. Why would I take her
somewhere like that?”
“I don’t think you should go alone.”
“Aren’t I always alone?”
She was quiet again for a moment. “Do you still feel alone, Rose?”
I frowned down at my phone. I understood what she was asking, but it wasn’t what I had been
referring to. “I meant alone as in a literal sense because no one else is home.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, I just assumed. Are you sure you’re going to be, okay?”
“I think I should call you mom instead,” I quipped teasingly as I let my towel drop to the floor.
“I can’t hold onto the hand of a ghost forever.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Rose. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I know it’s harder for you than
it is for me.”
It was a good thing I wasn’t holding my phone, or I would have thrown it across the room. “My
god, Molly. It’s not a competition. Why are we even talking about that when we should be talking
about what you’ll be doing tomorrow.”
“I’ve been trying not to think about it too much. I know they’re supposed to be my family but I’m
having trouble thinking of them like that. We had our own family until…” she trailed off and went
silent.
I clasped my bra and stared at the phone, waiting for her to finish that sentence, trying to ignore
the sting of what she’d implied. I wasn’t sure if it was unintentional or if she was seeking a reaction,
baiting me into a discussion I refused to have.
“Get some rest and call me before or after you’re done tomorrow.” I ended the call before she
could say anything else and braced my arms on either side of the sink.
The headache I’d been trying to ward off was back in full force. I really should have sent her to
voice mail. It would have been nice if she acknowledged that I was at least leaving the house for
something other than work, or a grocery run. I’d been nothing but encouraging when she told me she
wanted to reconnect with her estranged family, even if they weren’t my favorite people. But if her
motive for doing so was to replace what she’d lost, she would be wasting her time. No one could
ever replace that.
I stepped into my dress and shimmied it down over my rear. The stretchy, velvet fabric hugged
me like another layer of skin. I checked my reflection and was okay with what I saw from the neck
down. My body hadn’t changed much the past year—since high-school really. That’s when my breasts
rounded, and my slender frame developed a subtle curve.
I’d always been a bit of a tomboy, so I suppose it was fitting that I blossomed so late.
I hung my towel on a hook and had just placed my toothbrush in the holder when a soft thud
carried from down the hall. Straightening immediately, I turned my head and listened to see if the
sound would come again, but the house remained silent.
I stepped into my heels and grabbed my phone off the sink before going out into the hallway.
There were only three doors up here. The one leading into the bathroom, Molina’s to my left, and the
spare room full of boxes that the old tenants had chosen to leave behind. The noise had come from
there. I moved closer and stopped to see if I’d hear anything else.
And I did.
It sounded like wind.
 Brow pinched in confusion, I flung the door and softly swore.
One of the windows was wide open. I flipped the light on and set my phone on a box. As I
moved towards the window, I noticed an overturned ashtray on the floor. Some ashes and cigarette
buds were peppered across the windowsill, soaking wet because there wasn’t a screen in this
window.
“Goddamnit, Molina.” She wasn’t supposed to smoke inside.
I fought with the window to get it back down. It took some pressure and both hands, but
eventually, I got it to shut. Afterward, I cleaned up the mess and then swapped my purse with a silver-
chained clutch before locking the house up.
All in all, the entire process took me less than thirty-five minutes. As I was getting into my car, I
looked over at the house across the street to see if there were any signs of life aside from the one light
that never seemed to be shut off.
There were only three houses on our road, mine being the sole fixer-upper. I liked the peace that
came with it. I’d only met one set of my neighbors so far, The elderly couple that lived at the very end
of the road. They were a sweet pair and kept to themselves.
I looked towards their home and noticed the truck was missing from the driveway. As I got into
my car, I wondered where they’d be at this time. Maybe James played poker like Grandpa used to.
The thought made me smile.
Instead of going to one of the finer establishments as I normally would, I was coming straight
for the dive bar that sat at the edge of town. I’d clocked it on my radar within the second week of
moving here when I was trying to learn the layout of the town.

