Roses & Thorns: Women Read online

  I glance down at my foot, then my phone. Damn, she’s observant. She’s gonna be dangerous when fully trained and sure of herself. I didn’t really think about that. Not that I'm worried about it. I'm done worrying about how she can ruin me. She already has, because my life would seem so dark without her.

  “You sure?”

  “I'm sure. I can handle it.”

  “I know you can Lacey.”

  I walk over and kiss her forehead.

  “Kick ass.”

  “Thanks.”

  I get half a smile from her as I walk out the double doors.

  “Woah.” I raise my hands as I nearly walk straight into Cut on my out. I cock an eyebrow. What the hell are you doing just standing out here?

  “Giving you two a moment,” he says, matter of factly.

  I look down to see him holding Lacey’s little shorts in his hand. Little, as in she’s a small person. Nothing Lacey owns is in any way risque. As if that needs to be explained. They just look so small for all she’s been through. How can someone that small have endured so much?

  Cut reaches around me and shuts the door, leaving us alone in the hall.

  “Anything I should know?”

  “No, she should be fine.”

  “This is not something I do, ever, but should I be going light on her?”

  I sigh, fighting my instinct.

  “No, push her as hard as she can handle.”

  “You know I will. I take ‘til there’s nothing left.”

  “I know. She needs that.”

  He nods. “You know I could fucking kill you for this.”

  Yeah… her scars. His scars. His eyes bore into me.

  “I know, but you won’t.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  His eyes narrow. I raise my eyebrows.

  “You think I'm gonna meet anyone else like that?”

  I point behind me to the door, gesturing to Lacey. He shoves past me, swinging the door open and slamming it behind him, shorts fisted in his hand.

  Chapter 21:

  Lacey:

  The door slams and Cut walk in with shorts scrunched in his hand. He throws them at me. I'm still hiding in the corner, but he gives it no mind.

  “I'm stepping out. Change.”

  “I'm not wearing them.”

  He turns around. His freakishly blue eyes contrasting against his dark exterior. The scars, giant muscles, a face that looks like it’s seen the world and back. His blue eyes don’t match and they are boring into me.

  “Then you’ll tell me why because you will be wearing shorts and a t-shirt or tank top when we train together.”

  “You know why” I whisper.

  “You think I care?”

  “What?”

  “Do. you. think. I. care?”

  “No, but…

  “To judge, I’d have to care enough to. So change.”

  He walks out and slams the door. I quickly scramble into my shorts, throwing the sweats to the side with my sweatshirt. I start to shake and look down at myself, eyes watering. I feel naked. I wipe the tears quickly. I'm so ugly. Hideous. Disgusting. Gross. I hate this stupid body! A rush of emotions floods me. I cock my fist back, needing to hurt myself. To distract from the emotional hell raging inside me. I'm just about to do it when the door swings open.

  “Better be changed by now.”

  I quickly lower my hand, hiding it, like that will change what he saw. Shame floods me like a hurricane. I can barely contain it. I feel his eyes take me in before he crosses the room to the corner where I'm standing.

  He gets right in my space.

  “Where’s the girl on the phone?”

  “Here,” I whisper.

  He laughs. “Yeah, fuck no she’s not.”

  He grabs my arm roughly, pulling it in front of my face.

  “You need an outlet you channel it. You train. You hear me?”

  He throws my arm down and steps back.

  “Come on.”

  I follow him to the center of the mat. He stops midway and points to the floor.

  “One hundred push-ups.”

  My eyes widen. I can’t do one push-up, let alone one-hundred. I don’t say that, but gosh, he has to know that. I slowly move down to the mat. I lost all my strength from being locked up, hurt, beaten. My muscles are gone. He has no idea. He’s gonna think I'm pathetic. I try. Like I thought, I can’t even do one. I let out a whimper only I can hear. I suck up my pride and go to my knees, determined to change this one day. I will be able to do them on my toes one day soon. I get ten out on my knees. Then have to sit back. I get out fifteen more somehow when I try again. Everything hurts.

