Chapter Four
"The Product Of A Messed Up Family"
"she never cared for the
crown. she preferred a sword."
— r.h. sin
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Sydelle was home, alive and well when I called her from the cab.
And while we stayed on the phone until I got back to my studio apartment, my thoughts kept on drifting back to the damn Shadow. Was he really there, or was he messing enough with my mind to make me see things that weren't really there?
Either way, I was preparing on letting off steam. And not in the water.
It was the next day—Saturday, to be more specific. The last day of July would be tomorrow, bringing me closer and closer to my twenty-first birthday, which was on August twentieth.
Growing up, I loved celebrating my birthday. It was a day meant for me and...
My fingers curled on the counter in front of me as I hung my head low. I closed my eyes and exhaled shakily while demanding my heart to stop beating faster than necessary.
The noise around me was muffled, until suddenly, a piercing sound of a phone ringing caused me to jump in my spot before composing myself.
I remembered my surroundings. I was in the florist shop and behind the counter.
Remembering that my phone was ringing, my gaze dropped to the shelf underneath the counter. It laid face down, and I quickly reached for it before checking the caller ID—there was none.
Still, I answered the phone. I barely had to wait a second before I heard a familiar, dragged out, "Hey."
"Nice surprise," I drawled teasingly and shifted in my spot. "Should I be worried? You don't call this much in a month."
Rolie chuckled softly in my ear. "You're using a burner, right?" I confirmed, although I knew he was. He had been careful for this long, I doubted he'd slip up now.
I was right. "Don't offend me, Lee," he said playfully. "This is me we're talking about."
He paused, and I suddenly got the feeling that something was wrong. So, I took a step back, enough so I was leaning against the long, dark grey cabinet counter. I made sure not to press my back against the wall, since ribbons and plastic rolls were hanging and organized on the wall.
"What's wrong?" I mumbled while peering to my left, out the windows. The streets were filled, unsurprisingly. It was only two in the afternoon.
In my ear, he cleared his throat. "Why would you think something is wrong? Can't a guy call his friend?"
"Not when said friend is in hiding," I tried to joke, but found myself sighing longingly. "How's everything?"
Another moment of silence. Then... "Tense."
My eyes closed when hearing that, and I tightened my grip on the phone.
I decided to change the topic. "Have you watched How To Get Away With Murder, yet?"
"Why do you keep reminding me—"
"Because the show is amazing. And you have to stan Annalise Keating." I glared at the cooler across from me. "Come on, don't they have it on Netflix there?"
"No, it's not."
"Still not an excuse," I grinned and cocked my head to the side. "You can stream it. I believe in you. And you'll love Connor and Oliver's relationship."
"Why? Are they hot?"
I began to smirk. "Yeah, but also because Connor is mega annoying but shockingly lovable. Just like you."
"Thanks, Lee," he laughed. "I'll try to watch it soon, but I don't want people to ask why I'm watching a girly show."
My jaw unscrewed as I gaped at his description of the show. "First off, it's not a girly show."
"You watch girly shows, Lee," he told me matter-of-factly, and I felt myself becoming defensive.
I clenched my thighs together and exhaled slowly, so I wouldn't start cussing up and down about his stupidity. "You're a durak."
He laughed in a surprise and emphasized, "How?"
"Well first off, the show is literally called How To Get Away With Murder. Does that sound like a girly show?" I didn't give him time to reply, continuing my rant. "Also, I don't like girly shows. I like shows that represent strong female characters, not underdeveloped, one-dimension girls whose only purpose in the show or movie is to fall in love and all that jazz."
This was a topic I was way too passionate about, and once I started, I couldn't stop.
"Also, it makes no sense how I can watch a male-dominated movie or whatever, but guys can't watch a girl-dominated thing. Like, make it make sense. Does your masculinity get bruised when there's a female lead, or are you just an—"
"Okay, okay! You win." He released an unfiltered laugh, which lasted for a few seconds. I grinned in satisfaction and sagged my shoulders. I hadn't even noticed they were tensed up.
"Thank you. I knew I would," I bragged with a smirk, even though he couldn't see me.
Rolie kept on chuckling. "I wish I had something to be that passionate about."
"You can be passionate about losing!" I cheered with a wide grin before fiddling with the bottom of my biker shorts. It was hidden behind the apron.
He sighed in my ear. "You know what, you're right."