I figured that anyone after the same thing I was and wanting some discretion would be at a place
like this versus the more popular hangouts. The last thing I wanted to do was cause issues or become
a staple for town gossip. I needed a scandal like I did a hole in the head.
Molina and I had chosen Black Pine because it was small and widely unheard of. It was
supposed to be our last move. At this stage in our lives, we desperately needed to establish some kind
of stability. For the past year, we’d been all over the place and I think that’s what contributed to
everything feeling so unendurable sometimes.
Readjusting to what most people’s everyday normalcy was hadn’t been a cakewalk for either of
us when all we’d known was an inconspicuous lifestyle of wealth and havoc, but I was confident we
could live semi-average lives if we truly tried.
Something I’d have to try again tomorrow because tonight, I was going to see what Gooskis had
to offer.
The dive had a slightly run-down appearance, and the name lacked pretension. A white sign that
contrasted with the building’s dull gray exterior read, It’s always noon somewhere. Only eight other
cars sat in the dimly lit parking lot.
After easing into a parking space beside a large pickup with windows so dark I questioned if
they were legal, I took a second to get my thoughts in order. There was exactly seventy-two dollars
and fifteen cents in my bank account. One Hungry-Man was in the freezer, and a loaf of bread I’d
already pushed beyond its expiration date was sitting on my counter. Things were a little tight, to say
the least. We’d drained our finances moving and then piecing together the trip she was on.
For as badly as I wanted to throttle her sometimes, Molina deserved it.
And I deserved a drink.
I might have to turn a few tricks to pay the gas bill that month, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t
going to walk my ass in this bar and get some liquor therapy. I slipped out of the car and did just that.
As I approached the entrance of the bar, I heard raunchy laughter over a catchy Joan Jett song.
The familiar stench of cigarette smoke lingered right inside the dark entryway where a dingy No
Smoking sign hung. I smiled to myself at someone's minor act of rebellion.
The interior of Gooskis looked just like I thought it would. There was a horseshoe bar, neon
signs, posters, a few beer banners, and lace panties hung all over the grungy walls. Though I wasn’t
sure what possible reasons there could be for the latter.
Seeing that the bartender was occupied, I made my way to a booth, scanning the room as I went.
A few people were playing a round of pool and a couple sat at the bar. Everyone else was seated at a
table. I claimed a spot that would allow me to people-watch. I slid across the leather bench and
examined the scuffed wooden tabletop.
Within a minute of me sitting down a bottle blonde sidled up to the table and placed a plastic
menu that looked as if it’d gone through a war in front of me.
“I’ll be right with you, pretty girl,” she lilted before waltzing away, leaving behind the smell of
vanilla perfume. I tried not to let her endearment bother me, but God did I loathe it. She wouldn’t
know anything about that, so I couldn’t count it as a strike against her. I began assessing the
cleanliness of the dive so I knew what not to order at a place where the taps were probably
questionable.
I couldn’t help but contemplate my life for the millionth time while doing so.
Things would be incomparably different if I had chosen the family over desolate freedom. If I
hadn’t walked away from odious vows and the promise I’d bled for. I wouldn’t be in this dump or
rubbing pennies to make ends meet, that was for sure.
Some might say I was running from the past because I didn’t want to face it, but nothing could
be further from the truth. I had no reason to run. I’d survived it and sometimes, surviving is the worst
part.
 CHAPTER TWO
ROSELYNN
BEFORE HIM
If I did nothing else in life, I was leaving Ashridge the first chance I got. I’d be forever grateful
that I was given an opportunity to start over after everything that happened. Grandpa had taken me in
without hesitation. His patience and genuine kindness reminded me so much of my father sometimes
that my heart ached. I adored him to no end, but I just couldn’t see myself being here forever.
The sprawling town was built on a foundation of old money roots and operated with even older
ideologies. Some lived by their own principles, but they still stemmed from some form of wealth or
higher social chaste and paid respects to the families above them, like Grandpa and my I assume at
one time my parents.
As a newcomer, I never got the opportunity to mingle with any social cliques. That was just as
well since I had no interest in any of the hierarchy drama and couldn’t see myself doing well if I had
to wear a façade the rest of my life.
My aspirations, or lack thereof, weren’t remarkable by any means, but I didn’t want to sit on
idle hands so it would be best to leave. I couldn’t see myself marrying any of the guys around town,
not realistically. Getting involved in Ashridge politics as some women did wasn’t in my future either.
Not only was I completely out of the loop, but I knew I would hate it.
I’d finished high school a summer ago, albeit nearly a year behind since I had taken so much
time off, but now I was facing another summer of absolute boredom and working at Freddie’s Frozen
Yogurt. If I didn’t sort out my future, I would have many more summers just like it.
Now that Darionne had moved away, I was officially a loner. I had a few other ‘friends’, the
kind better classified as acquaintances, but without Darionne with I was better off as a hermit.
I knew Grandpa would disagree.
He’d been encouraging me to be more sociable for months now. He even suggested I find a nice
boy to occupy my time with, going as far as volunteering to introduce me to a few, much to my
mortification. I hadn’t bothered asking who he had in mind. Grandpa was too deeply tied to the roots
of Ashridge for it to matter.
I exited my game to a lobby and sat my headset on the coffee table. Another glance at the clock
above the fireplace showed it wasn’t too late yet. I’d had a deep-rooted craving for a large polar pop
for nearly an hour and since I needed to stretch my legs, going to get one would kill two birds with
one stone.
Grandpa was out playing poker and wouldn’t be home until nearly midnight or tomorrow
morning, so I was left with no other choice than to take Big Rusty.
Arming myself with a decorative couch pillow to help me see over the dash, I walked towards
the rust-colored monstrosity prepared to conquer the beast. He was borderline prehistoric and not the
prettiest thing to look at, but he’d never failed me yet. Even with a broken gas gauge and over three-
hundred-something-thousand miles he got me around just fine.
Whenever Grandpa got in a mood and insisted that he was going to go out and buy me a new
car, I reasoned that I needed to get a better job first. I didn’t care how well off he was; I wouldn’t be
okay with him paying for the car and all the responsibilities that came with having one. I was fine
driving Rusty until I figured out my next move.
Humidity clung to the air, a sign it was going to rain soon and that I needed to hurry. Rusty only
had one decent windshield wiper.
 I climbed in and adjusted everything so I wouldn’t kill myself or another driver out on the road.
After a few quick taps on the gas pedal, Rusty started right up and I was well on my way to obtaining
my refreshment.
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into Pump-N-Go. The parking lot was practically deserted
save for three other cars. Inside was just as empty. Seeing Weston behind the register helping an
elderly man with his lottery tickets, I gave a little wave and got a dimpled simile in return.
Since I was here, I walked up and down a few aisles to see if anything grabbed my attention. I
was debating if I wanted chips or not when both Moretto brothers walked in along with two girls I’d
never seen before—both brunettes.
All of them were dressed as if going or coming from a nightclub.
“Look, I told you!” one of the girls loudly exclaimed. She laughed and showed the boys her
phone screen.
Justin grinned at whatever he was seeing and wrapped an arm around her curvy waist. The
other girl leaned into his brother and whispered something.
I decided against any chips and headed for the drink machines, not sparing them another glance.
If I made eye contact, it might open the door to conversation I was not in the mood to have. I was just
placing my cup beneath the ice dispenser when Constantine stepped up beside me and began to make
a drink for himself.
“Hello, Rose.”
“Hey,” I replied quietly, resisting the urge to rub the back of my neck. The sound of his voice
had made the hairs rise.
I didn’t dare say another word, but I was acutely aware of his close proximity. I’d never once
felt small until he was standing next to me. He was the last person I’d expected to see on my little
outing, especially with it being a Friday, and dressed the way he was.
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him outside of his garage or bedroom.
That sounded terrible, but it’s exactly what I meant. Constantine lived directly across the impasse
from my grandpa. The Moretto manor was notorious, and the nicest house our neighborhood—the
whole town--had to offer.
Grandpa was a close second.
Constantine had an apple red GT that he was always tinkering with in the evenings. I liked to
watch him work from my window. I’d positioned my desk just so I had somewhere to sit while I did.
I usually pretended to be reading or gaming, but I’m pretty sure he’d caught me a few times
blatantly staring. That was guaranteed to make any conversation between us more awkward than I
could handle.
I almost sighed in relief when the sweet sugary liquid reached the cup’s limit and I was able to
move on.
“Excuse me.” I reached over to grab a plastic top, focusing solely on the lid holder. Just as I
finished clamping it on my cup and began turning away, he spoke.
“ You’re allowed to look, you know.”
This time my stomach dipped at the sound of his voice. I stopped and glanced back at him.
“What did you just say?”
The second his eyes met mine, I knew I’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have looked at him. If
there was a god, they clearly had favorites.
Constantine was the epitome of masculine beauty. His dark hair was cut in a tapered fade--long
on top and shorter on the sides. He had high cheekbones and an angular jawline I would’ve died to
touch.
I knew from watching him work on his car that he kept in shape. His body was toned in all the
right places. But for all that beauty, I decided right then his eyes were my favorite thing about him.
They were two pools of obsidian, holding secrets only he was capable of knowing. He
somewhat smiled and leaned towards me. “Don’t you like me better when I’m close?”
Oh, my god.
His voice was the hottest thing I’d ever heard in my life. It was deep with a slight rasp. He
could dirty talk and call me every filthy name there was, and I’d get off just from hearing him speak.
He wouldn’t have to lift a finger.
I hadn’t realized I’d never heard him talk until now. It was always me doing the greetings
whenever we saw one another in the mornings. Come to think of it, not once had he mentioned that he
knew I watched him, but he was obviously aware. Did that mean he didn’t mind? I hoped so because I
had no intention of stopping. But he didn’t need to know that.
I made a point of looking him up and down. “What gave you the impression that I liked you at
all?”
He laughed and I clenched my thighs, doing my damndest to ignore the ache gathering between
them. It was somewhat lessened when the brunette that had been beside him earlier came around the
endcap.
The smile she had for him dimmed dramatically when she saw me. I looked at Constantine one
last time to say bye and found myself scowling at him instead.
What the heck was he doing? He hadn’t taken his eyes off of me and she was right here. I
slightly shook my head at him, silently asking, “What the fuck?” before I turned away again. Not
wanting to get involved in a lover’s quarrel if one should happen, I offered the poor girl a smile as
we basically traded places.
She sidled right up to him. I hated to admit they looked good together, but they did, sickeningly
so. She was really pretty. She’d look even better beneath the tires of my truck.
“That’s the Acheron girl?” I heard her whisper not as quietly as she’d probably intended.
I bristled at her curious tone. I hated when people dumbed my family down to a surname. I
didn’t care how common it was around here. “My name is, Roselynn,” I replied without stopping.
I snatched up a pack of Mrs. Fields on my way to the register just in case I got a sweet tooth
next.
“Hi!” I greeted Darionne’s ex-boyfriend with a brighter smile and sat my things on the counter.
I’d always liked Weston. He reminded me of a life-sized teddy bear stuffed with happiness. He
was built like one too, his years of being a quarterback had done him wonders. He and Darionne
hadn’t split on bad terms, whatsoever, but because she’d moved so far away and neither of them
wanted to do long distance.
“Hi yourself. I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever. What have you been up to?”
“ Same as usual.”
He nodded in understanding and tossed my cookies into a plastic bag. “Well, if you’re ever up
for it, there’s a new bowling alley that just opened on the other side of…”
A case of beer was dropped onto the counter hard enough that the bottles rattled together.
Weston’s sentence trailed off and we both stared at Justin in silent question. The girl with him laughed
like what he’d done was funny.
“Sorry about that, it was getting heavy.”
Weston’s brown eyes slid to mine conveying what we were both thinking, Justin was full of dog
shit. Sighing, I reached into the pocket of my shorts to get my debit card.
“This too, and you can add whatever she got to my total” Constantine cut in as he placed his
fountain drink, bottled water, and the same kind of cookies I’d just got on the counter.
“I don’t need you to do that,” I directed at Constantine irritably. “Here, Wes.” I tried to hand
him my card, but he wouldn’t take it.
“I was going to cover it, anyways. You’re good Rosie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, enjoy your night.”
“Aw, thanks. You too. Text me tomorrow or whenever you’re free and we can pick a date to do
something.”
Reminding me of a golden retriever, he perked up and readily agreed. I flashed him another
quick smile as I grabbed my drink and cookies, perceptively aware of Constantine’s eyes on me as I
exited the store.
I was halfway to the truck when he called out to me. Against my better judgment, I stopped and
slowly turned around.
I was surprised to see that he was already almost to where I was standing. And alone. Both
girls were getting into the car they drove here, a cute white Mercedes. Justin was carrying the beer
they’d just bought and a store bag to the Hummer.
I waited until Constantine was well within hearing distance before I said anything.
“Did you just realize I actually exist or something?”
He stopped just out of arms reach and slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather bomber
jacket. “Why would you say that?”
It might have been my overactive imagination, but it sounded like he was bothered by my
question. “We’ve lived across the street from one another for a while now. I played softball with your
sister. You’ve never spoken to me until tonight.”
“I think what I said to you inside proves I know you existed,” he replied like a smartass. “I’ve
always noticed you, Roselynn. Who wouldn’t? You’re beautiful.”
I opened my mouth, closing it as what he just said sank in. “Uh, then—never mind. What do you
want?”
The words came out harsher than I intended them to. I was flustered and doing my best not to let
it show. I’d been called beautiful before but hearing it from him brought on an entirely different
feeling.
“What are you doing out so late? Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends and doing girly
shit?”
“It’s like ten? And I don’t have many friends here,” I replied with an irritated huff, “Also, this is
as girly as I get.” I motioned up and down myself. I was in hot pink terry cloth shorts and a fitted
Sailor Moon t-shirt that showed a small bit of midriff.
His eyes traveled over my body, pausing for a second on that exposed strip of skin before
moving on. When he was done, he simply stared down at me. His dark eyes matched an unnervingly
blank expression. It was predatory in a sense, and extremely attractive if I did say so myself.
For self-preservation’s sake, I swallowed and took a small step back. He tracked the movement
and smiled for all of two seconds. His attention darted over my head, and when he looked at me
again, I knew he wasn’t pleased by the setting of his jaw.
“Please tell me why you drove that ugly fucking death trap here.” He gestured in the direction
Rusty was parked. His tone had turned somewhat cold as if I’d purposely affronted him.
 I scoffed and refrained from rolling my eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t call him ugly.
And you may not know me, but you know there’s nothing wrong with that truck. My grandpa wouldn’t
let me anywhere near em if there was. He’s a little older is all.”
Had he failed to notice me driving the damn thing around for the past month? Besides, I didn’t
have much of a choice when Grandpa was gone.
I wasn’t going to make him drive Rusty so that I could have free access to his luxury sedan.
“Who said I didn’t know you?”
“What?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I say so because you don’t.”
Constantine heavily exhaled and turned to look behind him. I followed his line of sight to where
Justin was waiting for him by the Hummer. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t need you to.”
His rapt attention fell over me. “That wasn’t an offer or a question.”
I started to argue at his gall but one look at his face and something in my brain told me to just go
with it. Not wanting to do a complete 180 in the span of a few seconds, I pulled my lower lip
between my teeth and made a show of looking at Rusty.
“I can’t leave my grandpa’s truck,” I said quietly.
When I looked back at him his eyes were on my mouth and I had to hold back a pleased smile.
“My brother can drive it back.”
Not giving me a chance to object or argue, he reached down and wrapped his large hand around
mine. There was a roughness to it that alluded he didn’t shy away from getting them dirty.
I allowed him to lead me toward the Hummer, sipping on my pop as we walked. I could have
said no and refused more vehemently, told him to go screw himself, but a large part of me didn’t want
to do that. The beautiful boy I’d spent countless hours stargazing at was finally speaking to me. Was
that not divine progress?
As we approached Constantine’s ridiculously shiny vehicle, Justin lifted his chin in greeting and
gave me a roughish smile. Surprisingly, it reached his pretty blue eyes.
He was a cutie too; I’d give him that. I normally didn’t find guys with long hair attractive, but
Justin was an exception. The tattoos helped. He was leaning against the hood of the Hummer with a
nearly smoked-down blunt that smelled potently dank clasped between two of his shaded fingers.
I was positive there was some kind of safety regulation about smoking right next to a gas pump,
but I wasn’t going to be the one to point out the obvious.
“What’s up?”
“I need you to drive Earl’s truck back. I’m taking her home.”
“Alright, the keys in it?” Justin directed the question at me.
“Yeah,” I replied, stealing a look at his face.
“I’ll get it there then.” He brushed by us with a wink aimed at me, not seeking a better
explanation, or voicing any complaints.
I gnawed the inside of my cheek and watched him go. “Is he going to be okay to drive that?”
“Unless it finally combusts on the side of the road, he’ll be okay.”
“Finally?”
He chuckled and led me the rest of the way to the Hummer. I shot him a glare. “I think your
privilege is talking. And honestly? it’s not a good look.”
“I see someone has a problem with constructive criticism.” I could tell by his tone he was trying
not to smile.
“I don’t think you know what that means.”
 He released my hand and opened the passenger-side door for me. I approached the bar that
would help me get into the passenger seat, my stomach flipping when he lightly touched the center of
