Her lips twitch, as if she doesn’t quite believe me.
I nudge her chin until she meets my eyes.
“I mean it,” I say, softer now. “That was…” I shake my head once, as words fail me. “Incredible.Youare incredible.”
She sighs, soft and content, and something warm stirs in my chest, like a match being struck in a long-abandoned room. Lighting up places that before only knew darkness.
I’m not used to this, making someone feel good, safe, wanted.
I’m the guy people fear and envy. The one they obey.
Not the one they trust. Not the one they smile up at, tender and unguarded, like she just did.
“It’s just,” she continues, still hesitant. “You have a lot more experience than I do.” She pauses, like she’s remembered something. “The sisters mentioned…”
“What?” I stiffen, alarmed by whatever rumors she’s been told, true or otherwise.
“That you used to be with a lot of women, but then you stopped. About a year ago?”
She shifts in my arms, her bare skin brushing mine as she looks up, her eyes searching, soft but intent. “What happened? What changed?”
I have a feeling part of her question comes from insecurity, like maybe she’s worried I’ll go back to screwing around because this thing between us isn’t solid yet. But the other part? That’s just Laurel. She’s inquisitive, curious, relentless, not willing to let the hard questions go unanswered. It’s not something I’m used to. I’ve been raised to not ask questions, to obey blindly. She’s been raised to question everything, to never take no for an answer.
My first instinct is to deflect. To deny. This is a story I’ve buried for so long, I’m reluctant to unearth it, but she trusted me tonight. Let me see all of her, every scar, every shadow, every inch of that brave, breakable heart. If she can do that—be that open and unguarded—then maybe I can too.
“Last year,” I start, my eyes dropping to my fingers as they trace a slow, aimless pattern down her arm. She shivers. Goosebumps ripple across her skin. I smile faintly, liking how I can do that to her. Stir her. Make her feel something real with nothing but my touch.
“I was at the…” I stop, the word catching somewhere in my throat. I never used to think twice about saying it. I never used to be ashamed. Men in The Order areencouragedto visit the whorehouses. Rewarded and praised when we go. Now I think of it differently, and that difference hits even harder as I try to explain to Laurel.
“Brothel?” Laurel supplies, not accusing, just curious, saving me from saying it out loud.
A single, short nod from me. “A woman there told me something so outrageous that at first I thought it had to be a lie, except this woman knowseverything. I’ve gotten information from her before, secrets she shouldn’t have had access to, dangerous things, and it’s all been true.”
Laurel quirks her head and props herself on a bent elbow. “What did she tell you?”
I exhale slowly. “That my father got a girl pregnant. A hooker. Eighteen, maybe younger. She said the girl ran and hid. That she was terrified of him,of what he’d do. She had the baby in secret. This all happened around the time I was one or two years old.”
Laurel blinks. “And?”
“It was a girl, my sister, half-sister, that is.” I pause, my eyes locked on hers. “She named the baby Rose.”
Laurel’s gaze darts straight to my bicep. The rose inked into my skin, blooming around a vine of thorns.
“Yeah,” I say, answering the question she doesn’t ask. “That’s why I got the tattoo.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You should have seen how my father reacted. Beat me senseless. We’re not supposed to mark our bodies, you know. The body is a temple and all that bullshit.”
My gaze drifts past her, unfocused, drawn back into memory. “Part of me wanted to see what he’d do. If he’d recognize the meaning. If it would crack his mask.” I pause. “As usual, he gave me nothing. The man could bury a corpse and convince the world he was planting a tree. He hides everything. Especially his emotions.”
Laurel extends a single finger to trace a petal with a gentle touch. Now it’s my turn to shiver.
“Now that I think about it,” she says, “you’re the only one I’ve seen with a tattoo. Of all the brothers, I mean.” She presses a kiss to my arm, right over the rose, and something in me breaks, just a little. “Then what happened?”
“Nothing,” I sigh, my shoulders sagging. I hate admitting failure, especially to her. “I’ve been looking for Rose, but I can’t find shit. Don’t even know if she’s real.”
I sit up, frustration chewing at me from the inside out. Laurel moves with me, her hand resting on my arm, grounding me. I rake my hands through my hair and let out a low groan.
“Even if she doesn’t exist, the idea of a sister made me look at things differently. I went to the brothel and thought,what if one of these girls is Rose?” My voice drops, hoarse. “What if she’s here, scared, pretending she’s okay while some fucker uses her like she’s nothing?”
I shake my head. “That killed any urge I had to go there again. I’d look at the sisters, the Mothers, and I couldn’t stopthinking,what if one of them is her too?All of a sudden, she was everywhere, in every woman’s face, and I didn’t like it. What I saw. I didn’t like the thought of her as a whore, as some man’s Bonded, as property not a person.”
