The space was cramped, almost claustrophobic.
It was smaller than any corner store I’d ever seen. In the background, the same old boring, generic selection of the top-ten radio hits played out—the kind that repeated endlessly. If I heard one more Lady Gaga song, I was going to pull the damn cord myself. It was infuriating to listen to.
Everything in the store was muted of color. The walls looked as though they hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint in averylong time. They were stained with dirt, and the cracks and holes in the foundation revealed water damage.
Rows of shelves were crammed together in whatever space the roomdidhave, which wasn’t much. Boxes, cans, and containers had been stacked carelessly, looking like they might fall at any moment.
Behind the cash register, a woman’s eyes were fixed on mine. She wore a perfume that mixed with the air freshener next to her on the counter. I didn’t like the smell much.
I told her what I wanted and watched her grab two packs of cigarettes off the shelf behind her before she handed them to me.
“Tylenol too.”
“Headache?” she asked with a small smile.
“Migraine,” I growled.
My skull felt like it was about to split in two, all thanks to my latest headache—the one with a pretty face, flaming red hair, and an attitude to match.
“Cash or card?”
“Card, thank you, Katie,” I said and swiped my card on the reader. I knew her name from the name tag she wore, not because I cared.
I took the packs and stuffed the spare into my pocket for later.
I didn’t want to start this shit, but that didn’t stop me from taking a cigarette out of the pack and lighting the end the second I stepped back outside. I took in a drag, feeling the smoke fill my lungs. It burned, and I remembered the feeling all too well.
Damn woman.
She knew what kissing me meant, and she’d gone and done it anyway. Her lips had burned slowly, promising things I couldn’t afford.
I hated addiction. I hated the smell too. It clung to my clothes and my hair. But I’d seen what her father did to men who broke their oath—in fact, I usually did the work for him—and if Rosalie kissed me again, it would be my brains decorating the wall.
Since I had no strength for myself, this was my last resort.
I hoped the smell would keep her from me.
Everyone had a breaking point—even me. This was teetering over the edge of unbearable, but I couldn’t crack. There was too much at risk. I didn’t care to acknowledge what was really going on. I didn’t even want to think about it.
I couldn’t admit it. Not even to myself.
CHAPTER 11
ROSALIE
“No! Wrong side entirely!” my mother shouted to my cousin across the yard.
Thomas flinched and dropped the hefty, moss-covered birdbath with a thud that sent a flurry of startled birds into the air.
“Which side then?” he yelled.
Poor Tommy. He could never catch a break with her, could he? He had that look on his face—the one that made it clear he tolerated my mother purely because she was family.
“By the sundial, Thomas,” I shouted, mocking my mother. “Remember, the morning light has to hit it just right for maximum birdy sounds.”
With a grimace, Tommy bent down and hoisted the stone back up.
My mother shot me a withering look that could wilt her “pretty purple pansies.” “Stop with the theatrics, Rose.”