my back to make sure I cleared it.
I settled against the leather, trying not to laugh when Justin pulled Rusty perpendicular to us and
began to roll the driver-side window down, his hand rotating in rapid circles.
“I’ll be just a second.” Constantine shut my door and walked over to his brother. As the two
began to talk, I took the liberty of looking around.
The stark difference between Rusty’s interior and this one almost made me begin to feel bad for
Justin. It was like a spaceship in here. There was a screen in the center and another just behind the
steering wheel. Cool air blew from the vents, circulating the lingering notes of Constantine’s woodsy
cologne.
I one-handedly buckled my seatbelt and peered into the backseat. There was a partially
unzipped duffel bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
At first glance, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I looked again. Hedge clippers, which
admittedly wasn’t anything shocking. The rusted chains, a box of nails, and a padlock were
questionable. As was the 12-inch saw-backed machete resting on top of all those things. It was the
oddest combination of stuff. I may not have gotten out much, but I knew most people wouldn’t
normally ride with that in their backseat.
I twisted around and looked out the passenger window, pretending I didn’t see that both Moretto
brothers were watching me through the windshield. From my peripheral, I saw them look at one
another. Constantine said something that made Justin laugh, and then he pulled off. I wasn’t sure I
wanted to know what. I was still staring out the window, sipping on my drink with feigned disinterest
in my surroundings when Constantine slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Are you okay?”
“Mhm,” I hummed, around my straw.
He didn’t say anything more. With one hand casually resting on his steering wheel, he pulled
away from the pumps. I immediately noticed Justin was already long gone. As Constantine pulled out
of the parking lot, I wondered how fast he was going. There was but a blimp of Rusty’s taillights
visible, steadily getting further away.
Silence stretched between us, and darkness replaced the vibrant lighting of the petrol station. I
did my best not to openly stare, pretending to be interested in the wheatfield that ran alongside the
long winding road. Thanks to the Hummer’s soft interior lighting I was able to study him through the
reflection in my window.
He had really nice lips. I wasn’t sure of his ethnicity exactly, but it’d always been obvious he
wasn’t Caucasian.
I bounced between admiring how good he looked and debating if I should mention his homicidal
goodie bag. As curiosity ate away at me, I told myself it was nothing. There was a logical explanation
for it being there that was no concern of mine.
For as hot as he’d look wielding a machete, Constantine wasn’t dangerous. He was one of the
town’s golden boys. Even if I personally didn’t fully buy into that, the majority did. I’d always thought
there was something about him at odds with it. Of course, I could be off by a long shot considering
we’d hardly ever spoken.
“You don’t have to hold that.”
“Huh?” I blinked and looked away from the window.
“Your drink. I have cup holders.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he pressed down on one
of the glossy center panels and it lifted up.
“Thanks,” I murmured, setting my pop in the back holder.
“You cold?” he asked next.
“A little.”
He reached out and tapped a few buttons to adjust the temperature on my side of the car. Warmth
immediately replaced the cool air that had been blowing through the vents. “Better?”
“Yeah, thank you.”
“I was surprised to see you tonight.”
“Me? That’s what I was going to say to you.”
“Well one of us hardly ever leaves their house.”
I grinned, secretly wondering how often he paid attention to my comings and goings to know
that. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Can’t let too many people see me in Grandpa’s big ugly truck.”
The words had more bite than I meant them to, but I didn’t bother apologizing.
It wouldn’t have been genuine.
He was quiet for a minute, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry if I came off like
a self-entitled dick. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“At least you know what you sounded like.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”
My stomach became inundated with stupid little flutters. I tried and failed to hold back another
smile. He looked at me and his faded, the same unnervingly closed-off expression he’d had back at
the petrol station smoothing it away.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. I have an extra car you can use, free of charge.”
Of course, he did. His family-owned dealerships here and elsewhere. I wasn’t sure whether I
should be offended by the offer or grateful. “Are we backtracking?”
“I’m not being an asshole, or maybe I am. The offer still stands. If you’re going to be out on the
road in that... The point is I want you safe.”
“What’s giving you the impression I’m not? I’ve never had any issues with that truck.” I didn’t
dare admit Rusty sometimes hesitated to start. What mattered was that when he was running, he would
go to the ends of the earth, I was convinced of that.
“Not yet you haven’t,” he pushed back. “Life can take a shitty turn without any warning. Why
leave an open opportunity for it to do so?”
His words conjured the memory of my parents. I reached for my drink, needing to hold onto
something.
“Let me do this for you, Rose.”
I so badly wanted to point out how often I’d been driving my grandpa’s truck before now, but
the sincerity in his tone stopped me. I was somewhat caught off guard by it.
We’d gone from barely speaking to him offering up free cars. I didn’t know where it was
coming from. Maybe his younger sister had said something. Victoria was one of the ‘friends’ I didn’t
associate with unless we were in the same vicinity. He had no other reason to care about my well-
being.
I took another sip of pop and rolled my lips together as I sat it back down. “My grandpa might
feel a way about me accepting that, and I won’t hurt his feelings over something this trivial. I know
that might sound petty to you.”
“I wouldn’t invalidate you like that. I’ll talk to Earl.”
 From his tone, I could tell he was pleased, which both annoyed me and made me happy. “ You
know that truck is probably safer than this metal space shuttle? It may not be as pretty, but it’s for sure
made better.”
“ Space shuttle, huh?”
I laughed and glanced out the window, somewhat disappointed as I realized this was almost
over. Being around him wasn’t nearly as awkward as I’d thought it would be. No anxiety bubbled to
the surface and made me want to hide inside myself or count down the seconds until I got home.
“Will me driving one of your cars cause issues between you and your girlfriend?”
He was silent for so long that I wasn’t sure he was going to answer me. “Do you want it to?”
“Do I—Do I want to cause issues in your relationship?”
“Yeah, do you?”
Puzzled by the question, I repeated our conversation back to myself, twice. “Why would I do
that?”
“You’ve never wanted to cause trouble?”
Yes. “I’m not sure how to answer that. Maybe. Never at the expense of someone else, though.”
Lies.
“Not even if they have something you want?”
I started to laugh, breaking into a cough when I realized he was being serious.
“Well?” His eyes darted over to me, then back to the road.
“Are you supposed to be what I want?”
“I am what you want,” he retorted matter-of-factly.
“Not if I have to traumatize another woman to have you.”
He grinned and I realized what he’d done.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant.”
He laughed softly. I growled frustratedly, like a damn animal, and he started to laugh harder.
“Stop laughing at me. You did that on purpose.”
He quieted as he pulled into my driveway. Rusty was already here, but Justin was nowhere in
sight.
He must’ve walked across the street already. I unbuckled my seatbelt in preparation to get out,
but then he shifted into park and sat back in his seat. He cracked his neck and took off his seatbelt too.
I turned so that I was angled toward him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“There’s not enough hours in a day for me to tell you that.”
It took a concentrated effort not to look in the backseat. My brain was never going to let that
fantasy go.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Rose.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say.
“I don’t date,” he continued.
I suddenly didn’t want to finish this conversation. “There’s really no need to explain this. I’m
not judging.”
Slowly, he turned his head and looked right at me. “Don’t you want to know about the bag?”
Thrown by the abrupt subject change, I couldn’t answer right away. “Say no,” the voice of
reason whispered in my head. I did want to know about his bag, but not while he was looking at me
like if I made one wrong move, I’d find out exactly why he had it.
“Why are all those things inside?” I asked tentatively.
“We have a place no one knows about, tucked away in the woods. It’s been in the family for
well over a decade. Most of the Moretto brides spend their first year there.”
“An entire year?” I interrupted.
“Comes with marrying into the family.”
“Sounds rather archaic but go on.”
“It’s tradition,” he explained with a slight smile.
I nodded so he knew I was following along, wondering where this was going and what it had to
do with the bag.
“The girls you saw tonight, they’re driving there now.”
I glanced at the dashboard and saw it was almost ten-thirty. “Shouldn’t you be going to meet
them then instead of sitting here?”
“Later,” he replied dismissively. “You don’t seem bothered by the idea of me going to join
them.”
Slightly annoyed, I turned the question back on him. “Would you be? If it were me, I mean.”
He laughed darkly, resurrecting the suicidal butterflies in my stomach. “I can’t stand the thought
of it, you with someone else. Man or woman.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I deadpanned.
“For them, it will be,” he retorted with a wicked grin. “I can get creative. I’d make them suffer
in ways you can’t even begin to fathom. And you’d have to watch so you knew to never call my
bluffs.”
“Hypothetically or like…” I trailed off and pointed a finger at his bag. “That?”
“What do you think?”
“Humph.” I settled back in the seat. “I think this conversation is bizarre. I did not see my night
taking such a random turn.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I literally just did.”
“Rose,” he practically purred. “I want you to tell me.”
I looked at the bag in question, seeing things I hadn’t the first two times I stared at it. Then I
thought of the girls. Everything pointed to one obvious scenario playing out. The flutters died in a vat
of acid. I kept my face impassive and took a quiet breath.
“You’re going to fuck her tonight?”
I could tell that wasn’t what he expected me to say, and for some reason that only pissed me off
more. I knew my jealousy was irrational. How was he supposed to know I harbored such a twisted
infatuation?
It was a secret meant only for me; he should understand that much at least since he clearly had
some of his own.
“I thought me fucking her didn’t bother you?”
“Don’t twist my words. I never said that.” Now was when I should’ve gotten out of his car and
not looked back, but I’d seen him and her together not even an hour ago. The vision of them fucking
now played inside my head.
“So, what happens when you’re done?”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Sure. You come to grab this bag and chain her up somewhere. Or do you just leave her lying on
the bed until you have the bag? How would you even make them disappear without being caught?”
The last part was more of a question for myself, but the answer was sitting right in front of me.
The Moretto family had tons of dark rumors attached to their name, as did many other families
associated with them. They had shine too, which dulled said rumors. I knew for a fact some of the
tales spun were just that. Even Grandpa had been likened to a few and he was the gentlest man I
knew.
Constantine regarded me with slightly raised brows. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or
surprised by my line of thinking. “Would you feel better if I didn’t fuck her and simply took her apart?
I prefer it when they scream like that, anyways.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” I seethed, as if I wasn’t sicker.
“Rose.”
I turned away from him and reached for the door handle. He was quicker and hit the lock button.
“Let me out,” I demanded, refusing to look at him.
Without a word, I heard him exit the truck.
By the time I got my door open, he was already right there, waiting to help me get down, or so I
thought. I intended on going straight into the house where I could pretend everything after we pulled
into my driveway, never happened.
Constantine had other ideas. The second my door was shut, he caged me in, planting his hands
on either side of my head and using his body to make sure I couldn’t slip passed him.
“You need to move.”
“Roselynn.” He gently took my face into his hands and forced me to look at him. “It was just a
joke. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He started to laugh, and I shoved him. Much to my annoyance, he didn’t budge. “I’m sorry,” he
repeated in a more somber tone, all amusement falling away.
I grabbed his wrists and pushed them down, pulling my face out of his hands. “Why would you
joke about any of that?”
“I honestly didn’t think you’d fall for it. Look at me, Roselynn. Do I look like I fuck sorority
girls in the woods and then torture them?”
“You do fuck sorority girls,” I muttered without thinking.
I had seen him with Emily Meadows last summer, down in his garage a little past midnight. I’d
been torn between raging disgust and being extremely turned on.
“I used her mouth, I never fucked her, Justin did,” he replied to my blunder. Somehow knowing
exactly what I was referring to.
“I think where you stick your dick, and who you stick in it is the lesser issue here.”
“Or is the issue it's not you I’m fucking, and you wish it was.”
I shook my head, but he wasn’t done. “Don’t deny, just listen. I don’t have a bag of murder
weapons in my backseat. That would be extremely foolish, don’t you think?”
I nodded, because yes. No one rode around with that many murder weapons so easily spotted.
At the very least they should have been hidden beneath the spare tire or something.
“As for who I fuck. I’m very particular about who I touch and how I touch them. I don’t have a
habit of fucking random girls.” He leaned closer, bringing his lips within inches of mine “The only
person I see lately, is you.”
I stopped trying to shove him away and sorted out what he was saying. Of course, the whole
bag thing had seemed off the charts ridiculous, to begin with, but I’d been fine with believing it up
until he mentioned screwing that girl.
But if he’d been joking…
Now I was the one that looked like a self-righteous psycho.
 “This is so embarrassing,” I muttered, averting my gaze to the ground.
Constantine lifted my chin and studied my face. “No, this was on me. You have nothing to be
embarrassed about. I shouldn’t have messed with you like this.”
“You shouldn’t of,” I agreed, willing my heart to stop racing. “Why did you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, and I realized the position
we were in. Peering up at him, it was impossible to know what he was thinking. He kept his cards too
close to his chest.
“Do you really not have a girlfriend?”
He smiled, showing off his perfect smile. “I know that may seem hard to believe, but it's not any
more impossible than you being single too.”
“How do you know that I’m single?”
“Because I’ve never let anyone get near you,” he replied glibly.
I fought off a smile and failed, laughing shortly. “You’re actually pretty funny, for a self-entitled
dick.”
He canted his head and regarded me thoughtfully. “It’s cute you think I’m joking.”
I gradually stopped smiling as he began to.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked softly.
I sighed and let my head fall back to rest against his car. “There’s not really anything to forgive.
This was stupid and nothing to get upset about in the first place.”
“There’s something else.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “I think we’ve talked enough.”
“This doesn’t involve talking.”
He leaned down and kissed me. I was so caught off guard, I reopened my eyes and stared at
him, probably resembling an owl.
His low laugh snapped me back to reality just as he was about to do it again. This time I
wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.
His lips were full and soft. He gripped my face and angled it so he had better access, teasing
me. I parted for him, moaning softly when his tongue slipped into my mouth, and I realized it was
pierced. He pressed against me, and I nearly whimpered when I felt the outline of his cock on the
apex of my thighs. He kissed me harder, nipping my lower lip and sucking on my tongue. I thread my
fingers through his hair and moaned again, marveling at how soft it was.
He placed a hand flat on my stomach and slowly moved lower. I whimpered aloud when he
reached the waistband of my shorts, causing him to laugh.
“Do you want me to touch your pussy, Rose?”
“Yes,” I whispered against his mouth, wondering how that was even a question.
He delved into my shorts and pulled my underwear to the side, laughing lowly when he felt how
wet I was. “For someone unsure, if they like me or not, you’re awfully fucking wet. I’ve barely
touched you yet,” he murmured, running a finger straight down my center. I made a low sound in the
back of my throat and held him tighter.
“Spread your legs, pretty girl.”
I did as he said, moaning loudly when he dipped a finger inside me.
“Fuck, Rose.” He dropped his mouth to my neck and added another digit, pushing in and then
pulling out.
“Con,” I whimpered, rocking my hips against him.
He paused and drew back so that he could see my face. “What did you call me?”
 “Con,” I replied with a moan as he rotated his hand and pushed his fingers inside me again.
“Say it again,” he demanded, rocking his digits inside my pussy.
I did, barely able to get the word out of my mouth, digging into his shoulders. I was so wet I
could feel arousal coating his hand and dripping down my thighs. My muscles were beginning to
tighten, and pleasure building in my center.
It was all him.
The way he smelled and how good he felt. The way his eyes watched my every tell and he
drank in my moans. It wouldn’t take much for me to come. He knew it too.
“Ride my fingers, pretty girl. get yourself off.”
I rocked against him, burying my face in his chest to muffle my moans. I fucked his hand as hard
as I could.
Given our position, there was only so much I could do. He began to rub my clit in slow,
measured circles.
“Con,” I choked, pulling him as close as I could.
He dragged his tongue up my throat and kissed his way over to my ear. When he sank his teeth
into the lower lobe, I came, trapping his hand between my legs. He covered my mouth with his and
kissed me deeply, swallowing my scream.
It took minutes for me to come back to reality. For it to set in what I’d just done, and with who.
“Oh, my god,” I whispered, dropping my forehead onto his shoulder.
His chest rumbled with laughter. He gently pulled his fingers out of me and brought them up to
my mouth, coated in come and my arousal.
“Clean them off,” he commanded huskily.
Looking into his eyes, I closed my lips around them and savored the taste of myself. When I
finished and made a show of licking my lips, he swore again and pressed a kiss to my forehead in an
unexpectedly sweet way.
“I’ve thought about how to do this too many times to have it go down like this.”
“What?” I questioned, unsure if I’d heard that right.
“The next time I touch you, your cunt will be riding my face.” He kissed my cheek. “And then
my dick will be inside each fuckable hole on your body.”
When words failed me, I nodded. He smirked. “Come on, let’s you get inside.” He stepped back
and wrapped his arm around my waist. We didn’t speak until at my front door. He turned me around
and kissed me again, making sure I’d feel it long after he was gone.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he murmured when he pulled away, more to himself than me.
We didn’t discuss his crude idea of a joke or why I seemed to be fine with him taking someone
