Keeping Their Dark Rose by Jessica & Jane
Chapter 20

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Chapter 20

“Can I go back to the room upstairs, or maybe the couch?” she asks, looking unsure. She is so different from before, meek and…. Broken. It takes me a few moments to recognize it. She is conditioned by whatever life she has been living. However, that doesn’t surprise me.

Ethan was kind of institutionalized, too, when he came home, but not like this. No, Ethan would stand at a door waiting for the drill to sound to say he could leave the cell. Or sneaking cutlery to his room. I was forever finding cutlery in his room, or on him, for months. It’s like he would forget the gun at his hip.

But Rose, I can’t explain it. She is kind of the same, but different.

“Do you think she was a prostitute?” I ask Ethan. He shrugs, uncaring if she was. He hates her, and so do I after years of feeling her f ucking everyone, so it makes sense she would have been. It also explains her behavior. Maybe Drake was her pimp?

“Why would you say that?” Max growls, angrily tossing his napkin down and stalking off.

“What, I wasn’t-” I trail off, f uck what was I thinking asking such a question. Ethan squeezes my shoulder as he passes and leaves, too. Shaking my head, I gather everyone’s plates and head to the kitchen to leave them for the maid.

Afterward, I find Ethan and Max in the study, their expressions somber and thoughtful. “What’s the plan with her?” I ask, my voice betraying a hint of my frustration. “You do realize she could turn us against each other, right?”

Ethan looks up, his eyes reflecting a turmoil I rarely see in him. “I didn’t expect to find her, Colt, besides you said to bring her home. I could have quite easily shot her and been done with her,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we thought she was…gone, maybe even dead. We need to learn more about her and what she’s been through.” Max says, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“He’s right. We don’t know where she has come from, or if anyone is looking for her, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like she kept good company,” Ethan tells me, and I nod, understanding but not entirely convinced.

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“I’ll look into it,” I offer, already formulating a plan to delve into Rose’s past to understand her connection with Drake and what threat, if any, she poses to us. I already lost my mate before, I won’t lose him again. I don’t care if she is our mate; she clearly has no intention of being with us, and she hasn’t even acknowledged. the mate bond.

“Good, I am going to have a shower; I have a meeting in town later today,” Ethan reminds me.

“Maybe cancel it. You haven’t slept since bringing her back here,” I tell him, concerned. His beast can truly be a monster when tired, angry, well, anytime, really. Being in prison, he came out fine, but learning we never found Rose turned his beast cold. So I know he must be giving Ethan a hard time wanting to claim her.

-Rose-

I spend most of the day in my room, hiding away from Ethan, Colt, and Max. After everything, I don’t want to face them. They don’t understand that being around them hurts. They’re alphas and they hate me. It’s all I feel when they look at me and I can’t help that I want to do everything I can to make it better.

I can’t blame them for hating me, but it doesn’t make it

any easier.

Falling asleep in my room is easier than being around them, so that’s what I do. I nap throughout the day, hoping that if I do, it will help my body heal. And dinner time is awkward and quiet, only to be sent back to my room, which doesn’t bother me much because the withdrawals from the suppressants have given me a fever.

The following morning, I wake to the heavy, gray duvet sticking to my leg. I must have moved in my sleep, the stitches having reopened. The pain is jarring, but I try my best to ignore it, not wanting to wake just yet. Shifting to find a less painful position, I wince as the stitches in my leg pull tight.

Tossing the blanket back, I hear the rustle of paper making my brows furrow as I pull myself into a sitting position, wincing with each move I make. Leaning against the headboard, I find a piece of paper has been placed on the end of the bed.

I s natch it up, wondering which one of them left it there. It doesn’t take me long to realize it’s Ethan’s handwriting. He always had beautiful handwriting. It’s neat yet looping. I recognize it instantly. At least some things haven’t changed, I guess.

Reading it over, I groan, realizing it’s a list of chores. Nothing major, most dusting, and cleaning bathrooms and doing laundry, yet I dread the idea of having to move

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Chapter 20

about this mansion. The stairs will be dreadful, especially with this leg.

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Hesitantly, I pull the duvet back, and tears spring to my eyes at the burning sensation that licks up my leg. It feels like I’m peeling the skin off. And just as I thought I had pulled the stitches, they’ve cut through my skin like cheese wire.

After around a good hour trying to will myself to get up, I finally force myself out of bed. The mansion is cold this morning and quiet, eerie almost as I stick

my head out the doors. Ethan’s door is wide open, and so is Max’s door. I let out a breath, hoping that they’re not home.

Shaking my head, I move to the clothes that were left for me, black slacks and a white blouse, when I notice something. My bra is missing. I hold up the thin silk blouse, knowing it is sheer enough I won’t be able to cover my chest. Some part of me hopes my bra is in the bathroom still, where I took it off after my shower and before bed. Only that seems to be wishful thinking because I find the bathroom attached empty.

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