"I know I am."
With a snort, he replied, "Your confidence in your abilities are intimidating."
"I know that too," I teased as I stretched my back.
He laughed again, but quickly sobered up. When he softly cussed, I pushed myself off the back counter, losing my smile before my eyes glazed over the shop, wide-eyed. "What?"
For a few long seconds, he didn't answer. I heard him shuffling in the background before he muttered, "I have to go."
"Why? What's going on?" I rushed out, panicked.
He cussed again, and I forced myself to swallow. "I'll talk to you later, okay? Be safe." And before I could argue and demand for answers, he hung up on me.
Slowly pulling the phone away from my ear, I glared and bit the inside of my mouth in irritation. Hopefully he could call me soon, so I could hound him for answers.
With that thought, I smirked to myself before slipping my phone back on the bottom shelf—just as the door opened, revealing two middle-aged but well-dressed women.
I greeted them with a smile before using my people-friendly voice to ask what they'd like. They seemed to enjoy the energy I was rubbing off and began to rush out their order with a wide grin. I recorded it, and for the next twenty minutes, I was busy at work.
When they left shortly after, I was left alone. So, I used the time to check on the flowers in the cooler, ensuring none were dying.
I reached the row of chrysanthemum's when I heard my phone ringing, all the way from the counter.
With a grunt, I rushed out of the room and closed the door before rounding the table. When I read the no caller ID, I frowned and answered the call—but didn't say anything.
Was is Rolie again?
There was a moment of silence, before the voice spoke softly. "Alina?"
An instant smile grew on my lips, and I felt the tension leaving my body. "Hi, Luba. How's makin' money?"
My aunt chuckled softly at the mention of her Tech. Company—which she started during university. "Great. How's the shop down there?"
"Amazingly fantastic," I beamed, leaning against the counter pressed against the wall. "Look at you, thinking about the little people."
"The little people don't share my blood," she drawled with amusement. "You're being good to Cynthia, da?"
I smirked slyly. "What's the fun in being good?"
She tsked in my ear, and I bit back my grin. "You're going to give her heart burn."
"Impossible. I'm more of a heart attack giver, type of person."
Luba laughed at my comment, and I smiled. Cynthia was one of my aunt's close friends, who actually owned the florist shop I worked at. Originally, she had worked alone, but Luba managed to wiggle herself into that plan and got me a job.
Usually, we talked through her, since it was dangerous for me to have any form of communication with Luba. So, I was surprised to get her call.
With that thought, I cleared my throat. "Are you using a burner?"
"Payphone," she reported reassuring. "I just wanted to ask you personally about a proposition. Cynthia has already accepted, but—"
"What is it?" I crossed one arm over my chest but pressed my elbow on the hand now on my waist. This support allowed me to hold the phone more comfortably.
"Well, I'm hosting a fundraiser in the start of November," she began before lowering her voice—but not from anger. "For survivors of abuse. I'd like you to help Cynthia with the flower arrangements."
Something in my chest ached before I smiled wobbly. Luba had been a survivor of sexual assault when she was in college, and I always admired her. She told me the story when I was old enough, and even though she thought it made her look weak, all I saw was her strength.
My first instinct, if I were to be in that situation, would be to use my black switchblade and hurl it at their forehead, embedding it deep into their skull. But obviously, that wasn't a clear-cut solution for everyone.
"I'll do it, but..."
"But what?" Her tone was worrying.
I slowly licked my lip before reminding her softly, "Is it safe? I mean, what if they come because they'll think I'm there?"
"Alina, don't you know your aunt?" She teased playfully. "I'll have the whole building surrounded. And they won't harm or kill anyone there. We're in New York—the Albanian's will not allow them to do anything that'll bring press."
I pondered at that, because it was true. They weren't that stupid.
"Plus," she continued, her voice lifting with glee. "It will be great to see you out and about, near me. Only a few reporters will be there, and it's a masquerade. So, you will be safe."
"Masquerade?"
"Yes. So by the end of the night, we can all take off our masks and be our true selves." She sounded proud of the idea, and I smiled. "You can leave before the reveal, and—"
"Okay," I chuckled, stopping her from continuing. "But I'll be back in school during that time, Luba."
She tsked, and if she was in front of me, I imagined her shoving that thought aside. "Sydelle will help you! And of course, Cynthia."