apart—his words. No promises or proclamations were made, and he didn’t mention what he planned
to do after this.
I slipped inside and locked the door, sinking down to the floor wondering what the hell had just
happened. Part of me wondered if I’d just imagined that whole thing, but I could still feel his fingers
inside me and his lips on mine.
It wasn’t until later, when I passed in front of my window in nothing but a towel, that I realized I
forgot my pop.
 CHAPTER THREE
CONSTANTINE
I watched her go inside, her face flushed from coming all over my hand and marred with
confusion. There wasn’t anything I could do about the latter yet. The second I was out of her line of
sight I pulled my phone out and texted Earl I was leaving.
I really didn’t want to. I would have much rather gone inside and fucked Rose on and against
every surface of her house until she could no longer tell which way was up and which way was
down, and my dick left a permanent imprint inside her.
More than fucking her, I wanted to hold her while she slept and watch her when she did
everything else without having to creep in and do it from the shadows. I walked by the piece of shit
on wheels she had driven tonight and seriously debated coming back to set it on fire.
Every step had me contemplating going back for her until I was seated in my car gripping the
steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turned white. I hadn’t spoken to Roselynn until tonight. And
for good reason. I’d been closer than she would ever know or think possible, but I’d never gotten too
close.
Earl wanted her to have as much normalcy as she could before I made her mine. The moment
she set those beautiful blue eyes on me tonight, it took everything in me to uphold our bargain. Those
fucking shorts she was wearing didn’t help.
The first opportunity I had; I was taking them away. They fit her like a glove, accenting how
perfect her ass was. Girls dedicated hours to the gym to get asses as she had. It pissed me off and
gave me great relief that she wasn’t aware of the beauty she possessed.
One day she’d realize what an absolute goddess she was.
By then she’d have my last name and anyone daring to approach her would have to be both
dumb and suicidal. Thus far me and my family had kept everyone away. But I saw the way Weston
looked at her tonight. So had my brother. That was a fucking problem.
He knew better.
I couldn’t mention the little exchange I’d witnessed with Rose yet. If he disappeared before I
had her, she might start to pull away. That was the last thing I wanted.
I drove across the impasse and coasted through the metal gates into my driveway, shifting into
park to wait on my brother and sisters. I text them to wait ten minutes before coming out. I needed a
few to be alone. When Justin suggested I test where she stood on things, I hadn’t planned out exactly
what I would say. In the end, I didn’t have to. Roselynn carried the scenario for me.
I loved the way her brain worked.
I couldn’t say I liked her jealousy, as it was unwarranted, but I definitely understood it. We
could work on that later. I never wanted her to think or feel someone else meant anything more than
she did.
Having her so close all these years and not being able to touch her like I wanted was fucking
torture. Inhaling deeply, I indulged myself in the lingering scent of her body wash—pomegranate and
lemon.
She never switched up and bought anything different. It was the same with her perfume—one
specific brand of fragrance labeled Tease. Every so often I thought of her the same way, irony at its
finest. But I knew she wanted me to watch her like she watched me, oblivious that I never stopped.
When she walked by her window in nothing but the pink towels, she was so fond of. They just
barely covered the body I spent an ungodly amount of time staring at.
 There were a few times I’d been ready to risk everything to have her pinned down underneath
me. That’s ultimately what stopped me from putting cameras in both her bathroom and bedroom. I
prided myself on self-control and patience, but where Rose was concerned, I struggled to sustain it.
Watching her wasn’t a hobby—it was vital for my peace of mind. I liked that she watched me
too. Us keeping it a secret from the other was part of the fun of our relationship.
It was easy to do from my upstairs window. Easier when she was asleep at night. Harder on the
rare occasion she braved the outside. Regardless, I was never too far away. When the urge to be
closer was on the verge of driving me fucking crazy, I crept inside her room and watched over her
while she slept.
Some people would think I was strange for that or maybe even not all the way right upstairs.
I was neither of those things.
I was no different than anyone else that had a higher sense of responsibility. I simply liked to
keep tabs on my most valuable possessions and Roselynn Acheron was an incredibly special girl.
She didn’t know that yet either, but I’d make her see it. I’d help her see that too. Soon, her wish would
come true. We would leave this town behind and disappear together.
Forever .
 CHAPTER FOUR
ROSELYNN
AFTER HIM
I was ready to go behind the bar and make my own damn drink. There weren’t that many people
in here to have such shitty service. If I wanted to sink further into a void of sober recollection I could
have stayed home. At least there I’d be free to fall apart without being judged.
Since Barbie had left me to sit here in this damned booth, my mind wandered straight to the man
I was desperately trying not to think about. I couldn’t stand it. It’d been almost a year, and time had
done nothing to heal the anguish. It simply allowed scar tissue to grow over the memories. He was
always in my head, refusing to vacate my heart no matter how hard I tried to evict him.
Ah. To think it all began with a simple crush. I was so pitifully naïve back then. A docile lamb
in wolves clothing, that sought comfort from a bloodthirsty beast. After everything he put me through,
you’d think he would be nothing but a ghost for me to weep and curse at. That couldn’t be further from
the case. He’d meant everything to me. He still did and always would.
It was his demons that didn’t play well with mine. Now I was left here without him, and I
wasn’t sure how to deal with it. I’d mourn him till my dying day until I found him again in the deepest
depths of hell.
"Sorry for the wait, Hun,” Barbie chirped, finally sliding her ass back up to my table. “What
can I get you started with?"
I stared at her for a good minute without saying a word. Her long hair was styled in two blonde
pigtails to go with her short denim and plaid shirt that she’d tied at the waist to show off her midriff.
She’d finished off the look with faded brown cowgirl boots. Her large, round eyes peered down
at me, a wide smile on her pretty face. Compared to her I was greatly overdressed.
"Uh, rum and Coke, please." That seemed the safest bet.
"Be right back," Aimee--a quick glance at her name tag confirmed--replied before once again
waltzing away.
Resting my chin on my hand, I eyed the menu and contemplated how badly I wanted to throw up
tonight. With the way, I was feeling that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I ate any kind of greasy food.
Aimee sat my drink in front of me a few minutes later and asked if I wanted anything else, I waved her
off without looking up.
As I took a few cautious sips, a prickling sensation started to needle the back of my neck.
Someone was watching me.
I looked away from my drink and slowly scanned the room. My gaze landed on a booth in the
back corner that had two men and two women sitting. They were all laughing and seemingly enjoying
themselves.
My eyes locked with the man’s sitting on the end. He was smiling at whatever was being said.
Due to the lighting inside the dingy bar, I couldn't see him clearly. He was wearing a gray button-
down dress shirt, slacks, and coordinating shoes. Given that he was with a group of people dressed
similarly to him, I figured they worked together.
I toyed with the notion of approaching the booth, ultimately deciding against it. He was the
opposite of what I was used to and one of those women could be his wife or girlfriend. None of the
other men or women inside were remotely appealing to me. I wasn’t desperate enough to fuck
anything that moved.
 I had a detachable showerhead and a rose at home that could get me off just as well, sometimes
better.
Since I was already here, I decided to take my time and finish my drink. I didn’t have any
reason to rush back to the house. Molina was gone for three days. There’d be nothing but the annoying
hole in the ceiling and depressing emptiness filled with a ghost I couldn’t face.
I wasn’t bothered by the fact I was sitting here alone instead. The stranger in the corner was
keeping me preoccupied enough. Every time I looked in that direction, his eyes were on me. He
wasn't being discreet about it either. Tucking my chin, I smiled to myself, rotating the tiny straw in my
glass.
It was after my third and final drink that I decided to use the toilet before leaving and making the
drive home.
The bathroom was tiny and as clean as could be expected for such an establishment. After
carefully squatting over a cracked toilet, I wedged my clutch beneath my arm and sanitized my hands.
Refusing to touch the door handle, I tore off a gritty piece of paper towel and used it as a glove.
I balled it up and headed into the hall with my head down, reading the text that just came through from
Darionne. I didn't see the person coming from the opposite direction. I walked right into them. My
cell flipped from my hand and hit the dingy linoleum with a clatter.
"Fuck,” I swore loudly, praying the screen survived the fall.
The man bent down to retrieve it before I could. "That's a colorful word," he admonished with a
quirked brow and sexy drawl.
"And absolutely necessary, given the circumstances, don’t you think?"
“Oh, now that depends.”
Holding my palm out for the phone he had yet to try and return, I gave him a small smile.
I kept my eyes locked with his, fighting the urge to inspect his entire body from top to bottom.
The fragrance of his spicy cologne diffused between us. His face was a sculptor’s dream. He had
cheekbones to die for, a prominent jawline, flawless skin, and beautiful brown hazel eyes. His sexily
messed brown hair was the icing on top. Me openly staring at him had a cocksure smirk tugging one
side of his full lips up.
"Can I have my phone?"
He wordlessly held it out for me to take. I went to grab for it and the second my fingers made
contact, he closed his hand around it and drew away. "I'll give this back on one condition.”
“You’ll give it back because it's mine,” I corrected.
“Have a drink with me first.”
I scoffed and crossed my arms. “You know there was a much easier way of asking to have a
drink with me?”
He stepped closer, his smile spreading into a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t asking.”
Now, I did let my eyes take a stroll down his body. He was the perfect height, a good few inches
taller than my five-four self. Based on the definition in his arms, I knew he worked out and was
curious about what the rest of him looked like. Enough so that I was tempted to accept his offer based
on that alone.
Unfortunately, just because he’d been what I liked to call one of God’s favorites in the looks
department didn’t mean he had a dick worth my undivided attention. Two plus two didn’t always
equal four in these situations. It had been a while, though. And I was already here…
"Fine. I'll let you buy me a drink, but first, tell me your name.”
" Maxwell."
 " Maxwell?" I repeated.
"I prefer Max."
Of course, you do.
He gave me another smile, showing off perfect white teeth, and reached for my hand, slipping
my phone into it without breaking eye contact. With that one small gesture, my night brightened
significantly .
At the sound of approaching heels, we both sidestepped, making room so another bar patron
could get past us. A lithe blonde with a scorpion tattoo on her shoulder walked by, dragging her eyes
up and down Max’s body. She gave him a seductive grin before walking into the bathroom. He
earned himself some brownie points by completely ignoring her and keeping his focus on me.
"So, about that drink…?" He hinted at my name, holding his hand out for me to move ahead of
him.
"Rose," I tossed over my shoulder, heading for my booth.
Max trailed after me, his presence at my back impossible to ignore. “What about your friends?”
“They’ll be fine.”
Once we were both seated on either side of the table, he waved Aimee over.
"Vodka on the rocks—two—and add lime," he ordered, still not taking his eyes off me.
I wasn’t sure I liked his attentiveness. It reminded me too much of someone else. Thankfully,
Aimee returned in record time and placed our drinks on the table. I didn’t miss the extra dose of
server cheer I got now that he was sitting here.
“I think Barbie likes you.”
“Barbie?” His smile returned and I noted how carefree he seemed.
“You know who.”
He took a sip of his drink. “She doesn’t like me. She wants me to take her behind the bar and
fuck her against the wall.”
Hearing him, Aimee stumbled as she approached the booth two tables away. Unable to hold
back my laughter, I brought a hand up and hid my mouth. I could’ve sworn his eyes lit at the sound of
it.
“Will you?” I questioned curiously.
He huffed out a short laugh and settled back against the booth, drink in hand. “No. I don’t like
blondes.”
“Hmm. Me and you both.”
Seeing the perturbed look on his face, I softly cleared my throat and stared at my glass. Not only
was this mixing dark and light, but vodka tended to parade my inner slut with a marching band behind
it.
"I should’ve probably mentioned that I've already had a few drinks. I have to drive home.”
"Where is home, exactly?"
“Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You’re a stranger. I can’t tell you where I live.”
“Then let’s work on me becoming a friend,” he replied, not missing a beat.
Friend. That word was like battery acid on my tongue. I’d never liked them much. They
required an exchange of trust I wasn’t comfortable with. If given and then abused, you’d open yourself
up for unnecessary heartbreak. Molina was all I needed. Not that I even believed that’s what this man
honestly wanted.
“Why would we be friends?”
His responding smile was beautiful and innocent. There wasn’t a hint of malice in his eyes. “ Is
there a reason I shouldn’t want to be friends with you?”
I’m glad he asked because yes, there was a shit load of reasons. The most important being how
much he valued his life. Getting close to me was the equivalent of predating his death certificate. Of
course, I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I smiled prettily and tried to let him down easy.
“It’s nothing personal You seem like a good guy. I just don’t do that.”
“You don’t have friends?”
I shook my head and reached for my drink. “You could say I’m not that kind of woman.”
“ What does that even mean?” he questioned with that ever-present smile. “What type of woman
are you then?”
I wished I could be upfront and tell him that I was forced to be someone I wasn’t and how much
I missed who I was. That would require too much of an explanation, and rightfully scare the hell out
of him so I gave him a truth of a different variety.
“I’m the kind of woman that couldn’t stand being alone so she drove all the way to the end of a
rinky-dink town looking for a one-night stand that will leave her sore for a few days that she never
has to see again.”
He threw his head back and laughed. I took that as a good sign. Some men had an issue with
women who weren’t afraid to initiate sex. We were sluts and whores for getting ours just like they got
theirs—double-standard idiocy. I’d done my best to enjoy the few one-night stands I’d let myself have
this past year.
I didn’t have an issue separating sex and feelings. I didn’t worry my heart would be stolen by a
man I’d spent a single night with when it already belonged to someone else. In fact, it was better
when they left the moment we finished. I liked to be used. Being fucked and then forgotten was one of
my favorite coping methods.
If he were here, he’d kill anyone that dared let their gaze linger on me for a second too long past
admiration.
I missed that too.
When Max finally stopped laughing, he leaned forward and whispered, “Well then, I think
you’re exactly what I’m looking for too.”
“Am I?”
“You are. And you’re honest,” he drawled, flashing me another one of his sexy smiles before
leaning back . W e stared at one another for a few seconds, an elongated silence reaching between us.
I knew right then that he was going to be trouble. The kind of trouble I was intimately familiar
with.
 CHAPTER FIVE
ROESELYNN
Max was the kind of man that was determined to get his way. Con had a similar trait, but for
many different reasons. I didn’t want to compare or think of him right then, but he was on my mind
more than usual tonight. That’s not to say I didn’t think about him often, but it was getting to the point
where it was all I did.
Obsession was so fucking hard to cure.
“I've never seen you in Black Pine before," Max pointed out, pulling me from my thoughts. He
dropped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together beneath his chin.
"I've only been here about three months. I'm still learning my way around."
"Here with family?"
After our earlier discussion, I hesitated to answer that. "My sister, Molina. What about you?"
I made a point of looking over at his friends. They were still laughing and conversing. Every
few seconds, one glanced our way.
"I have one brother and two sisters. My parents don’t live around here,” he answered. "And I've
been staring at you since you walked in the door," he confessed with a sheepish grin.
"I’m sure you have,” I quipped sarcastically.
“I’m serious. You’re beautiful.”
Those two words had long lost their effect unless spoken by a voice that could melt honey. I
still smiled appreciatively and picked up my second round of vodka. Our conversation flowed around
nothing all that important.
A few more drinks may have been added in somewhere, I stopped keeping count. It felt
completely natural to sit and talk with him. That didn’t last long, though. He leaned back again,
running a finger over his bitable lips as he studied me.
"What is it?" I asked, feeling the effects of the alcohol buzzing around in my head.
"You're a gorgeous woman, Rose. But you're sad. I feel it. What happened to you?” He rested
both his elbows on the table. “Tell me your story.”
Suddenly, I wasn't tipsy enough. I couldn’t be that obvious. Were my problems stamped on my
forehead? Maybe they were written across my breasts—his eyes had gone to them more than once
when he thought I was distracted. I always pulled off happy-go-lucky. It's what I’d been taught to do.
“Never let them see who you really are.” Con had drilled that into my head with pleasure and
pain.
Each time I failed, the ways he hurt me became more creative—and addictive. Sitting here
being read so easily made me uncomfortable.
I almost started looking around, expecting Justin to appear with that goddamn grin he borrowed
from the devil. I felt like I was being tested, and that was never a good feeling.
"Well, Maxwell—."
"Max," he interjected.
"Well, Max. That's a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I promise you, I'm fine."
At my bitterly spoken words, his whole demeanor seemed to change before my eyes.
"You shouldn’t make promises you don’t mean." His voice went low, the drawl a little deeper. I
found it oddly seductive, which was completely inappropriate given the context.
Maybe the drinks were doing something, after all. “I think it’s time for me to go, I need fresh
air.” Looking away from him, I began digging through my clutch for money.
 “You don’t need to do that.”
Ignoring him, I tossed enough down to cover my drinks and a tip, even if she didn’t really
deserve one, she had to make a living.
“It was nice to meet you, Max.” I slid from the booth and walked out of the bar. I was nearly at
my car when his voice carried a little way from behind me. I knew he would follow. They always
did, like stray dogs and kittens. You show them a bit of affection or attention and they never left you
alone. I’d lured so many to Constantine that way I lost count.
“What about what you came here for?”
Turning around, I faced him head-on, raising my brows. “I thought you wanted to be friends. I
wouldn’t fuck my friends.”
He walked towards me slowly, the way he moved almost predatory. His eyes held mine. He
