I didn’t want to ask for permission, so I had just found out where Rosalie’s house was in L.A. and showed up.
Fuck an invitation. I wanted to see my girl and my daughter. I had no idea how I’d be received, but I had to try.
Life was complicated back home. I’d killed four people earlier that week and spent what time I wasn’t at the hospital or a warehouse killing time in my shower, jerking off to images of my night with Rosalie and Anson.
E was MIA most of the time since he was working at Mayfair now, on sugar and whatever other weird shit he was researching. Laz was struggling in his preschool shit E had him in. Enzo was… terrible.
A true monster, and he was killing anything that moved too close to him.
I needed a fucking break.
I’d stayed completely away, letting Rosalie and the guys calm down and allowing myself time to clear my head. Now I was ready to face this shit head-on.
So, I hopped a flight that morning after some deep thinking during naked push-up time. I left a note that said I’d be back on Monday.
I figured this mini vacation would make or break me.
I pushed a button on the gate and was met by four armed guards.
“Uh, hey,” I greeted them. “I’m here to see Rosalie.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but she’s expecting me.”
“No appointment, no entry. Move along.”
I shifted my bag on my shoulder. “Listen, motherfucker, open this fucking gate. I’m not leaving until I see her.”
“Then you’ll be standing there for a long time,” the guard replied. “No appointment. No entry.”
“Call her,” I snapped. “She’ll let me in.”
“No appointment?—”
“For fuck’s sake!” I shouted. I stopped from calling them every colorful name I knew because Ryder appeared, dressed in black like the fucking night, with a piece in his ear. He’d obviously been listening to everything.
“Ryder. Hey, shit brick,” I called out.
“Cole Scott.” He approached and stared at me from the other side of the iron gate. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see my girl and my kid. Let me in.”
He chuckled. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Man,” I snarled. “Stop this shit. You know who I am.”
He smirked at me. “You’re in our world now, pretty boy. You seem lost.”
“Pretty boy? Fuck you, man. You’re a prettier motherfucker.”
He grinned at me before pushing a button. The gate swung open, and I stepped inside.
“Assholes,” I muttered to the guards.
They glared at me as I followed Ryder to some little weird golf cart thing.
“This looks like something your bitch ass would drive,” I muttered, getting into the passenger seat.