"Of course," I drawled before glancing at the clock above the window next to me. "We can talk ideas about what flowers you want a little later, okay?"
"Sounds good, dochka." I heard the smile in her voice, and my heart warmed. Even though she wasn't my mother, she always called me her daughter. "I'll try to call soon."
"Bye." And with that, I hung up, but I couldn't help but frown to myself.
I held the phone in front of me, and wished I said I love you. But the words weren't easy to say—at least, in a serious context. Not because I didn't love her, because I did. But it just felt... weird.
It didn't roll off the tongue easy—which was coming from someone who literally could not hold her tongue back.
With that, I groaned to myself and exhaled before peering up to the clock again. Another hour till close.
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God, kill me now.
Actually, no. Better yet—kill him now.
I mean, technically, I could do the job. But alas, there would be legal troubles, and I wasn't about to give up my ounce of freedom over some damn Shadow.
My eyes were almost sore from the glares I was shooting outside, but that didn't stop my dramatic ass. Despite my shitty far distance eyes, I knew that he was watching me. And he wasn't moving from his spot.
Like the first time I spoke to him, he was across the street, leaning against the brick building that sold pastry desserts. I was surprised that the owner didn't come outside and shout at him—he'd been there for the last ten minutes, not going in.
He must have known I was closing now. But instead of coming inside, he was outside, waiting like always.
And I was tired of playing games, so without locking up, I hastily untied my apron and dramatically slammed it on the counter next to the register before striding around the table. I kept my eyes on him as I pushed the door open, it nearly slamming into someone walking on the sidewalk.
I almost laughed, but I avoided the urge to do so before crossing the traffic-filled street. It was five o'clock, after all.
When I reached his side of the sidewalk, I was close enough to see his eyes on me, and like always, his expression was stone cold. Not an emotion in place.
I ignored how his steel eyes watched me assessingly as I dropped my hands on my hips. "What the hell do you want? Another rose?"
A few moments passed before Daemon finally lifted his gaze back to mine. I took note that his hair was still styled, all prim and proper. He was also wearing a damn suit. Again.
What the hell did this guy do for a living that had to make him wear a suit every day? I wanted to avoid that job like the plague.
His brow faintly arched at my question. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't act like an idiot. It takes forever to get back on topic and it annoys me," I snapped and crossed my arms before putting most of my weight on my left foot. "Is there a reason you're being a shadow again, Shadow?"
If he was amused, he didn't show it. "Yes, actually, there is." He cocked his head and stared at me coolly. "I'd like to know about yesterday."
My jaw clenched the same moment my chest rose, from my sharp intake of breath. So, he had been there. He'd seen me fight.
"Yesterday? When I was close to throwing my kaka at you?"
Almost unnoticeably, the corner of his lip twitched, and I wondered if he knew I said I was close to throwing my shit at him. "After that," he drawled, deep and slow.
"When you were being a stalker?"
"I happened to be in the area." His tone was kept the same. Calm.
My eyes narrowed on him. "Sure."
Neither of us said anything, until suddenly, he pushed himself off the wall and straightened, closer to me. I hated having to incline my head to meet his gaze—I wasn't used to this big of a height difference.
Our staring contest lasted over a minute, and he was first to crack.
"Yesterday?" He reminded me.
But I nodded once, sharply. "Yesterday."
His lip quirked, and I noticed a slim amount of amusement, hidden behind his gaze. I hated how proud I felt by slightly breaking him out of his stone-cold shell.
I also hated how I found myself answering, "Let's just say I'm the product of a messed up family. So, I had to learn how to defend myself."
Again, silence was exchanged between us, while our surrounding was filled with honking cars and conversations amongst people walking on the street. But it all felt muffled the longer I focused on him.
"I want to see," he stated, eyes lowering to my figure before returning to mine. "I want to see what you can do."
I lifted a brow and bent my head slightly. "As much as I'd like to see you fall on your ass, I have better things to do."
"Cocky," he observed, his lip showing a more noticeable smirk.
"Honest," I rephrased for him, smiling innocently.
He didn't seem the least bit concerned with my warning as he took another step forward. I arched my neck further, which made him drop his eyes to my neck.
"Are you afraid?" His chest rumbled as he spoke deeply, low enough for me to hear.
I gaped at his accusation. "Afraid? Of what, hurting your feelings?"
"Not winning," he quipped, lip twitching again.