was throwing me off my game a little bit. I wasn’t sure if I particularly liked that or not. I crossed my
arms over my chest, watching him move in a little closer. If I told him to throw me down and fuck me
in the dirt, would he do it?
Sadly, he didn’t look the type.
I’d yet to find someone who gave me what he did. I had this debased desire to be utterly
dominated, pinned down, and helpless to do anything but take everything they gave me. I sank my teeth
into my lower lip, picturing Max doing just that. I wasn’t a whore, but I would love for a man to treat
me like one. Especially a man that looked like him—a stranger that looked like him.
“Do you want to fuck me, Max?” I taunted lowly.
“I want to do a lot of things to you,” he responded in the same tone.
He came close enough that I could reach out and just barely touch him. We stood there, staring at
one another, the sexual tension rising by the second. The attraction we so clearly had for one another
was unexplainable.
Stepping forward, so that we were chest to chest, I looked up at him and grinned. “So, what are
you waiting for?”
The question had barely fallen from my lips before he was lifting me up and forcing my legs
around his waist, walking us backward. His mouth found mine right as my ass landed on the cool,
smooth metal of a hood. The liquor on his lips made me want him that much more. The sweet taste
urged me on, adding fuel to an already dangerously raging fire.
I opened my mouth, letting his tongue slip inside mine. He shoved my dress up until it was
bunched around my hips.
His large hands squeezed my thighs, traveling down to my thong. When his fingers glided over
the scars on my inner thigh, he paused.
Before he could ruin the moment and ask what they spelled, I grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling
him flush against me. I swear on everything unholy I almost wept tears when I felt his cock against
me. He’d most certainly been blessed.
Max pulled slightly away from me, making quick work of his slacks. He fished a condom from
his pocket and slipped it on before I had to ask if he had one. My pussy clenched with the need to be
filled. Someone could walk outside or pull up and see us at any given second, and I couldn’t care
less. He gave me a predatory grin, surprising me by flipping me around so that I was bent over the
car.
“Spread your legs and place your hands on the hood.”
I quickly did as he instructed, laying my palms flat against the cool metal.
“Is this okay?” he checked, pulling my underwear to the side, already pressing the bulbous head
of his cock against me.
Why was he asking and not taking? Instead of giving him a response, I reached between my legs
and used two fingers to spread my pussy open for him. “Just fuck me,” I damn near purred like a porn
star.
It didn’t take much foreplay to make me wet when I’d sexually deprived myself for weeks. He
moved back slightly and gripped himself.
“You’re a dirty girl, Rose,” he murmured, holding my hip as he eased himself inside me.
A soft hiss slipped through my lips from the painful pleasure of being stretched, morphing into a
moan when he pulled out and thrust back in.
“Damn,” he groaned, grabbing onto my other hip.
“Harder,” I breathed, pushing back as he came forward.
Something was muttered beneath his breath, and then I was being shoved down. Max gathered
my hair in one hand and forced my head down. He kept my cheek pressed against the hood of the car
as he did exactly as I requested.
His thrusts were hard but measured. He kept a tight reign of control over himself. I thought we
were going to fuck whoever’s car this was out of its parking space with the way we were rocking it
back and forth.
The only thing stopping the people inside Gooskis from hearing my moans was the soft rock
music drowning them out. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, groaning in frustration, struggling to
take him deeper. I wanted him to pull out and fuck my ass without mercy.
I almost begged him to call me dirty again. I wanted to be told how well I took his dick while
he had his hand wrapped around my throat. What I needed him to do was lie like the man I was failing
to forget would. I wanted to be punished again, lied to, and told how good I was when I was nothing
but rotten to the core. I wasn’t a good—not even a little bit—but this had to be enough for the woman
I was trying to become.
So, I let yet another stranger make me come.
 CHAPTER SIX
CONSTANTINE
How could she let strangers touch what belonged to me? In a parking lot of a shitty bar
of all the places. It was a pitiful and painful rendition of what we used to do. The worst
offense of all, was her forgetting how fucking precious she was.
These pieces of shit she let put their hands on her body didn’t deserve to breathe the
same air as she did. My rage was partially subdued by the look on her face and the sounds
she was making. He couldn’t fuck her as well as I did. No one other than me could ever give
my wife what she needed.
What had just happened was proof enough of that. The soft moans pouring from her
mouth should have been unintelligible screams. To the point, he’d either need to gag her or
pull out and shove his dick down her throat.
She should have begged for it to end while simultaneously spreading her legs, eager for
more.
Maxwell needed to grab her hair like he wanted to rip it from her fucking skull. His
hands should have wrapped around her fucking throat until it was bruised and hurt to
swallow for days afterward. She would, though. Rose always swallowed like she was
supposed to, happily letting my come fill her stomach.
If I shut my eye and slowed my breathing, I could allow myself to feel her again.
Pulling my dick out of my jeans, I grabbed the base of it and began to stroke, picturing her
bent over that same car. She was tight, so fucking tight, just like I remembered—like I knew
she would be after all these years. I pumped up and down, hearing her breathy little moans in
my head growing louder and louder.
She liked to leave her mark on my back, digging in until I bled. I pictured her doing just
that, coming like a schoolboy in the front seat of my truck with a quiet grunt.
I stared down at my still semi-hard cock with a frown. It seemed neither of us would
be getting what we wanted tonight. Pulling open the glove box, I cleaned myself up with a
pair of pink underwear I’d taken from her dresser, picturing all the beautiful ways I was
going to punish her for this.
Part of me wanted to snap her goddamn neck—like I had the first girl I ever fucked. I
got tired of her crying every other day and telling me I was a monster. Another part of me
wanted to gut her like a fucking pig and listen to her scream as I slowly pulled her insides
out and showed them to her like I had my sixteenth birthday present.
But that’s what those worthless bitches were meant for. There were dozens of them
throughout the family.
They’d never been special like Roselynn or my mother before her and so on. I would
never hurt her in the way I had them. I was just venting right now. Who wouldn’t? I’d waited
on her for years, and this was how she wanted our reunion to be?
If I didn’t love her so much it physically hurt, I would’ve ended this long ago. I
wouldn’t be following her to the ends of the fucking earth. What else could I do when she
was the reason I breathed? I needed her like the world needed the sun.
I was going to have to remind her why I was perfect for her. Soon enough, she’d
remember why it was she needed me, too. Then, I’d make her get on her knees and beg for
my forgiveness as I’d once done for her.
 Watching my beautiful girl settle for someone else felt like someone kickstarted a
chainsaw inside me, eviscerating what was left of the heart that only beat for her.
She was gone now, taking the long drive home to that shitty house I loathed her living
in. It was better suited for squatters and rats. She’d gotten perceptive over the past few
months, which made me have to be more careful. As of now, she was still none the wiser of
how close I was. She was about to find out. She left me with no choice but for me to get her
attention. I hopped out of my truck and made my way across the parking lot.
I walked into the bar, surveying the room for options. My eyes landed on a woman in
the back corner. She was already visibly intoxicated, making what I was about to do easier,
but not as fun. When her green eyes met mine, she stared for a second before a smile spread
across her face.
Pushing the rim of my ball cap down, I gave Aimee a sly grin and slid into a booth. I
wasn’t going to approach the woman; she would approach me.
Without having to ask, Aimee brought me my usual, then quickly scuttled off.
It was all a waiting game after that. Kinda reminded me of the good old days. Rose
would lure people in by making them think they were going to get lucky and fuck her. She’d
take them to our special place and allow them to get oh-so-close before I came in. She and I
had a lot of fun together.
The look of surprise, anger, and ultimately fear that played out on someone’s face when
they realized they had been set up was priceless, but the real entertainment began after that.
Psychological torture was a beautiful fucking thing. The sex we had after the kills…
was incomparable. I knew she missed that. Right about now she’d be desperate to indulge
the darker proclivities I made her a junkie for.
I remembered the night I ensnared her like it was yesterday. I’d offered my hand, and
she took it. There was no going back after that.
We would be incredible together once she paid her dues. But she had to suffer first. I
was no longer angry about what she’d done to us, but I had to make her understand that her
actions carried consequences.
Watching my first chosen victim rise from her booth and walk towards me, I smiled,
knowing I was that much closer to getting what I came here for.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
ROSELYNN
WITH HIM
All my problems began with the Morettos. A few days ago, it had been Justin. After I offered
the lawn boy a drink, he’d stared him down so severely that we now had uneven edges cut into the
grass. I lied and told Grandpa it was because he accidentally knocked down a hornet’s nest. It didn’t
make much sense, but he still got paid for his job.
Victoria had taken over from there. I hadn’t remembered her being such a persistent bullheaded
girl, but she had been extra determined to become best friends lately. It was to the point she came by
every damn day. My grandfather was over the moon about this new development. He thought they
were ‘good’ girls like me.
Superbad judgment on his end.
Not that I could blame him since he had no idea of what slept beneath his roof. Darionne, on the
other hand, had warned me from the start about the Morettos. In fact, she warned me the very day I set
foot in their house and my life was forever changed.
“There’s something off about that family.”
“Off how?”
“I don’t know. I just always had this gut feeling about them. And you’ve heard what people
say. Be careful, okay?”
I wondered if her feeling was the same one that I’d had when it came to Con. There wasn’t
much I could do about it once Grandpa accepted Vicky’s invitation to a girls’ night on my behalf,
which brought me to the present.
I had tried and epically failed to get out of coming here. Things hadn’t been going too badly
since I’d arrived. I would go as far as to say I was enjoying myself if it weren’t for Julie.
She was the reason I had a cup of Jack Daniels in my hand after promising Grandpa I wouldn’t
drink. We were in the Moretto’ den, playing some good old-fashioned truth or dare, and things were
getting intense. There were four of us together.
Vicky and Julie sat on one side of the coffee table. Molina, a girl from my old PE class with an
uncanny resemblance to Snow White, but with a much better hairstyle, sat beside me on the other side.
I had no idea how she got dragged into this. She was extremely shy and withdrawn, which had me
taking all of Julie’s attention off her and putting it on myself. I didn’t see the fun in screwing with
someone that wouldn’t attempt to fight back or defend themselves.
“Truth or dare, Elizabeth?” Julie slurred in my direction with an ugly keening sound I think was
supposed to be a laugh.
“Her name is, Rose,” Victoria emphasized annoyed on my behalf.
“She reminds me of Eliza. That girl who talks to animals.”
“No, she does not,” Molina muttered.
It took me a second to understand what they were talking about. I would’ve been offended if I
didn’t love the hell out of that show.
This chick was either a mean drunk or a fake sober bitch. She’d been trying to rile me up since
she got tipsy. Every minute sitting here with her, I was happier and happier I didn’t bother trying to
have female friends. Darionne excluded.
“If I’m Eliza, you’re definitely Debbi.”
“Who?”
 “The worthless, bitchy older sister,” I replied cheerfully. “I choose truth, by the way.”
I refused to let the evil wench dare me into a fucked-up situation. Everyone knows you can’t
recant on a dare.
If she told me to drink lighter fluid, I would have to do it. Then, I’d spit it in her face and
happily light her ass on fire.
She grinned wickedly and leaned forward. Too close, the stench of alcohol on her breath blew
right into my face. I tried not to wrinkle my nose. “Is it true you watched your parents die and didn’t
try to save them?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Vicky objected angrily before I could respond.
It was official. Julie was the absolute dumbest c-u-next Tuesday I’d ever had the displeasure of
knowing. A blonde with giant tits and zero brain cells. I stared blankly, waiting for her to realize how
stupid that question was. Of course, she didn’t budge because she wasn’t bright enough to have a
light-bulb moment.
What happened to my parents wasn’t a secret in Ashridge.
This was my father’s hometown and he’d been beloved by many. News of his passing had
spread like wildfire. As for what she was asking…
Did I watch him and my mother die? Not exactly, but I was right there when it happened wishing
I’d been taken with them. It wasn’t an uncommon death by any means. My mother managed to wrap
her Range Rover around a tree, a last-ditch effort to avoid a head-on collision with a drunk driver.
Accidents happened all the time. I knew that. Only everything that could have gone wrong in this
scenario did. Mom’s shoulder restraint didn’t lock up like it was supposed to. She was launched
face-first through the windshield. My father—bless his heart--died on impact. His head took a fatal
hit, and he just slumped in his seat. I remember crying for him to do something, stuck in the backseat,
not yet realizing he was gone.
Three hours.
That’s how long I sat with their dead bodies until a passerby finally noticed us. The other driver
never stopped.
He never came to check on us, and he didn’t get any help. I later found out he died shortly after
that night, so justice was never served. My mother lived through a full thirty minutes of pure agonizing
hell, fading in and out of consciousness.
I could see her blood dribbling down the windshield and tiny bits of glass embedded in her
skin. I tried to comfort her as best I could. I soothed her with lies, for both her benefit and mine,
knowing she wasn’t going to be okay. I’d sat stuck in that seat, doing my best to muffle my sobs as my
heart crumbled in my chest.
I felt those same tears burning behind my eyelids now. What kind of asshole asked a question
like that?
It was so hard living without them that I hardly mentioned their names and it infuriated me when
that’s what people remember them by. Acheron. As if they weren’t individual human beings.
“Please ignore her. She’s a stupid slut.” Vicky reached across the coffee table and squeezed my
hand, a genuine apology in her brown eyes.
“I’ll ask you something different,” Julie followed up in a cheery tone, trying to lighten the mood
with no apology in tow.
“Okay.” I forced a smile, burying the pain like I always did, desperate to move away from the
topic and not completely lose my shit in front of everyone.
When her next question came, I was once again caught off guard. I really should have expected
this one. Vicky had been hinting at it for the last two months and had never received an answer.
“So, Rose,” Julie began, dragging out the syllables in my name. “Do you or don’t you have a
thing for Constantine?”
They all stared at me, eagerly waiting for my answer. Even Molina had lifted her head. I hadn’t
told a soul what he and I had done.
He hadn’t sought me out since then, and his Hummer had been gone for days on end. That didn’t
lessen how I thought or felt. Knowing exactly what it was like to feel his lips against mine and have
his fingers inside me had taken my thoughts of him to new levels. It wasn’t purely sexual.
That night had shown me how easy it was to talk to him; how comfortable he made me feel
without trying. I didn’t feel the need to hide as much, and I’d deduced this in sixty minutes. I never
opened up like that for people. I was careful who I let see me for fear of being ousted or heavily
judged.
No one knew how painfully obsessed I was with him. Even Darionne was under the assumption
it was nothing but a crush.
Shifting on my knees where I knelt on the floor, I gave a simple answer. “He’s cute.”
They all bemoaned my simple response.
“You do better than that,” Julie prompted, leaning towards me with expectancy.
“I answered the question, someone else can go, I need to use the restroom.” I began to stand,
and she gave me a look I couldn’t quite read.
“Before you come back, I dare you to get a kiss from him.”
Victoria placed her head in her hands and slowly shook it back and forth, her long braids
tickling the top of her thighs.
What the hell? “Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, childish? A kiss on the lips?”
Julie shrugged. “It would piss my sister off. She’s been bragging about him for months.”
My brow pinched.
“Julie,” Victoria warned.
“Emily Meadows,” Julie answered, ignoring her.
Well, that was interesting. They didn’t have the same last name so I’d never pieced the
connection together, but now I could totally see their resemblance.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I reiterated, snatching my cell phone from the back of the couch on
my way out of the room.
“I dare you,” she drunkenly sang after me, her voice taking on an annoyingly high pitch.
Wandering out of the family room, my eyes roamed over the photos in the foyer, and I paused to
look at a family portrait.
Darionne had a theory that all the Morettos outside of Constantine and Justin were adopted.
It was obvious there was something like that going on. Vicky was clearly black. Constantine
and Justin were something else, and the small child their mother, who was stunning by the way, was
holding in the portrait looked white as cream. I wasn’t a medical genius or anything, but science
would say that wasn’t how genetics worked.
I walked towards the staircase, slowing outside a glass door that led to some kind of indoor
garden.
It wasn’t overly large but by looking at it I could tell someone took great care to make sure the
plants and flowers were healthy.
There were more roses than anything, eleven different variations of them each in a beautiful
stone planter.
 I wasn’t sure how long I stood and stared at them, my mind wandering in circles.
When Laughter spilled from the family room, I finally moved away from the door and walked
up the steps a few feet away. Music spilled down the long hall from behind Constantine’s door. I
knew exactly which room was his without being guided based on how the house was set up.
With every step I took toward his bedroom, my heart beat a little faster. I wasn’t sure how good
of an idea this was, but I had lied about needing to use the bathroom and I wasn’t ready to go back
into that room with a half-drunken girl.
I slowly raised my fist to knock and then dropped it back down to my side again. My stomach
was doing handstands.
Was I really doing this?
I hadn’t seen him once since being here tonight.
Before I could think about the ramifications my actions could cause—or force myself to care—
the large white door swung open, and I took a step back.
Con’s masculine, woodsy scent, and the aroma of a candle he had lit filtered out of the room and
straight into my lungs. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was seeing him right. He wasn’t
wearing anything but a pair of grey sweats that sat low on his hips.
Holy fuck.