  “You’re weak,” Cut states.

  I want to glare at him. No kidding. I ignore him and keep trying. I get five more out. Panic crosses me. I'm only at thirty. He’s gonna quit when he realizes how pathetic I am. I get five more out. Then three. Then I try again. Just two. My arms give out on the second one. I can’t take it, between the clothes, my scars, how weak I am, remembering the reasons for my weakness, how bad I want to impress Cut, yet knowing I can’t and he’s gonna leave. My arms shake rapidly as I push myself back. I try to wipe my tears before Cut sees them, but I fail. More than. I have to suck in an obvious deep breath from silently crying.

  Cut drops to his haunches. Face impassive. I know he’s gonna leave. I'm pathetic. Not even two minutes, and I’ve already failed. And Adam believed in me. Pathetic piece of shit.

  “Lesson one. It doesn’t matter where you start. It matters what the goal is. You have one hundred push-ups to do. You’re weak. You go slow. Don’t tie emotions to it. Can’t do it on your toes, go to your knees. Can’t do it on your knees, go to all fours. All I said was one hundred push-ups. You’re the one who set the expectation. I gave the goal. Now get there. However, you have to without cheating. Continue on.”

  He stands back up and crosses his arms over his chest. Thirty-nine proper ones. That’s where I'm at. Feeling motivated, and oddly not judged, I get eleven more out on my knees. Fifty. When I get to fifty-five I switch to all fours. I get the last fourty-five out in time. I'm nearly back to my feet, arms feeling like jello, when Cut points back down to the ground.

  “Ten more.”

  My jaw drops. I hiss out a breath and get out ten more. On my knees. When I'm done I jump to my feet before he can demand more. The corner of his lips turns up slightly.

  “How do your arms feel?”

  “Do I give the honest answer or do I act tough?” I mumble.

  His lip twitches. That makes me kind of happy because I have a feeling that’s rare for this cruel looking man.

  “Honest always, just don’t be a baby.”

  “My arms feel like liquid.”

  “Alright. We’ll work lower body for a bit before working on form.”

  “Thank God,” I sigh.

  I spoke too soon. He kicks my ass. There’s no better way to say it. I'm jello. It’s a combination of his training and having not used my muscles for so long. An hour and a half hour later I'm lying in a pool of my own sweat on the mat. Cut comes over and tells me to sit. I slip on sweat on my way up but get there eventually.

  He sits across from me.

  “Now we talk.”

  “O… kay,” I say, trying to get oxygen in my lungs.

  “Don’t need details, but your muscles haven’t been used in a while. Have they? And I don’t mean in a workout way either. You’re weak. Not just for fitness. I mean overall. Your body is extremely weak.”

  I bite my lower lip. The shame comes flowing back. I shake my head no.

  “It’s not my fault,” I whisper.

  “I figured as much.”

  “I know I'm weak, but please, I’ll be the hardest worker you’ve ever had. Just don’t quit on me.”

  Cut stands up, looking over me. I feel so small under his scrutiny.

  “I’ve already told you. I don’t care where you’re at. I care what the goal is. When you stop wor
king, then I’ll be done.”

  He steps to the door, then looks back where I am still seated on the mat unable getup. I immediately noticed that Cut is not one to help anyone. He has me do things all on my own. Which is what I need. To learn to do this myself. To not have to rely on anyone. Ever again.

  “Am I coming back tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” I say quickly, even though at this moment I can barely breathe, let alone move.

  His lip twitches. “Will you be able to move?”

  “I’ll make sure I can. Or fail a lot, but either way, I want to train.”

  “Alright girl. See you tomorrow. Same time.”

  “Bye Cut,” I whisper.

  I wait until he’s gone before falling back onto the mat again. I'm dead. Holy crap, I'm so tired. It feels like bones are vibrating and my muscles are jelly. After what feels like an hour I slowly start to peel myself up. I can feel my sweat sticking to the mat as I sit up. It pulls on my shirt and sticks to my skin. Shaking, I drag myself over to my sweatshirt and pants. I need a shower. Food. And bed. It’s amazing how fast we allow ourselves to get comfortable.

