Blood & Roses

Chapter 9 -The Sketch

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

Bianca's POV

"I want to go home," I blurted, snapping the book shut.

His eyebrows lifted. "No good morning, Bella?"

"Good morning, sir." I snappishly mocked.

"Adrian." His voice was firm. "Use my name when we're alone."

"Good morning, Adrian." I set the book down. "I’ll be on my way now; my mother is expecting me."

"It's not safe out there."

"But you can't keep me here. I have a family to get back to. Unlike you."

He flinched like the words were a physical blow. Anger flickered in his eyes and something else that looked like . . . Pain .

"That was uncalled-for," he said quietly.

I knew it was; I regretted it immediately. But the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. I was irritated and tired of being told what to do.

"My mother is sick," I said, my voice shaking. "I have classes to attend, and yet you want to keep me here."

"Don't test my patience, Bianca."

"If let me go home, I'll be out of your hair!"

"No, not now! Those guys from last night saw your face. Don’t you see you're in danger?

My phone rang that instant, and I automatically pulled it from my pocket and answered the call. It was Sandra, my coworker at the club.

"Bianca? Are you alright, dear? Someone said they saw you walk out the club last night, exactly when the shooting started. I was so worried—"

"I'm fine, Sandra," I replied, infusing my voice with forced cheerfulness. "I got home safe."

"Oh, thank God."

" I sprained my ankle yesterday, so I can't come in today. Can you please help me tell the manager? I'll call her later myself, too."

"Of course, dear. I'm just so glad you're—"

Adrian snatched the phone from my hand and switched it off.

"Hey!" I snapped," That's rude; I wasn't done talking.”

"We weren't done either," he said coldly. "Didn't your mother teach you not to take calls in the middle of a conversation?"

Oh, no he didn't! "Who are you to teach me manners? You are not my mother! I'm not one of your …your women! And I’m going home today!" I shouted and banged my hand on his desk for emphasis.

Adrian rose slowly, till he towered over me, all muscles, and barely contained fury. I stumbled back when he stepped forward, but he kept coming until he backed against the bookshelf.

"You would have been dead last night if not for me," he said, his voice low and cold. "The least you could have done this morning is be polite. But no! It's been one insult after another. I have a lot on my hands, and I don't need a spoiled little …"

"Then let me go home!" I spat.

His jaw tightened. "You don't understand the world you've stepped into. I'll be the one to teach you."

"I don't want to understand anything, especially from you."

In a flash, he was on me. His hand gripped my wrists and forced them above my head. The wooded shelf dug into my spine and I winced from the pain. His body pressed flush against mine; I was scared, angry, frustrated. He was furious too, but something I recognized from last night flashed in his eyes. Desire.

"You test my patience, Bella," he growled.

Before I could speak, his mouth crashed down on mine in a rough and bruising kiss. His hand fisted in my hair, while his mouth devoured mine, swallowing my protests. I struggled to dislodge the grip he had on me, but he was way stronger than I was.

I hated him for taking my first kiss this way. My hands were shaking, and tears fell from my eyes.

A knock at the door startled us.

"Boss! Urgent update!"

Adrian pulled back and looked at me. His fingers swiped at the angry tears on my cheek, and I turned my face away, rejecting his touch. His dark eyes were filled with regret.

I mustered all the energy I could and slapped him. The sound echoed through the study, and the force of my slap turned his head to the side. I followed up by shoving him, he stumbled back and took the opportunity to run out of his office.

I ran out of the mansion and kept at it until my lungs burned from my cries and exertion. When I stopped, I didn't know where I was. It was still inside Adrian's mansion, but I was lost in the garden.

Oh girl, you've really won it this time. Miss Naggy chided.

…………

Present Day – The Safe House

Bianca's POV

I woke up on the fourth day, after falling asleep daydreaming about the incidents of three months ago. I decided I was done moping around. I needed something to keep me busy while I sorted my emotions and my next move.

Crying wasn't going to change anything, so I got up and washed my face. My eyes were still swollen; the bump on my head had faded to a yellow-green bruise. I still looked like hell, but I was grateful to be alive.

After washing up, I went to find Roscoe. He looked surprised to see me up; I usually slept through the day, and did not come out of my room except to get food.

"I need art supplies," I said without preamble.

He blinked at me.

"Paper, easel, and I'll also need paintbrushes, paint, pencils, and canvases. Any art supplies you lay your hands on, bring them to me."

"Ma'am..."

"I'm not asking, Roscoe. I'm telling you, I need to draw, if you don't want me to lose my mind." I paused. "Please."

He studied me for a long moment, then he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

He was gone for an hour. When he came back, he brought me a sketchpad, a set of pencils, charcoal sticks, and a small box of watercolors. It wasn't much, but it was enough for a start. I sat by the window and started to draw.

At first, I didn't know what I was drawing, then my hand moved on its own. Lines became shapes; shapes began to form a face.

Adrian’s. I drew him from memory. —The curve of his jaw, the way his dark eyes crinkled when he almost smiled. I drew him until the page was full. Then I turned to a new page.

I drew the mansion’s dining table, the chandelier. And then, without meaning to, my hand drew something else into the space.

A figure.

I didn't recognize who it was at first; but on closer inspection, I did. It was the guard who had handed Adrian the phone that night he took me to his house. The phone I used to call my mother that night. He had been standing in the corner of the dining room, inconspicuously and almost blended into the room. You would not notice him, unless you had an eye for details.

I stared at the drawing. Why did I draw him? I felt like the reason was important, but I could not pinpoint why.

And then it clicked in my mind. At the stairwell, before the explosion, this man who had stepped out of the shadows, gun raised, and aimed at Adrian and I. Adrian had dodged instinctively, but I doubt he saw the face of the shooter since he was facing me, concentrated on protecting me.

But I, I had been looking over his shoulders so I could see his face. In the confusion of the incident and subsequent building explosion, I had not pieced together what I saw, until now.

He was part of Adrian's security team, so why was he aiming at his boss? My heart started to pound. I turned to another page and sketched faster. This time, a close-up image of the man's face. The scar above his eyebrow and his ponytail.

Was he a spy hiding in Adrian's security team? I stared at the drawing, wondering about the possibility.

A mole.

I needed to show Roscoe. Roscoe was not outside my door this time, so I walked down the hallway in search of him. I could hear him from the common area. It was low, urgent. When I moved closer, I heard Roscoe speaking to someone on the phone . . ." She's not safe there anymore."

I stopped. Who was he talking to?

"No. He said to wait."

He? Who was he?

"I know. But if she finds out— it has to be from him."

I stepped back; my heart was pounding. I looked down at the drawing in my hands. At the guard who was likely a mole. How many were there? Was Adrian aware of their existence before his death?

And Roscoe, he was hiding something from me. He hadn’t particularly lied to me; more like he evaded the truth each time I asked him a question. I turned and walked back to my room. Sitting on my bed, I contemplated whether to tell him my suspicions or not.

Adrian trusted him, but now I wonder . . .could he really be trusted now his boss was dead?