I stared at the sharp V and the toned cuts on his abdomen, taking in every solid bump and line of
his abs. I’d only ever seen him shirtless from a distance.
“Jesus,” I muttered, my eyes flying to meet his.
“Not quite,” he teased with a boyish grin.
Unsure of what to do with my hands, I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes left my face and
slowly traveled over my body.
I was all too aware of my silk pajama shorts and a white tank top that showed my lacy bra
underneath.
“I got a dare,” I explained for lack of better reasoning why I’d been hovering in front of his
door.
“Come here.” He held out his hand. I placed mine within it and let him pull me forward.
His bedroom was much bigger than mine—and impressively clean and organized. There was a
king-sized bed made up of black and red. A painting of two bleeding roses entwined in a thorned
infinity symbol was framed above the arched headboard. A futon sat against a black accent wall, a
long oblong shelf of football trophies above it.
His TV was mounted to my immediate left above a dresser. A black desk was in the rear corner.
His laptop was there, streaming music to the light-up sound bar that flashed through a rainbow
of colors as music played.
Letting go of his hand, I walked further into the room and sat down in his desk chair.
Ignoring his laptop and cell phone, I spun the chair and looked towards a window that faced the
front of the house. He had a clear view right into my bedroom.
All the times I’d walked by my windows in a towel, or not in anything at all played through my
mind. Did he watch me as I watched him? I’d be a liar if I said didn’t want him to see when I lay on
my bed and touched myself imagining it was him.
His phone lit up with an incoming text. I glanced at the name and resisted the urge to throw it out
the window. I looked away not wanting to see any of the text and realizing he never text me.
“Go ahead and read it.” he implored me, moving closer.
I slid him a look. “I don’t want to see your text messages.”
 “Maybe not, but I would rather you see I’m not talking to anyone else than let your imagination
run wild with different scenarios.”
“Why do you do this?” I used my toes to turn the chair towards him. “It doesn’t matter if you’re
talking to someone else, we don’t talk at all. You did that before too. You made it seem like we’re
something we aren’t.”
“I didn’t know you needed it spelled out from me what we are.”
“You’re purposely trying to confuse me. Does this method work for you with other girls? I can’t
imagine it does. Well, then again, I assume half the girls you pursue would dumb themselves down
just to…”
Seeing the look on his face, I let the sentence trail off with an irritated sigh. “I’m glad you find
this so enjoyable.”
“I’m not laughing at you, baby girl. I’m smiling because I love how your mind works. You’re
more than just a pretty face.”
I replayed everything I’d just said and frowned. “I didn’t say anything that wise or intelligent.”
“Every word out of your mouth is intelligent, for the most part.” With a slight shake of his head,
he moved away from the door and came to stand in front of the chair. He placed one hand beside my
head and leaned over me. “And I’m not trying to confuse you. I want you to know what this is and
isn’t.”
I crossed my arms and nudged his leg with my foot. “Okay, enlighten me then.”
His imperceptible stare had goosebumps breaking out up and down my arms.
Without warning, he lowered himself onto the floor. I started and sat taller. “What are you
doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Getting on your knees, but why?”
He grinned and pushed my legs apart, settling his torso between them and placing his hands on
either side of my waist.
My stomach dropped to the floor. He was tall enough that we were practically at eye level.
“Who am I down on my knees for?”
“Me,” I replied softly.
“That’s right. You. Only you, Rosie.”
I slowly placed my hands on his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his warm skin pressed against
my thighs. “For someone that doesn’t date, you’ve got an odd sense of loyalty,” I murmured, using his
own wording against him.
“I don’t date, and neither do you. Dating is for fun, trying to find a partner or something that
leads to marriage. I can have all of that with you.” He trailed his fingers down my thighs, smirking
when my breath audibly caught.
“I think it’s time for us to stop dancing around the inevitable.” He pulled me closer. “I know you
watch me, Rose. I’ve been watching you too. Why do you think I’m so possessive and obsessed with
you? You’ve been mine since long before that first hello.”
His casual confession had blood rushing to my head and my cheeks heating. Outwardly I barely
held my composure, inside I was screaming and crying. I wondered what his watching entailed
exactly. I slid my arms around his neck.
“So, if anyone needs to know, I’m yours and you’re mine. You can shout it from the rooftops. I’ll
put it on every billboard in this town and the next. We can send out flyers.”
I laughed, unable to stop a cheesy grin from spreading across my face. “That would probably be
too much. Grandpa might have a heart attack and I would like for him to be around for a good while
yet.”
His expression slackened, something I was quickly learning was normal for him. His complete
lack of emotion or vitality would scare the hell out of most people. Not me, though. I was finding it to
be more and more attractive. Constantine in general was just too freaking gorgeous, and right now he
was on his knees for me. Que more internal screaming.
When he was quiet for a minute too long after my mentioning Grandpa, I tentatively broached
the subject. “You don’t have a problem with my grandpa, do you? He’s never outwardly mentioned
anything, but he doesn’t talk to me about all the…stuff.”
“No, on the contrary, your family has always been close with mine. But that’s a story for another
time.” He leaned forward and place a kiss on the center of my chest. “And for your peace of mind, I
wasn’t ignoring you until now or avoiding you, I was out of town until a few hours ago.”
“I would have found my way to you tonight if your pretty ass wasn’t already outside my door.”
He pulled me closer, pressing my pussy against his solid abs. “There’s something I need to know,
though.”
“What?”
“Tell me, when you lie on your bed and spread your legs, imagining me between them, how
good do you make it?”
So, he had seen that, at least. I pretended to consider my answer. “The only way it could feel
better is if I got the real thing.”
He grinned and brought a hand to the base of my throat, wrapping his long fingers around it. “Is
that what you want?” He applied the slightest amount of pressure. It didn’t hurt, but the threat was
clear.
“Badly.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“It seems you’ve got a few problems you need help with. Where should I start?” His eyes
locked with mine.
Moving closer, he released my throat and placed his hands on my waist, and then dragged me
out of the chair.
“Hey!” I yelped and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for an impact that never came. At the last
second, he gently lowered me the rest of the way to the floor, laying me on his plush rug. “Why did
you do that?”
“You have a dare, remember?” He replied matter-of-factly, coming down so his body was
positioned over mine.
“I never told you what it was.”
“You didn’t have to; I know everything that goes on in this house.”
I wasn’t going to comment on that. “A kiss doesn’t require me being on my back.”
“This one does.”
Before I could ask what that meant he was flashing me an ornery grin and grabbing the
waistband of my shorts. He dragged them down my legs along with my underwear.
“You need a kiss; I’m going to choose where you get it.”
“Oh, my gosh,” I murmured to myself, staring up at him.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to have the taste of you on my tongue?” He pushed my legs
apart and expelled an appreciative sigh. “Look at that. Even your pussy is pretty as fuck.”
My entire body flushed. He pressed a chaste kiss on my mouth before sliding down my body. He
placed another on one inner thigh, and then the other.
 There was no preamble or hesitation after that. He blew out a soft breath and ran his tongue
from the bottom of my pussy to the top, and gently flicked my clit with his piercing. He moved back
down, and slowly eased his tongue in and out of me, alternating between teasing my clit with soft
flicks.
“God…” I choked, digging my nails into my palms.
Constantine Moretto had his head between my legs.
Was I in heaven, or on my way to hell? He devoured my pussy like he was starving for it. His
appreciative little hums made me wetter than I already was. I sank my teeth into my lower lip,
struggling to hold back the barrage of moans that were making my chest heave.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut. Con knew exactly what he was doing. His tongue
was magical.
I was so wet I could feel arousal running down the backs of my thighs. I was oh-so-close,
dancing right on the edge of what could have been the best orgasm of my life when he stopped and
pulled away. I took a breath and swallowed as I opened my eyes.
He was grinning at me with a glistening face. “I can already tell this is going to be an
addiction.”
Without giving me a chance to think of a response, his fingers replaced his tongue.
He pumped in and out of my cunt, stretching me in a way that I’d never figured out how to do on
my own. I held onto his wrist with one hand, watching him manipulate his digits until I could no
longer hold my head up. I shut my eyes, chasing the orgasm in my head.
“No, you don’t. Look at me, Rose,” he commanded softly, a slight huskiness to his voice.
I opened my eyes, unsure how to feel about what was being reflected back at me from his. Was
it possession? Lust?
Maybe it was both.
With him, it was definitely both.
He curled two fingers and gently rocked them against that sweet pressure he always found
inside me.
I sucked in a ragged breath and tried to scoot away, hardly recognizing my own voice and the
sounds coming from my mouth as I ran from whatever, he was doing.
He followed, pinning me in place with one hand going around my throat. “Let it happen, baby.
Let yourself go.”
He pressed his thumb on my clit and began to roll it, I came within seconds, my hips arching on
their own accord as I cried out and liquid sprayed from my pussy. Con leaned down and caught my
loud moans in his mouth, continuing to work his fingers inside me. I could taste myself on him and
nearly came again from that alone.
Our eyes stayed locked the entire time, amplifying the emotions between us. He continued to
toy with me, forcing another orgasm as he gently rubbed my swollen nub.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and attacked his mouth. I wanted him right then. I wanted
him inside me. As if reading my mind, he scooped me up as if I weighed nothing, and my arms
automatically tightened around his neck.
He transferred me to his bed, sitting me down in the center.
Holding my gaze, he removed my top and bra, leaving me entirely naked. I held his stare until he
stepped back and lowered his sweatpants. I followed the natural cuts of his body, skimming over a
patch of dark curls. The second I saw his cock, my stomach flipped. Then flipped again and my pussy
clenched. It was longer than I envisioned, and the head was…
 Jesus Christ.
The head of his dick was perfectly rounded and thick.
As if none of that was impressive enough, there was a double-sided barbell horizontally
pierced through his tip.
“Didn’t that hurt?” I asked breathlessly.
“It was worth it. You’re about to find out why.” The seductive promise in his words had me
clenching my thighs.
I stared at his cock until he laughed l and came forward, climbing back onto the bed. His eyes
swept over me, slowly. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t see.
“You’re insanely beautiful, Rose,” he implored, his voice rough.
“So are you.”
He ran his hands up the back of my legs. When he reached my thighs, he spread them apart and
positioned himself further between them. The head of his cock brushed against me. I sucked in a quiet
breath and took his face in my hands, allowing myself the liberty of tracing over his jawline.
He lowered his mouth and gently brushed his lips over mine.
“You want me?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He slipped a hand between our bodies. “There’s no going back.” Fingers eased inside me,
eliciting a low moan. “Let me be yours, Rose, and you’ll be my last.”
I let my hands glide down to his shoulders and stared into his eyes, letting him see I wasn’t
going to change my mind. The others could come banging on his door right now and it still wouldn’t
be enough for me to stop what was about to happen.
He sighed and brushed a kiss over my brow. “You’re spreading your legs for a monster that
wants to ruin you in every possible way, until the only thing you know, is me.”
His words had a trigger effect, and the sick side of my mind rejoiced at hearing them.
He pulled his fingers out of me and draped one of my legs over his forearm, smearing arousal
onto my skin.
“Please.”
“You never have to beg for it.” With a devious grin, he thrust inside me on my next breath. He
cursed and pulled out, pushing back in, going deeper.
I dug my nails into his back, feeling every inch of his cock and that piercing as my pussy
adjusted to the sheer size of what was inside it.
I thought he’d be rough, but his movements were so slow and tender, it hurt. He pulled all the
way out, just to slowly push back in again, burying himself to the hilt.
“Fuck, Rose. You feel like heaven,” Con groaned, digging his fingers into my flesh hard enough
to bruise.
“Rose?” Vicky’s concerned voice carried down the hall from the bottom of the stairs.
“Don’t stop,” I moaned, running my hands down his back to grip his firm ass and pull him
deeper.
“Never worry about that. You’re not leaving my bed anytime soon.”
He pinned my hands above my head. with one of his, sliding the other back between my legs.
He fucked me harder, maintaining the same rhythm, slowly pushing me towards a mind-blowing
precipice. He readjusted his hips and began to stroke that same sweet spot inside me he had with his
fingers, simultaneously rubbing my clit. My walls tightened around his cock, arousal drenching both
of us. I could feel the barbell with each thrust.
 Vicky’s voice got louder as she approached his door. “What are you…?”
She trailed off and went silent, undeniably knowing exactly what we were doing.
The noises coming from my mouth, his small groans of pleasure, and the rocking of his bed said
it all.
“Call for me,” Constantine urged, increasing his tempo.
It took effort for me to articulate a reply and what came out was a breathless objection.
“No?” He gripped both my legs and lifted them over his shoulders. “I’m not giving you a
choice.”
My mouth parted as cries of pure euphoria built one after the other. He drove into me, riding my
body harder and faster. The position he had me in allowed him to go deeper until he was fully seated
inside me. I began to scream his name, begging him not to stop.
A numbness skirted down my spine, and then white-hot pleasure shot through my veins.
My toes curled and I dug my nails into his back, unable to do anything as he fucked me through
the rolling tides of my climax.
“There you go, you take my dick so good,” he praised, dusting kisses along my jawline to up my
ear.
“This is so wrong,” I complained weakly with another moan.
“That’s exactly why we’re never going to stop.”
He lowered my trembling legs and slowed his pace, thrusting slow and hard until a low growl
spilled from his throat. He buried himself fully as he came, pushing me into another orgasm. I buried
my face against his sweaty shoulder and muffled my scream.
We lay there afterward entwined together, me struggling to catch my breath, and trembling,
trying to come back to earth and him pressing soft kisses to the top of my head.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“You’re fucking amazing,” I rasped, sighing happily.
He chuckled. “I was going to say that to you.”
“Um, that thing you did…”
“Making you squirt? You’re welcome.”
“I’m taking my compliments back.”
He ran a hand through my hair and toyed with the ends. “You’ll do it again. Next time on my
dick.”
My face warmed, his promise going straight to my core. Was this what normal sex felt like? If
so, I needed more. Every single day. When he finally pulled out of me, I immediately wanted to drag
him back in.
It wasn’t until he stood up that the first pangs of soreness struck.
“Stay like that,” he commanded softly, disappearing into the attached bathroom.
I didn’t want to move, anyways.
The sink turned on for a few seconds and then Con returned with a damp rag, unashamedly
naked. But then, why would he be? Even without being fully hard, his cock was nothing to sneer at
and he looked like a GQ model.
When he placed a hand on my knee and went to press the washcloth between my legs, I sat up
and grabbed his wrist.
“You don’t need to do this part.”
“Yes, I do.” He shook me off with a hardened stare. “I’ll always take care of you, especially
when you’re hurting.”
 He pressed the warm rag against my pussy, and I didn’t try to stop him.
“It doesn’t feel that bad yet,” I said softly.
“There will be times you won’t be able to do anything but lay there afterward.”
I didn’t have words. He had more to give than what he just did? I could see this becoming a
problem. What did he call it?
An addiction.
He finished cleaning me up and then grabbed his sweatpants off the floor before going back into
the bathroom.
Hearing laughter from downstairs, I sighed and scooted across the bed to get away from the wet
spot. I wondered what they were thinking of me now. I honestly didn’t care too much.
As Con cleaned himself up, I leaned against his headboard and found my gaze drifting back
toward his window. He had a better view into my room than I did his.
“I should have this painted; you exactly like this.”
I jumped and turned my head to find him now leaning against the bathroom doorway looking
way too good with his dark hair sexily messed, watching me intently, as if studying me.
“Like one of those French girls?” I questioned with a fake accent to break his serious hold on
me.
He laughed—fully—and the sound went straight to my heart. “Keep it up, smartass.”
I went to tuck some of my hair behind my ear and cringed at how messy it felt. “I probably look
more like Donnie Thornberry now.”
“Who the fuck is Donnie?”
I held back my laughter. The look on his face told me that would’ve been a bad idea. I cleared
my throat to try and expel some of the hoarseness. “No one, a cartoon character.”
I noted the way he instantly seemed to lose tension in his shoulders. Hm.
“You look as pretty as you always do. Prettier, actually. You’ve got a freshly fucked glow.”
I shook my head and laughed. “No thanks to you.”
He shoved off the doorway and came to sit beside me on the bed.
Taking my hand in his, I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to say.
“Julie brought up Sia and Zade.”
Hearing him say my parents’ names so casually shocked me speechless. While I was aware his
family had known mine, I didn’t know it was well enough to use my mother’s nickname.
Constantine did have five years on me, so I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for him
to be fully immersed in the Moretto dealings. I’d never been interested in any of this stuff. I still
wasn’t enthusiastic to learn.
I didn’t fear much, but the image I had of my family would no doubt be altered if I went digging
through their history. If he and I were going to be together in any capacity I probably needed to know
some things. I wasn’t ready for that right now.
“She made it seem like I could have helped them and instead just let them die. I would have
traded places with them in a heartbeat.” I looked away from him, as even saying those words made
me want to cry. I didn’t realize I’d started rubbing my chest until he gently took hold of my hand again.
“You’re here for a reason.” He kissed the back of my hand and stood up. “I’ll handle her.”
“What do you mean?” I followed him with my eyes as he went to his dresser.
He pulled open a center drawer and pulled out two shirts. “She purposely tried to hurt you and
pushed for a reaction; I’m going to give her one.”
“She told me Emily is her sister.”
Another random document with
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 Indische Gefangene auf dem Weg nach Demir-kapu.

