Page 40 of Wallflower

“Yes, I haven’t seen them since last night. We were on the cruise ship that just docked. It’s like they’ve just disappeared.”

They went missing from the ship?

This reeks of Maximus.

“Can I see the picture again?”

“Of course, yes. Here.” The father’s hands fumble, almost dropping his phone in a rush to pass it to me.

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, the red-headed one bears a striking resemblance to the woman who’s given my cock a mind of its own. But her hair definitely wasn’t red. Though, she did say her name was Rose…didn’t she?

This could all be a very, very big coincidence. Or, what’s more likely, is that she gave me a fake name.

But, on the off-chance this is his daughter, I’ll ask for his information. Perhaps he could be beneficial in my own task of plucking Maximus off the top of his empire.

I turn the phone back to the man, about to offer my apologies on his situation, when a woman approaches him from behind, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her long nails are painted hot pink, matching the lipstick staining her teeth, and her frizzy blonde hair is in a messy braid draped across her shoulder. “Patrick, leave the man alone. I told you the girls aren’t missing. They’re probably sleeping off a hangover with those cruise workers they were dancing with. If you hadn’t been half asleep at the table, you’d have seen it too.”

Patrick tilts his head slightly, locking eyes with the woman who I assume is his wife. Her dark gaze mirrors something I’ve only seen in myself. My monster within recognizing the one that hides beneath her skin.

The man nods to the woman before turning back to me. “So sorry to have bothered you, sir,” he says in a hushed tone, clearly embarrassed by this woman stomping all over his fatherly concern.

Passing him back his phone, I reply, “It’s no trouble at all, I can understand your worry.”

As the couple turns to leave, I hear the wife grumble, “If you hadn’t passed out, you would’ve seen the trashy fucking dragon tattoo on her back. Only immoral women taint their skin like that.”

So, his daughterismy flower, then.

Such a shame he’ll never see her again.

That Rose is mine.

The woman’s breezy, aqua island dress sways as I watch them move toward the exit, two young men joining them beforethey depart. At least all of their children haven’t been taken from them, it will help cushion the blow of their girls never returning. I’d be surprised if Maximus hasn’t had that smokin’ hot blonde moved off the island already. She’s a fucking knockout and would be easily recognizable. Knowing him, he had a buyer lined up beforehand. It was just a stroke of luck that Rose hadn’t been shipped out yet.

The fates held her there, just for me.

I try to hide my smile as I move to the self-checkout area. But the thought of breaking Rose apart, piece by delicious fucking piece, just makes me giddy as hell.

However, the self-checkouts are closed, and the thought of interacting with the too-cheery worker quickly dissolves my smirk.

I place my items on the conveyor, tapping my foot with annoyance as the till operator doesn’t know the code for mangoes. “Do you need a bag?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“They’re $2.99. Is that all right?”

The cheap ass inside of me wants to say no. I have a cupboard overflowing with reusable bags at home that I always forget to bring with me. “Fine,” I grumble, wanting to get the hell out here as fast as I can.

Shantel will already tear a strip off of me for being late, and leaving my phone in the car, therefore ignoring her. I throw two chocolate bars onto the conveyor as well. Hoping to keep my head of security’s anger at bay with some added chocolate and peanut butter.

The worker passes me a bag, and I load up all my things. As I approach the exit, muffled yelling can be heard, followed by an ear-piercing shriek.

What’s fucking happening now?

I emerge into the stifling, muggy air, making my way to the rental car. The black convertible Jaguar F-type 75 sits across the lot. Sure, it’s a special edition, but I have to look the part of a billionaire businessman, and Jags are a classic.

Rose’s parents come into view, over near the edge of the parking lot. Her father’s towering over a man with shaggy dark hair, chest heaving, as a heavily-tattooed bald man pushes him back. His wife and two other sons stand off to the side, seemingly unfazed by the spectacle. I wonder if her scream was all for show…

Even from this distance I can hear him, clear as the sun in the sky. “Where are my daughters?” Patrick growls, lunging at the man on the ground again as he scrambles back in retreat. “I know you know where the fuck they are!” Something tugs in my chest as his voice cracks with despair. Knowing I could ease his suffering, then choosing not to, awakens the sickness inside me full force. I pop the trunk, quickly depositing the groceries inside before gently closing it. The maliciousness unfurls through my blood, making me put one foot in front of the other as I approach my new toy’s father.