A startled laugh left me as I stepped back, only to point a finger and press it against his chest. I ignored how hard he felt underneath my finger while keeping my gaze locked on his. "If anyone is afraid, it should be you."
"Oh yeah?"
I scoffed and brought my hand down. "Oh yeah." I stepped back, closer to traffic, but kept my eyes on him. "Come with me, tough guy."
He didn't need to be told otherwise. He followed me across the street and into the shop, and for the next few minutes, watched me lock up.
After ensuring the door was closed, I twisted in my spot, my eyes glazing over the store before landing on him. He was next to the door leading to the cooler, watching me with his hands laced in front of him.
"What now, Rose?" He mused gravelly.
I rolled my eyes and ignored his question before striding to the opposite side of the small, square room. There were two, white doors next to each other—the one on the right providing space to the bathroom. The left, however...
"Follow me," I threw over my shoulder before using my keys to unlock the door. I felt him shift closer to me, just as I pushed the door open.
The first thing you saw, looking inside, was dark stairs. It curved and moved upward, leading to the room above the shop.
Without glancing behind me, I began walking up, taking two steps at a time. When we were encased in darkness seconds later, I knew Daemon closed the door behind us.
I reached the top of the stairs moments later, and moved to my right to flicker on the lights. I took a few steps to the side to give him space to enter while I glanced around.
Despite him not sharing any commentary, when he stood on my left, not a second later, I knew he was assessing his surroundings. I did the same.
The windows filled the entire wall across from me, but they were barred with wood, not allowing a single ray of sunshine to enter the room. The room itself was the same size as the florist shop—including the cooler. So when I came to New York, Cynthia allowed me to use the empty space for my personal training centre.
The second you stepped into the room, your feet landed on a blue mat that filled at least half of the space. Things were littered across it, like my gloves and unfinished water bottles. My speaker was against the barred windows, along with extra equipment, but I had most of them on the right.
All types of weights, barbells, benches. Anything that helped me train. There was also a table on the wall on the far left of the room, which contained my pre-workout and the products for my protein shakes.
Next to me, I heard Daemon exhale coolly, and I rotated my head toward him. His eyes were already on me before he focused his attention to the centre of the mats.
"I'll do defence," he expressed, not waiting for my reply before stepping to the left side of the door to unbutton his suit jacket.
I shrugged and moved further to the right, so I could slip out of my sandals. Once my feet were free from their restraints, I straightened and glanced to Daemon, only to stop breathing.
Just a few feet away from me, Daemon stood with his eyes drawn low while rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. Not only was I able to see his body more clearly without the jacket, but I was finally being able to see half of his arms.
His arms, which were covered in tattoos.
My jaw could have been on the ground from shock. I couldn't help it.
Not that Daemon seemed like the every day business man. It wasn't how neatly styled his hair and stubble was, or how clean he dressed. Hell, it wasn't even how he stared at people, but it was the way he spoke.
There was hardly an ounce of emotion, but the words rolled off his tongue so smoothly, you'd think he was a siren. Calm, but deadly.
As if he knew I was scrutinizing him as his obviously well-defined body, he pushed his shoulders back and settled his gaze on me. I couldn't help but notice how his arms flexed when he continued to lift his sleeves up, above his elbow.
"Ready?" He asked gruffly, stepping further on the mat, until he was in the centre.
He bent down to grab the black punch mitts—which Sydelle used when she decided to grace me with her presence and train. Once a damn month.
He slipped them on, but kept his eyes lingering on me as I took long steps in front of him, where my boxing gloves were laying. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about, because his expression showed no hint of emotions.
I didn't take my eyes off his stubbornly, not wanting to be the first to retreat. It wasn't until the gloves were on and I separated my legs, did he slowly bring his hands up.
Still, he watched me. "Hit me, Rose."
God, I really wanted to.
With that encouraging thought, I threw a jab in his direction—which he easily deflected.
I smirked to myself before pretending to throw a punch one way, but quickly changed directions, so I could throw a cross punch. But he slipped, dodging quicker than most people I've fought with.
Feeling like I was now being challenged, my eyes narrowed before I began throwing my weight on my hooks, crosses and uppercuts.
"What are you doing?" I asked sharply when he began taking off the punch mitts minutes later.
This time, he smirked, and I couldn't avoid but stare at him, bewildered. "Don't worry, Rose. I'm still deflecting. Just want to try something new."