Fünfundzwanzigstes Kapitel.
Über Mardin zurück nach Aleppo.

M it meinem Besuche Ninives war der erste Teil meiner

diesmaligen Reise abgeschlossen. Der zweite, über den ich in
einem besonderen Buche berichten werde, sollte in Jerusalem
seinen Höhepunkt finden. Der einfachste Weg dorthin ging über die
türkische Etappenstraße Nesibin-Ras-el-Ain zurück nach Aleppo.
Begangene Pfade aber haben mich nie gereizt. Um so verlockender
erschien mir der Versuch, das Zweistromland Dschesire und die
syrische Wüste zu durchkreuzen und so Palästina zu erreichen.
Ohne starken Schutz wäre dieser Weg aber sehr unsicher
gewesen. In diesem Teil des Dschesire haben die Schammar-Araber
mehrere ihrer Sommerlager, und sie pflegen mit hergelaufenen
Reisenden nicht viel Federlesens zu machen. Dennoch schien sich
mein Wunsch erfüllen zu wollen, denn der Stammhäuptling der
Schammar-Araber, der mächtige Homedi, war dem deutschen
Konsul Holstein in Mosul, in dessen Haus ich verkehrte, sehr
ergeben. Homedi hatte eben jetzt sein Hauptquartier bei der alten
arabischen Stadt Hatra, 90 Kilometer südwestlich von Mosul, und
der Konsul erbot sich, ihn rufen zu lassen und mich seinem
mächtigen Schutze anzuvertrauen. Er sollte mich unter starker
Beduinenbedeckung durch die Wüste geleiten lassen.
Schon waren die Kamele für diese Wanderung bestellt und alles
reisefertig, als sich unübersteigliche Hindernisse meinem Plan
entgegenstellten. Bis Hatra, erklärten Homedis Vertreter in Mosul,
könne ich ohne Schwierigkeit kommen, da sich an mehreren Stellen
dieses Weges Trinkwasser finde. Von da bis Der-es-Sor am Euphrat,
auf einer Strecke von 240 Kilometern, gebe es nur zwei Quellen mit
salzhaltigem Wasser, das zur Not auch trinkbar sei. In diesem
Sommer aber seien beide Quellen, wie die ganze Gegend, derartig
von Heuschrecken überschwemmt, daß sich statt des Wassers nur
ein Brei toter Insekten finde, und nicht einmal die Beduinen diesen
Weg zu benutzen wagten.
So blieb mir nichts anderes übrig, als mich mit der 320 Kilometer
langen Etappenstraße zu bescheiden. Professor Tafel, der den
Auftrag erhalten hatte, die Euphratufer zu vermessen, schloß sich
mir an, und Konsul Holstein hatte mir noch zwei Deutschrussen
zugeführt, die bei Kriegsbeginn in Kaukasien interniert, aber von dort
geflüchtet waren und unter fabelhaften Abenteuern vor einem Monat
Mosul erreicht hatten. Sie wollten nach Deutschland zurück, um ins
Heer einzutreten, und da ich in meinen beiden Wagen, einer
herrlichen, uralten, vierspännigen Karosse, die mir Dr. Jaromylek
verschafft hatte, und einem Lastfuhrwerk Platz genug hatte, ließ ich
mir diese Begleitung gerne gefallen.
 Am 20. Juni verabschiedete ich mich von dem Herzog und
seinem Gefolge, das sich um Major Gravenstein, Hauptmann von
Stülpnagel, Graf Kanitz, den Archäologen Dr. Herzfeld und etliche
Offiziere vermehrt hatte, und beim nächsten Morgengrauen brachen
wir von Mosul auf. Tafel und ich fuhren in meiner Droschke; dann
folgten unsere drei Lastwagen mit Gepäck und Besatzung, und
schließlich auf arabischen Pferden unsre asiatische Begleitung,
darunter mein Diener Sale und zwei Gendarmen, die für unsere
Sicherheit haften sollten. Denn noch vor zwei Tagen waren auf
unserm Wege türkische Offiziere aus einem Hinterhalt von
Schammar-Arabern angeschossen worden. Ein deutscher Arzt, der
zum Stabe des Herzogs stoßen sollte und desselben Weges kam,
hatte sich der Verwundeten angenommen. Ähnliche Überfälle, noch
dazu am hellichten Tage, waren nichts Seltenes. Die Türken hatten
also auf dieser Etappenstraße, der zukünftigen Linie der
Bagdadbahn, durch die Unzuverlässigkeit der Araber mit mancherlei
Schwierigkeiten zu kämpfen. Die deutsche Uniform und besonders
der große weiße Tropenhelm galten übrigens als der wirksamste
Schutz gegen derlei Überraschungen.
Schon hinter der ersten Gendarmeriestation, dem Dorfe
Humedad, ertönte denn auch vor uns plötzlich ein Schuß. Die
Wagenkolonne blieb stehen, Tafel warf sich auf eines seiner Pferde
und ritt mit den Gendarmen den verdächtigen Gestalten entgegen,
die sich vor uns zeigten. Es war aber nichts als eine harmlose
Mauleselkarawane, und ihre Begleiter hatten nur deshalb
geschossen, um uns, falls w i r etwa Straßenräuber seien, darauf
aufmerksam zu machen, daß sie nicht ohne Waffen seien.
 Halil, Araber in Amuda.
Als wir in der folgenden Nacht am Bache bei Högna rasteten,
wurden wir durch Pferdegetrappel, rasselnde Wagen und deutsche
Kommandorufe aus dem Schlafe geweckt. Eine Geschützbatterie
zog heran, ihr folgten eine Trainkolonne und eine Karawane von 600
Lastkamelen. Der Batterieführer ließ in unserer Nähe biwakieren, an
demselben Bache, in dem einst die Reiter des Parmenion ihre
Pferde tränkten. Die Soldaten trugen leichte, feldgraue Uniformen
und unter dem Tropenhelm ein herabhängendes Tuch, das Nacken
und Hals schützte. Auch eine Mauleselkarawane unter Leutnant
Erdmann, die von Mosul nach Aleppo zog, fand sich hier ein. Der
Weg nahm immer mehr den Charakter einer Etappenstraße an.
Deutsche und türkische Truppenabteilungen zogen nach Osten an
uns vorüber, gefallene Lasttiere lagen am Wege, und bei Auenat war
ein ganzes Zeltlager deutscher Offiziere emporgewachsen.

Deutsche Truppenabteilung in der Wüste.

Auenat liegt am Rande der Wüste, und die nächsten 55
Kilometer mußten in schnellster Fahrt ohne Aufenthalt zurückgelegt
werden, da die Schammar-Araber diese Gegend unsicher machten.
Unsere Gendarmen hatten uns verlassen, und neue hatten wir nicht
auftreiben können; dafür hatte sich Leutnant Erdmann mit seinen
vier Burschen und seinen Mauleseln uns angeschlossen. Die
elfstündige Fahrt verlief aber ohne jeden Zwischenfall. Wir
begegneten nur einer großen deutschen Karawane und überholten
eine kleine türkische, der wir nicht wenig Angst einjagten; außerdem
sahen wir nur Züge englischer und indischer Gefangenen, die sich
mühsam vorwärtsschleppten; wer zusammenbrach, blieb rettungslos
liegen. Zwei Inder hatte dies Schicksal ereilt, ihre Leichen lagen an
der Straße. Im Westnordwesten loderte ein Steppenbrand wie ein
Fackelzug durch die Nacht.
 Die deutsche Fahrkolonne bricht von Auenat auf.

Türkische Kamele bei Auenat.

Am Morgen war die Gefahrzone überwunden, und wir hielten am
Ufer eines lieblichen Baches, der das Tal von Demir-kapu (d. h.
Eisentor) durchrieselt, eine wohlverdiente Rast. Hier war ein Nokta,
ein Gendarmerieposten bzw. eine Garnison; ein paar Hütten standen
neben etlichen Feldern, auf denen Melonen und Gurken gezogen
wurden. Der Bach wimmelte von Fischen, und zahme Enten
schwammen darauf. An einem Hügel lagerten türkische Truppen, in
ihrer Nähe englische Gefangene, und am Abend ratterte eine
Kolonne von vierzig deutschen Lastautomobilen auf dem Wege nach
Bagdad an uns vorüber.
Am andern Morgen, dem Sonnwendtag, waren wir lange vor
Sonnenaufgang schon auf dem Marsche und erreichten am Mittag
Nesibin, wo wir unter üppigen Bäumen am Ufer eines Armes des
Dschardschar, der ein Nebenfluß des Chabur ist, ein erfrischendes
Bad nahmen und den Rest des Tages bei 38,6 Grad Hitze
ausruhten. Die Basare waren des Sabbaths wegen geschlossen,
denn der ganze Handel liegt in den Händen der Juden, und keine
Gurke war aufzutreiben. Obendrein hatten die vorüberziehenden
Gefangenen alles aufgekauft, so daß sich auf dem ganzen Wege ein
Mangel an Lebensmitteln bemerkbar machte.
Imastuhi Manukian, 25jährige Armenierin aus
Trapezunt.
 Inder tragen trockenes Holz in ihr Lager.
Am 25. Juni brachen wir beim ersten Vogelzwitschern wieder auf
und rollten durch die Dorfstraße, wo die Jüdinnen ihre Wasserkrüge
aus einem schmutzigen Kanal füllten, weiter nach Westen. Die
aufgehende Sonne beleuchtete wirkungsvoll die Ostfront der großen
alten Festung Nesibin mit ihren Fenstern und Schießscharten in der
viereckigen Mauer. Dann folgte Dorf auf Dorf. In Kasr Serdsche-han
stand eine Schar eben ausgehobener kurdischer Rekruten unter
Bewachung einiger türkischer Feldwebel, und eine alte Frau weinte
und zankte mörderlich, weil ihr Sohn zu den Ausgehobenen gehörte.
In Amuda mußten wir einen Tag und eine Nacht verweilen, weil
Professor Tafel am Fieber erkrankt war. Das Dorf hatte, wie diese
ganze Gegend, kurdische Bevölkerung; der Bürgermeister war
trotzdem ein alter Araber, in dessen Haus eine junge Armenierin
diente, die man aus Trapezunt fortgeschleppt hatte. Sie bat uns
inständig, sie aus dem harten Dienst zu befreien und mit nach
Europa zu nehmen. Es war uns natürlich unmöglich, ihren Wunsch
zu erfüllen.
 Indische Zelte bei Diger.
Am 26. erreichten wir das wohlbekannte Bir-dava, wo ich drei
Monate vorher die trostlosen Regentage verbracht hatte. Von hier
aus machte ich einen Abstecher nach Mardin, der überaus
malerischen Felsenstadt, deren Häuser und Minarette wie
Schwalbennester an den Abhängen des Gebirges im Norden
hängen. Aus dem flachen, eintönigen Tiefland Mesopotamiens
wieder einmal in eine Berglandschaft mit wilden Formen und immer
wechselnden Ausblicken emporzusteigen, war ein köstlicher Genuß.
Die Stadt mit ihren 30000 Einwohnern liegt 930 Meter hoch, und
über ihr auf dem senkrechten Gipfel des Kalksteinberges erhebt sich
in 1300 Meter Höhe die Ruine der alten Festung.
 Nesibin.
Durch das neue schöne Stadttor führte eine gewundene, glatt
gepflasterte Straße so steil empor, daß immer wieder Steine unter
die Hinterräder meiner Karosse geschoben werden mußten, um
deren Zurückrollen zu verhindern, und auch die horizontaler
gelegene Basarstraße, die Hauptverkehrsader der Stadt, war so
eng, daß mein Wagen nicht einmal in den Hof eines Hans einbiegen
konnte, sondern draußen stehen bleiben mußte. Ein alter türkischer
Veteran in verschlissener Uniform führte mich zum Mutessarrif zur
Durchsicht meiner Papiere und dann in ein Kavekhane, ein
gewaltiges, auf acht Säulen ruhendes Gewölbe, das von braunen
Orientalen dicht besetzt war. Es waren Flüchtlinge aus Erserum,
Trapezunt, Wan und Bitlis; sie rauchten ihre Pfeifen oder Zigaretten,
spielten Karte, nippten an ihren Tee- oder Wassergläsern und
vertrieben sich so in ansprechender Nüchternheit die Zeit. Im kühlen
Schatten genoß man durch die Fenster und von einem Altan aus die
herrlichste Aussicht auf die mesopotamische Ebene; dort war unsere
Straße nach Nesibin, die wir eben gekommen waren, hier die nach
Tell-Ermen, die ich am Abend einschlagen sollte. Zu essen aber gab
es hier nichts; dazu mußte ich eine andere Gastwirtschaft
aufsuchen, die hauptsächlich von türkischen Offizieren und Beamten
besucht wurde. Hier gab es Dolma (gehacktes Fleisch in
Kohlblättern), Joghurt und Brot. Im übrigen waren die Basarläden
ausverkauft; die nach Kaukasien ziehenden Soldaten hatten alles
Eßbare mitgenommen.

Vodsa, 12jähriges kurdisches Mädchen in Amuda.

