Ashes & Roses

Chapter 18

!CONTENT WARNING!

This chapter contains sexually explicit content and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised. 🌶️⚠️

Carsin Saint Clair

'Sin' 🖤🩸

The sky had curdled into ink by the time I finally pulled into the gravel lot of Saint Clair Auto, the garage yawning wide and dark behind a lonely island of light: the sickly yellow glow of the desk lamp Luca always left burning. I cut the engine, and sat there for a long beat with my hands dead-weighted against the steering wheel as the name Wynter Rose Monroe scraped against the inside of my skull all the way across town, rhythmic as a pulse. Pushing the door open, the heavy hinge groaned in the damp night air, and I locked the car behind me with a solid, reassuring click before stepping into the familiar scent of motor oil and hot metal. Luca was sitting cross-ankled on the hood of an unfinished project, thumbing a glowing screen, he didn't look up until my boots hit the concrete floor, and he shuffled off the hood of the car.

"Well?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation and curiosity. I tossed my keys onto the workbench where they landed with a sharp, metallic clatter.

"Wynter Rose Monroe."

"That's her?" Luca's eyebrows shot toward his hairline, the screen forgotten.

"That's her." I confirmed flatly. I needed to regroup, I headed towards my office with Luca following close behind me.

"And the money?"

"I don't know yet" I climbed up the stairs, eager to sit down.

"You tailed her all day." Luca asked with a slick question arising in his voice that I didn't have the patience for.

"I know." A slight scoff escaped my lips, he knew how much I hated when he stated the obvious.

"And you don't know?" He pressed further.

"That's what I f*****g said-" I snapped harshly stopping abruptly on the steps the suddenness making Luca almost bumping into me. I turned slightly to look at him and he pressed his lips together firmly not daring to say another word. My gaze held his for a few moments before continuing up the stairs and straight into my office.

"She's locked down in the dorm." My body dropped down into my chair behind my desk and I threw my head back looking up at the ceiling. It's cracks and slight water stains showing the age of the building.

"Then let's go tonight?" Luca said, taking a step forward a little too eager.

"No." I groaned, my head slowly turned to look at him.

"No? Why the hell not?" His brow hitched, disbelief flashing across his face.

"Too much noise. Too many eyes. Too many goddamn cameras." It was almost like a puzzle I needed to solve.

"We wait until she's out cold," he argued, gesturing sharply with one hand. "Take the cash and vanish."

"And if she wakes up?" I asks already putting holes in his nonsensical plan.

Luca didn't answer immediately, the hesitation hanging heavy and oily in the air between us until that silence became answer enough. I leaned back, shaking my head.

"No."

"Sin, we're out of options. We grab her from campus maybe when she's leaving her last class. Kill her, dump her body in the woods-"

"I said no."

He exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, and began pacing around my office. I understood where his frustration came from so I didn't stop him.

"Then we ambush her. Break into her room, scare the hell out of her, make her cough up, rough her up a bit, and ask where it's stashed."

"No." I immediately thought back to the girl who was practically invisible to everyone on campus, surely no one would notice if she were to disappear.

"Jesus Christ," he spun around, stopping dead in front of my desk. "So what the hell are you suggesting we do?"

I stared down at the concrete dust caked between the treads of my boots. "Nothing tonight."

"We don't have nothing tonight. It's Wednesday." Luca's jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked.

"I know Luca, but you didn't see this girl. I'm not above killing anyone you know that but, you put this girl in a ring with Cinnamon and she's gonna lose...against a cat. I won't have her death on my conscience, I already have too many"

"We have two days, Sin. Zaelen isn't going to keep sitting on his hands, and you know it as well as I do."

Luca had a point, and I knew I was cutting it close. Zaelen was not known for being patient. My jaw tightened with slight frustration.

"I'll talk to her."

Luca let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "Talk? You think she's just going to hand over answers because you asked nicely? What if she lies through her teeth?"

"Then we deal with that when we get to it." I spat.

"How?" he demanded, throwing his hands up.

"Cleanly, quietly."

Luca gave me a long, cynical look, the thoughts ticking clearly behind his eyes. "You're actually giving her a chance?"

"I'm giving us a chance to figure out what the hell is going on before we kill someone"

"Could just stuff her in the trunk. Save us the conversational dread." He scoffed softly, shaking his head.

I pinned him with a look. He raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Just throwing options out there."

"No killing the ballerina" I warned shaking my head, turning toward the pink pointe show on my desk. "We don't need any blood on our hands. We'll handle it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow what?"

"I'll go talk to her. While you go talk to Zaelen and ask him for an extension, just another week"

"Alone?" Luca narrowed his eyes, tracking me across the room as I picked up the satin pointe shoe, dragging my thumb across her stitched initials.

"Alone. I don't want this girl spooked to the point of not cooperating"

He gave a slow, reluctant nod, though the skepticism was written all over his face.

"No killing the ballerina." He sighed turning away and heading towards the door.

A genuine smile finally broke through, pulling at the corner of my mouth despite myself.

"Hopefully," I murmured staring down at the innocence I held in my hands.

What has this girl gotten herself into?

The heavy steel door of the office groaned as it clicked shut, sealing out Luca and leaving behind the profound, heavy silence of the shop. For the first time since I walked in, I let my guard down, leaning my head back against the worn leather of the desk chair. The old building groaned around me, pipes ticking behind the plaster while the garage downstairs breathed out its familiar, stubborn ghost of oil, hot rubber, and scorched metal. But the ambient noise couldn't drown out the static in my head. My gaze drifted down onto the pointe shoe. In my hands like a piece of evidence I couldn't quite categorize. Pale pink satin, scuffed lightly at the tip from hard contact with a studio floor, its ribbons folded with a neat, meticulous precision that felt almost stubborn not carelessly wadded up like any other dancer would leave them after a brutal rehearsal.