My brows rose, and I straightened my legs before taking my gloves off, too. "Okay. Let's try something new."
His eyes were trained on me, watching me kick the gloves close to the barred windows before grabbing my kickboxing gloves. I always like practicing mixed martial arts more than boxing. It was free reign, and I loved it.
I widened my stance again and brought my fists up before cocking my head in his direction.
"Read—" He was cut off when I pushed myself back before throwing a leg out. I made sure my knee was up toward my chest before shooting forward.
I was only an inch from Daemon's head before he reeled his head back. When both of my feet were on the ground again, I noticed his faint smirk again, this time, before tsking. "You're going against the rules."
"There are no rules when you fight," I deadpanned, bending my knees again. "Unless you wanna be a rule follower?"
His eyes narrowed and darkened before he changed his stance. "I am not a rule follower. That, I can assure you."
"Yippie," I bit out before throwing out a low kick.
He stepped back and deflected the punch I was throwing at the same time. In that moment, he pushed me back, causing me to stubble before finding my footing again.
When I spun back to him, I glared and threw a serious of punches and kicks—a few that actually hit him, which he seemed surprised by. But he looked completely unbothered by my hits that were known to cause a knockout.
This kept on going for a series of minutes until I threw another cross punch, which he easily evaded.
But instead of returning back to his position, both of his hands reached out, grabbed my arm and spun me around.
I gasped in response, feeling him locking my arm behind my back. He left my other arm free—that was a weakness on his part. I could easily get out of this. But when I felt his chest press against my back with him not even being out of breath, I couldn't help but stand still.
My chest was slowly rising from my breathing, but I felt my heart jump as I stared at the windows when Daemon lowered his head, close to my ear.
His nose dipped, and I swear, I thought he was smelling my neck until his nose calculatingly ran up my ear. "Impressive," he muttered smoothly.
I shivered, unable to stop myself.
Needing to get myself in check, I bent my knees again and made my movements fluid.
When his free, left hand skimmed my arm, I stomped on his foot at the same time I grabbed his arm before hunching forward. I felt his grip on my other arm loosen before I pushed his weight off the ground, using my back as support to flip him over.
I released his hand a moment before he landed on the mat floor, face-up, with a thud.
For the following seconds, I stepped back and regarded him warily. He was laying on his back, arms out and unmoving while his eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling.
My brows furrowed in confusion. "Are you broken?"
Another second of silence, and then... he laughed?
Oh my, God. Daemon was chuckling, and it was deep and throaty, and just as sexy as his voice.
Completely dumbfounded, my body moved forward before I could even think. I offered my hand, and he grabbed it for support before lifting himself up to his feet. Within seconds, he was in front of me, his steel grey eyes never leaving mine.
It wasn't until I felt his hand tightening with mine, did I remember my hand was still wrapped around by his—and his hand was huge. My gaze dropped and for a moment, lingered on his long fingers that easily wrapped around my hand. Imagine how smoothly he could hold you down and—
No! Bad girl!
I ripped my hand off his, like he burned me, before narrowing my eyes the same moment I inclined my head. "So, you happy?" I demanded roughly before stepping away from him. "Or can I still hit you?"
With a calculated cock of a head, Daemon watched me for a few moments. I pushed my hair behind my shoulder and crossed my arms while putting most of my weight on my left leg.
He surprised me when he took a step toward me—wide enough that he was barely a foot away. But it wasn't until his hand grazed over the side of my face, did I suck in a breath.
His touch was as quick as it came, though, before he muttered, "I think I like thorns on you, Rose."
My lips parted as I gawked, but before I could muster up a retort, he strode around me, toward the front door we came from.
By the time I was spinning on my heel, he was already holding his jacket and opening the door. Without looking back, he started descending the steps, all while I noticed his back muscles flexing from underneath his dress shirt.
It wasn't until I heard the door close downstairs, did I release a breath of air.
Fuck me.
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i officially have ONE exam left
until school is out (even though
I still have summer school)
still! I'm ready to get into writing
again (which I've BEEN saying
for weeks)
anywho: how are you lovelies
feeling about the story yet?
any theories?
I'll see you love's next week,
but if we wanna hear more
from me, I'm starting to
post more often on Instagram
and Tiktok (same username as
Wattpad)
have a good weekend xx