  I wince as I drag the sweats over my sticky legs. I don’t even stand to do it. I let out a deep breath when I get them on. Sore and slightly dizzy, I start to lift my arms up into the sleeves. Of course, it gets all tangled up and I get stuck in the dang thing. I try and shove my hands through, but I just end up getting more tired and more frustrated.

  “Ugh.”

  I stomp my foot on the mat. I'm ready to keep shoving when I hear soft chuckling and my arms are carefully guided through the sleeves. I look up, knowing my hair is stuck to the top of my sweaty head, to see Adam standing there lip twitching.

  “You look tired.”

  I turn over to push myself up to standing. I wince, luckily facing the other direction as I do. Adam reaches down to help me, but I pull away.

  “I got it. Thank you,” I say quietly.

  He steps back, hands raised.

  “Look at Cut rubbing off on your already.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  “You would.”

  When I get to my feet he wraps his hand around my waist.

  “I'm sweaty and gross.”

  I scrunch my face and try and wiggle away. He squeezes me in tighter.

  “Smelly too.”

  My face is all scrunched, and I literally feel like I'm limping as he leads me down the hall. We pass Frances on the way. He nods at me. He likes my food, so we get along. It’s weird. I think it’s easier for me to get along with Frances because he’s newer. He was barely here when I was. He knows me as the girl I am now, not the prisoner. That makes it easier. Yes, I feed everyone I can, but people I knew, people who guarded and hurt me during that time, well, I just leave their food places they’ll find it. Seeing them freezes something inside me. There hasn’t been enough kindness to counteract the bad. I'm not sure there will ever be. Adam is an exception.

  We get to a doorway I’m unfamiliar with. I feel like this house will have a never-ending lot of those.

  “Where are we?”

  “This room will be your new favorite place.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I'm sure of it.”

  He nods, but I can’t help but think never. His room is my safe place. My favorite place in this whole world, because when I was in hell it was the one place I knew no one would hurt me.

  He swings the door open. There’s a steel tub filled with ice, a sauna, a plethora of these black cylinder foam things, a massage chair. This room looks pretty close to heaven right now. My aching muscles tingle. I immediately head for the massage chair. I'm yanked back by my hoodie. Adam is standing there casually smirking with my hoodie in his hand.

  “Slow your roll Lacey. I assume you told him to come back tomorrow.”

  I blush. “Yes.”

  He chuckles. “Thought so. Foam rolling first. Then ice bath. Then you can do what you want.”

  “But the massage chair sounds so nice.”

  “No whining.”

  “I wasn’t…”

  “Yes, you were.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. I never want to be seen as someone who complains. I walk over to the large foam device with crevices along the sides.

  “What do I do with it?”

  His eyebrows furrow, transforming him from twenty-something year old man to Boss in an instant.

  “You’ve never foam rolled?”

  “Never even heard of it,” I mumble.

  “Well, we’ll change that.”

  He throws his coat, shirt and rings off. My eyes trail over his body involuntarily. Well, kind of involuntarily. I like looking at it. His body is a story and a piece of art, between the tattoos, scars, and muscles.

  “Okay Lace, let’s show you how to recover.”

  He does. He shows me every last thing there is to know about recovery, from foam rolling, which I admit does not feel amazing. It actually really hurts. Still, that is nothing compared to the ice bath. I hated that most of all. I hate being cold. I was cold for so long. Every prison I was in was freezing. Every time I get cold it reminds me of that same cold, lonely feeling I used to feel in my cell. Adam knows without me having to tell him. He doesn’t say anything, but he talks to me the whole time I'm immersed in the icy water. He rambles on until I get out. His phone rings as I wrap the towel around my shivering body.

  “Speaking,” he answers firmly.

  There are words said. He’s speaking in code even though he tries to hide it. I can’t understand a word he’s saying even though he’s speaking in plain English. It’s clever really. When he clicks the phone off I know he has to go. His whole body language has changed. His muscles stiffen. His jaw clenches. His eyes drift to his clothes.

