Page 113 of Wallflower

“I want her sister.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

“Make it fucking possible.”

“She’s not here. She never was. The deal was only ever for Rose.”

What the fuck? That’s a goddamn lie. The step-monster confirmed it. So, where is Chelsea?

My flower gurgles, loud and wet, as blood tinted saliva spews from the slits between her lips. The violent cough tugs and pulls at the stitches, little bright blooms of red forming around the incision sites.

She gasps, a moan resembling the short cadence of my name coming from her throat.

Heat-laced elation fires through me and I don’t think, just act.

I drive my elbow into Maximus’s jaw, and he drops from the blow. Richmond’s death is quick and painless. Which is better than he deserves, but he’s the biggest threat. My bullet slides through his forehead with ease, claiming retribution for Lonnie and Rose, and many others, I’m sure. He’s put down like the sadistic lapdog Rose branded him.

Quickly, I retrieve one of the pistols from my back, shooting out my brother’s ankle as he tries to flee. He drops in the doorway with a resounding cry.

Within seconds the fire alarms are blaring, just as Reid said they would.

Red-hot agony rips through my leg as Maximus drives a knife into my fucking calf. Roaring in pain, I unload the rest of the clip into his face, tossing Richmond’s gun aside when it clicks back empty.

Rose’s whimpers for attention morph into muffled screams. I swing my head in her direction, and witness Samuel using her body as leverage to get off the floor.

With determined limping strides, I cross the room, driving the foot of my injured leg into his face with a loudcrack.The piece of shit crumples to the ground in a heap.

When I turn back to Rose, her eyes are shining. “Oh, no, no, no, flower. Don’t cry. They don’t deserve your tears, remember?”

She shallowly nods, blinking. The tears escape to slide down her cheeks.

“Are they for me?”

She rasps a quiet “Mhmm.”

“Because I chose you?”

She nods.

I lap a tear from her cheek, savouring the taste. Unable to suppress the groan that comes from me as her salty taste pricks at my tastebuds.

I lean in, wanting to press a gentle kiss to her lips, but the sight of Bradley’s blood trail leading out the door distracts me. “I’ll be right back.”

Rose’s stifled scream follows me as I limp out the door, following the trail back the way I came. Bradley’s slumped against the cabinets in the kitchen area, tea towel in hand, trying to staunch the bleeding of his shattered ankle.

“Where you off to, little man?” I say, the words reminiscent of our childhood.

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“Is that any way to talk to your elders?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“What? Don’t recognize your own brother?”

“Kill me or get out of my fucking face.”

“That’s all you have to say? You won’t even entertain the idea that I am who I say I am. After all I did for you?”