Die Kalksteinkette, auf der Mardin liegt, gehört zum
Gebirgssystem Tur-Abdin und fällt nach Norden so steil ab, daß die
Gassen der amphitheatralisch gebauten Stadt in die blaue Luft
hineinzuführen scheinen; man muß bis an den Rand hintreten, um
sich zu überzeugen, daß die Erde dort nicht aufhört, sondern sich in
der Tiefe noch festes Land befindet. Der Weg zu der ursprünglich
römischen Festung hinauf ist herrlich. Die ganze Stadt mit ihren
viereckigen Häusern und Höfen, ihren schmalen Gassen, ihren
Moscheen und spitzen Minaretten liegt wie auf einer Karte
ausgebreitet da; die Abhänge fallen ohne hügelige Übergänge jäh
zur Ebene hin ab. Der Aufstieg zur Festung führt an hohen
Felswänden, Klüften und Grotten vorüber und endet in einer in den
Fels gehauenen steilen Treppe.
Am Rande des ganz ebenen Berggipfels standen einige alte
Kanonen, die ihre Schlünde schützend über die Stadt richteten. In
den Ruinen der alten Festungsmauern und -türme war ein
Lagerplatz kurdischer Deserteure; durch die Straßen der Stadt dort
unten zog eben wieder eine neue Schar solcher Memmen herauf;
niedergeschlagen waren sie nicht, denn ihr lauter Gesang hallte in
den Bergen wider. Im Norden öffnete sich ein breites Tal, durch das
die Straße nach Diarbekr führt, zwei Tagereisen nach Nordnordwest.
Die nächsten Gebirgskämme erschienen höher als der von Mardin.
Dahinter war das Land ganz flach; nur in größerer Entfernung hoben
sich die blauen Farbentöne weiterer Berge ab. Der südliche Abhang
des Bergrückens von Mardin war mit Obstbäumen bewachsen; dort
gediehen Äpfel, Birnen, Walnüsse, Mandeln, Granatäpfel und auch
Wein; doch herrschte der graue Kalkstein mit seiner einförmigen
Öde vor.
Im westlichen Stadtteil besuchte ich einige syrische Steinhäuser
mit ihren kleinen, schattigen Höfen, auf denen Frauen und Kinder
unter schattigen Arkaden sich aufhielten. An der syrischen Kirche
empfingen mich mehrere graubärtige Priester in schwarzen
Turbanen und schwarzen Mänteln und einige Brüder in schwarzen
Schleiern mit silbernen Kreuzen auf der Stirn führten mich umher.
Ein Teil der Kirche war jetzt als Krankenhaus eingerichtet. Mardin hat
auch chaldäische und armenisch-katholische Kirchen und Klöster;
anderthalb Stunden östlich liegt zwischen Hügeln das im Jahre 1900
erbaute Kloster Der-es-Saferan. Mehr als die Hälfte der Einwohner
von Mardin sind Christen, die übrigen Mohammedaner und Kurden.
Der griechisch-unierte Patriarch hat hier seine Residenz; auch hat
Mardin eine römisch-katholische und eine amerikanische
Missionsstation. Der letzteren, die im äußersten Westen der Stadt
liegt und kürzlich den fünfzigsten Jahrestag ihrer Gründung feiern
konnte, stattete ich einen Besuch ab und traf dort einige
liebenswürdige Amerikanerinnen, Frau Dewey und ihre Tochter und
Fräulein Graf. Einer der Missionare lag krank darnieder; er hatte
nicht weniger als neununddreißig Jahre hier zugebracht, was bei
aller entzückenden malerischen Schönheit dieses Felsennestes
doch zum Verzweifeln sein muß.

Moschee in Mardin.

Die Rückfahrt gestaltete sich ein wenig dramatisch. Auf der

steilen Straße geriet meine Karosse ins Rollen, die Bremse
versagte, die beiden Pferde glitten aus, eines stürzte, und die
Deichsel stieß gegen eine Mauer und zersprang wie Glas. Eine neue
Deichsel war nicht aufzutreiben, die alte mußte daher bei einem
Schmied im Basar notdürftig geflickt werden. Bis sie fertig war,
schrieb ich in meinem Wagen mein Tagebuch, wobei mir eine Schar
von Jungen und Erwachsenen neugierig zusah. Darüber brach der
Abend herein.
Endlich kam der Gendarm, den mir der Mutessarrif mitgegeben
hatte, mit der Deichsel an, und wir fuhren langsam weiter. Zwei
Pferde hatte ich mit einem kleinen Stallburschen bis zur ersten
Wegbiegung vorausgesandt. Aber als wir jetzt dort anlangten, war
der Junge nicht zu finden. Sale mußte auf dem Pferd des
Gendarmen in die Stadt hinauf zurückreiten, entdeckte aber auch
dort nichts von dem Flüchtling. Unterdes setzte ich meine Fahrt nach
abwärts unter großer Vorsicht fort, jeden Augenblick bereit, aus dem
Wagen zu springen, wenn in dem zunehmenden Dunkel die Pferde
auf der abschüssigen und gewundenen Straße einem Abhang
zustrebten. Ich atmete auf, als wir endlich wieder glücklich in der
Ebene waren.
Bei stockfinstrer Nacht erreichten wir das Dorf Gulli, wo das
wahnsinnige Gekläff der Hunde die ganze Bewohnerschaft munter
machte. Hier rasteten wir drei Stunden. Dann ging es weiter nach
Charabilme, wo die Deichsel abermals in Stücke ging und die Pferde
in die Seiten stieß. Diese wurden scheu und stürmten in die Steppe
hinaus. Sale sprang vom Wagen und blieb wie tot liegen. Als der
Kutscher endlich die Tiere zum Stehen brachte, eilten wir zu dem
Verunglückten zurück und fanden ihn, zwar mit geschundener Stirn
und blutenden Knien, aber sonst unverletzt. Nun flickten wir die
Deichsel so gut es ging zusammen, und der Kutscher führte die
Pferde am Zügel. Darüber wurde es Tag, und um ½5 Uhr langten wir
endlich in Tell-Ermen an.
Nach langem Suchen fand ich dort meine Reisekameraden Tafel
und Erdmann. An sofortigen Aufbruch war aber nicht zu denken.
Professor Tafel hatte sich noch nicht erholt, einer der Kutscher war
ebenfalls erkrankt, und ein glühend heißer Sturm, der die
Temperatur auf über 40 Grad erhöhte und unser kleines Zeltlager
unter erstickenden Staub- und Sandwolken begrub, erweckte die
größte Besorgnis für das Schicksal der Patienten. Obendrein fehlte
noch immer der Stalljunge mit den beiden Pferden, und eines
unserer Reitpferde schwebte ebenfalls zwischen Tod und Leben.
Zwei Mann mußten nochmals nach Mardin zurückreiten, um die
ersteren zu suchen. Ohne eine Spur von ihnen entdeckt zu haben,
kehrten sie zurück. Aber fast gleichzeitig mit ihnen traf auch der
Vermißte bei uns ein; er hatte sich schon in Mardin verirrt und sich
am Morgen einigen Syriern angeschlossen, die nach Tell-Ermen
fuhren. Es war eine Leistung von dem zehnjährigen Bengel, mitten
durch die überall auftauchenden Soldaten, die alles requirierten, was
sich an Pferden und Wagen fand, seine beiden Gäule ohne
Beschlagnahme durchzubringen, und statt der Schelte, die er wohl
erwartet hatte, empfing ihn ein tüchtiges Frühstück als Lohn für
seine Gewandtheit.

Sale in Aleppo.
Am Abend stellte sich glücklicherweise Regen ein, und am
Morgen des 28. Junis war die Temperatur auf 20,1 Grad gefallen, so
daß uns die „Kälte“ durch Mark und Bein ging. Sie erfrischte aber die
Kranken, so daß wir unsere Fahrt auf der jetzt vortrefflichen Straße
fortsetzen konnten. Starke türkische Truppenabteilungen,
Trainkolonnen und Kamelkarawanen zogen an uns vorbei oder
rasteten am Wege. Auch englische und indische Gefangene waren
wieder auf dem Marsche; sie mochten Gott danken, daß sie
glücklich bis in die Nähe der Eisenbahn gelangt waren. Über die
beiden Arme des Dschirdschib führten jetzt feste Brücken, und an
der Fortsetzung der Bagdadbahn nach Osten wurde mit Hochdruck
gearbeitet.
Am Nachmittag erreichten wir glücklich Ras-el-Ain, wo uns der
Etappenkommandant Dr. Reuther, der bekannte Archäologe,
begrüßte. In seiner und seiner Gäste Gesellschaft verbrachten wir
den letzten gemeinsamen Abend, den ein gewaltiger Steppenbrand
im ganzen Umkreis von Ras-el-Ain denkwürdig machte.
Am nächsten Morgen brachte mich der Frühzug quer durch die
schon bekannten öden Flächen, auf denen noch immer die Schafe in
der Sonnenglut weideten und die Nomaden in ihren schwarzen
Zelten hausten, wieder zurück nach Aleppo.
Phot.: Koldewey.
Assarhaddon-Ziegel von Esagila.

Sechsundzwanzigstes Kapitel.
Assyrien und Babylonien.
 ie Schilderung meiner Fahrt durch Mesopotamien wäre unvollständig
D ohne eine kurze Übersicht über die Geschichte dieses Landes.
Die ältesten Urkunden und Kulturreste Babyloniens stammen aus
dem Anfang des 3. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Verglichen mit den alten
Denkmälern Ägyptens sind sie ärmlich. Das erklärt sich, wie Eduard
Meyer gezeigt hat, aus der Natur des Landes. Das einzige vorhandene
Baumaterial waren Lehm und die daraus gefertigten Ziegel. Steine
dagegen fehlten. Anders in Assyrien, das den Nordteil Mesopotamiens
umfaßte und zum Teil Gebirgsland war. Obgleich seine Kultur auf
babylonischer Grundlage ruht, sind seine erhaltenen Altertümer
mannigfaltig, da Gestein zur Hand war. Die Paläste wurden mit
Alabasterplatten und Reliefbildern geschmückt, und die Könige ließen
ihre Annalen auf Steinzylinder und -prismen aufzeichnen. Außerdem
haben, wie Meyer[2] hervorhebt, die Ruinen der assyrischen Städte
Assur, Kalach, Ninive, Dur Sargon, nachdem sie 606 v. Chr.
systematisch zerstört worden waren, zum größten Teil unberührt bis in
unsre Zeit unter der Erde gelegen, während die babylonischen Städte
im Lauf der Jahrhunderte mehrfach von Elamiten und Assyriern
geplündert wurden. Das historische Material über Assyrien ist daher viel
reichhaltiger. Besonders gut kennen wir das Zeitalter der großen
Eroberer Assurnasirpal (884–860), Salmanassar II. (860–824), Tiglat-
Pileser IV. (745–727) und Assurbanipal oder Sardanapal (668–626).
Diese Glanzperiode zwischen dem 9. und 7. Jahrhundert liegt viel klarer
vor uns, als die Geschichte irgendeines andern orientalischen Reiches
vor den Persern. Aus der Geschichte Babyloniens sind lange nicht so
viele Dokumente erhalten, besonders zwischen 1926 und 745 klafft eine
große Lücke. Auch die Königsannalen des neubabylonischen oder
chaldäischen Reiches können sich in keiner Weise mit denen der
großen Assyrier messen, wenn auch manche Urkunden von
Nebukadnezar (604–561) und Naboned (556–539) vorhanden sind, die
sich jedoch, wie wir bereits sahen, sehr wenig mit der äußeren
Geschichte des Landes beschäftigen. Aber die Städte Babyloniens
hatten länger Bestand und traten nach der Perserzeit in engere
Verbindung mit den Griechen. Deshalb waren die griechischen
Geschichtschreiber, vor allem Herodot, über Babylonien viel besser
unterrichtet als über Assyrien. Das babylonische Tiefland war auch in
geographischer wie in historischer Beziehung der Schwerpunkt der
ganzen Welt, die vom Taurus und vom Zagros begrenzt wird. Von hier
strahlte die Kultur nach allen Richtungen aus. Ich erwähnte schon, daß
Xenophon über die Ruinen Ninives zog, ohne zu wissen, was sie
bedeuteten; man erzählte ihm, es seien Überreste medischer Städte,
die der Himmelsgott durch ein Wunder in die Hand der Perserkönige
gegeben habe. Tatsächlich war das assyrische Reich mitsamt seinem
Volk in einer großen Katastrophe verschwunden und lebte nur noch in
der Sage weiter.

[2] Ich benutzte für diese Darstellung ausschließlich folgende

Arbeiten: Eduard Meyer, „Geschichte des Altertums“, 1913; C.
Bezold, „Ninive und Babylon“, 1909; C. Bezold in Pflugk-Harttungs
Weltgeschichte (schwedische Ausgabe von Hildebrand und Hjärne);
Oscar Montelius, „Die älteren Kulturperioden im Orient“ (noch nicht
erschienen, aber vom Verfasser mir in der Korrektur freundlichst zur
Verfügung gestellt); K. V. Zettersten, „De semitiska språken“, 1914;
Harald Hjärne in Wallis’ „Weltgeschichte“, 1875; Johannes Kolmodin
in „Antikvarisk Tidskrift för Sverige“, 1916.

Das assyrische Reich wuchs aus der Stadt Assur hervor. Seine
älteste Bevölkerung stammte aus Kleinasien. Das beweisen die Namen
der Könige, die die ersten Tempel und Stadtmauern bauten. Der Name
der Stadt, des Volkes und seines Gottes war derselbe. Im 1. Buch
Moses, Kapitel 10, Vers 22, führt ihn auch derjenige von Sems Söhnen,
der der Stammvater der Assyrier war: „Sems Söhne waren Elam, Assur,
Arpaksad, Lud und Aram.“ Die ältesten Herrscher Assurs waren
jedenfalls Vasallen der Könige von Sumer und Akkad. In Akkad
gründete im Jahre 2225 v. Chr. der Amoriterhäuptling Sumuabu das
Reich Babel, das sich unter Sumulailu (2211–2176) zum bedeutendsten
unter allen Reichen Akkads entwickelte. Sumulailu baute Kanäle,
Mauern, Tempel und einen goldenen Thron für Marduk, den Stadtgott
von Babylon, und galt bei seinen Nachfolgern als der eigentliche
Gründer Babyloniens und als Stammvater der Dynastie. Der sechste
König dieser Dynastie, Hammurabi (2123–2081), führte Krieg mit Elam
und Ur, unterwarf nach und nach ganz Sinear, nahm den Titel eines
Königs von Sumer und Akkad an und trug das Gewand der sumerischen
Könige, den Mantel und die Turbanmütze. Sein Steinbild ist erhalten: die
Züge sind sumerisch — große Nase, langer Bart —, und nach Art der
Beduinen trägt er kurzes Haupthaar und rasierte Lippen. Er heißt auch
„König der vier Weltteile“. Assur und Ninive waren ihm untertan. Assur