  “Go work,” I say.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes go. I’ll just be in the sauna.”

  Even though he’s really serious right now, his lip twitches. Slightly.

  “I thought you were excited about the massage chair.”

  My teeth chatter as I look at him, squeezing the towel in tighter.

  “That changed,” I stutter.

  He nods with warm eyes. “Got it. Lacey, don’t fall asleep in there. You hear me? Drink lots of water.”

  He gestures to the glass case of water bottles.

  “If I find out you died in a sauna after all you’ve been through, I’ll be pissed.”

  I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. He has that same dark, twisted sense of humor I do.

  “Okay. I promise. I’ll freaking haunt this place if I do.”

  He’s at the door now but turns back. “You better.”

  He shuts the door. The sound echoes throughout the room. I don’t waste a second running to the sauna.

  Let’s just say, after that ice bath and the previous training session, sitting in the sauna is best I’ve felt in a while. Warmth equals comfort. I hang in that room for a while before sneaking off back to Adam’s room, showering, changing and running oil over my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. Such a plain girl living such an insane life. I turn away, unable to stand looking at myself any longer.

  Once I'm fully covered in my usual clothes I leave his room, lock up and head for the kitchen. Halfway there Rose comes to mind. I’ve haven’t seen her in a while. Even though I'm itching to get my hands in some dough, I turn around to find my friend. Adam has it easy because he has a phone to get ahold of people in this giant house. I don’t have that. I look everywhere. It takes me at least a half hour before I finally check Rose’s old room. I knock, not getting an answer. I don’t expect anyone to be in there, but when I throw the door open there is a giant lump in the covers with the illumination of a cell phone underneath.

  “Rose? Rose?”

  No reply. I slowly walk over and throw the covers off her.

  “Rose?”

  “Lacey,” she shoots up, quickly hiding her phone behind her. My eyes zero in on it.

>   “What are you doing?”

  “Texting.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Who?”

  “You are literally becoming your boyfriend.”

  “Am not. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Whatever he is.”

  I pause. “Rose, I'm worried about you.”

  “What? Why?”’

  “Are you hiding something? I know I’ve been…”

  “Busy.”

  “Yeah,” I say shocked. “I have been. I mean doing nothing important. It’s no excuse for not seeing you. You’re my friend and…”

  “Stop. Seeing you find peace,” Rose chokes on her words, “Girl, seeing you find happiness is a miracle.”

  “Thank you,” I say with reddening cheeks.

  I take a seat at the edge of her bed.

  “What’s going on?”

  She bites her lower lip. Terror crosses her features.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  Chapter 22:

  Rose:

  Lacey doesn’t see who she is becoming. But everyone else does. I showed her the picture I got of Kev, but I made her promise not to tell. Lacey would never break a promise. Plus, I made it sound like I’m not as emotionally tied to Kev as I am. If she thought I would do something stupid, she would tell Sven’s Boss, her…. something, not understanding he doesn’t give a fuck about me. He gives a fuck about her, and she cares about me. Just like Sven could give a shit about Lacey, but I do. It’s all so twisted. So unhealthy.

  I stare at the new picture and bite my lower lip so hard it bleeds. Kev. Lip bleeding. Arm dangling awkwardly at his side. Broken. Feet strapped down. Knife on the ground still not yet used.

  Sven still isn’t back, so I flick back to open my phone after Lacey leaves.

  Me: What do you want? Please don’t hurt him. He’s innocent.

  Anonymous: Yes, he is. He’s begging us to leave you alone by the way. You know what you have to do. Time is running out. Your father’s orders are getting more demanding. He wants his ‘precious flower’.

  I screech and throw my phone across the room. Where the hell is Sven? Would I even tell him if he was here? What the fuck do I do? Lacey doesn’t know what they asked of me. All I showed her was the picture. I didn’t tell her they told me I had to save him. I didn’t risk Kev’s life like that. With all this swirling around in my brain, I sprint out of the room, feeling crazed.