W.R.M.

Three delicate letters stitched into the lining finally had a face. Against my better judgment, my fingers curled softly around the slipper. The satin was surprisingly soft beneath my thumb, slick and yielding, sliding over my calluses with a friction that spiked something dark and restless low in my gut. I pictured the slender arch of her foot inside it, the muscle straining, the kind of trembling grace born of pure physical exhaustion. I shouldn't have been thinking about it. I had a name, a location, and a plan. That should have been more than enough to quiet my mind. Instead, my thoughts dragged me ruthlessly backward through the hours of the day, unspooling every detail of her like a bad habit. I remembered the way her shoulder slammed against the brick wall in the corridor, her soft, immediate apology for simply existing in someone else's way. The way she'd held a heavy iron door open until every single person had cleared the threshold, her small hands swallowed by the frame. The sharp, restless blur of a pen spinning effortlessly between her fingers during a lecture. The solitary way she anchored herself in the corner of the café, surrounded by open notebooks like she was quietly mapping out a territory nobody else was ever meant to cross and then there was the image of her outside the dorm, checking her lock twice, her slender throat swallowing hard against a shadow that wasn't even there yet. With a low curse, I shoved the shoe away, letting it drop back onto the wood.

"Fuck." I dragged both hands down my face, dragging my palms hard over my stubble, and blew out a long, ragged breath. Tomorrow. I'd look into her eyes tomorrow and figure out if she was a brilliant liar or just collateral damage. Until then, I had zero logical reason to keep wasting breath on this girl. I reached blindly for my phone, scrolling straight past the messages to the one person in the city who could short-circuit my focus without asking any questions.

Veronica picked up on the fourth ring. I knew she'd had watched my name pop up on her screen trying to punish me by not answering right away.

"What?" No greeting. Just that sharp, demanding edge I usually didn't have the patience for. A ghost of a smile touched my mouth.

"I want to see you"

A beat of absolute silence hummed through the speaker, followed by a dry, disbelieving huff.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm coming to your place." I concluded, already searching my desk for the keys to my bike.

"That's not what I asked."

I pushed out of the chair, my joints popping in the quiet office. I opened up the top left drawer and saw the keys sitting right there longing to be used.

"I had a long day." I breathed.

"And?" I just knew her eyes were rolling viciously, I can also imagine what she was wearing. Something black, lace, revealing.

"And I don't feel like thinking about it." I bit my lip. Another pause, heavier this time, thick with the history we didn't bother spelling out.

"You always call me when you're trying not to think, Sin."

"Or maybe I just want to think about you."

"You're shameless." She laughed, immediately softening up to me.

"You love it V" I rushed down the stairs, and walked across the shop towards my bike I hadn't used in sometime. She let out another laugh, a low laugh that vibrated right through the line.

"You're lucky I like you."

"I know."

"You better not show up here expecting me to entertain you while you sit around looking miserable."

"Give me twenty minutes." I reached for my helmet, black and matte, I didn't want anything that drew attention.

"I'll see you soon Sin" The line went dead. I dropped the phone into my pocket and took one last look back at the shop, Luca was working on a car and I told him to lock up. After putting my helmet on, I straddled my bike, kicking the ignition to life. The engine roared, a violent, mechanical snarl that instantly swallowed up every stray thought in my head. Outside, the midnight air hit my skin like ice water, sharp and biting. The ride across the empty grid of the city gave me just enough velocity to outrun the memory of the dorms, the missing cash, Zaelen's ticking clock, and the frustratingly soft curve of a dancer's ankle. By the time I cut the engine outside Veronica's apartment building right off the campus, the garage and the girl with the pink shoes were miles behind me.

The knock on Veronica's door is harder than I intended, my knuckles raw against the wood. I've been running on adrenaline and cheap coffee for twenty-four hours, and the thought of another night spent chasing shadows is unbearable. The door swings open, and there she is. A dream in crimson silk that barely covers her curves, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Her hair, a wild cascade of red, frames a face that knows exactly what it's doing to me. She leans against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched.

"Rough day, Sin?" she purrs, her voice like velvet and whiskey. I don't answer with words. I cross the threshold in one stride, my hands gripping her waist as I slam the door shut behind us with my foot. My mouth crashes down on hers, a desperate, hungry kiss that tastes of frustration and need. Veronica meets my intensity with her own, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. Our clothes are a blur of motion, silk and denim and leather scattered across her polished floors. I back her toward the bedroom, my hands roaming her body, reacquainting myself with every dip and curve. Veronica's laugh is low and throaty as she nips at my bottom lip, her hands working the buttons of my shirt with practiced ease.

"Someone's eager," she teases, but her breathing is as ragged as mine.

"Shut up, Veronica," I growl, but there's no heat in it. I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her the remaining distance to the bed. The sheets are cool against her back as I settle over her, my weight a welcome anchor. I don't bother with foreplay. There's no time for tenderness tonight. I enter her in one hard thrust, and the sound she makes part gasp, part moan goes straight to my gut. This is what I came for: the mindless, physical release that blurs out everything else. For a few precious moments, there's no Wynter, no Zaelen, no missing half-million dollars. There's only the slick heat of Veronica's body, the slap of skin on skin, the building pressure that promises oblivion.

Her nails dig into my shoulders as I set a punishing rhythm, each thrust a deliberate attempt to f**k the thoughts right out of my head. Veronica arches beneath me, meeting my intensity, her hips rising to meet mine. She knows what I need, knows how to take it and give it back in equal measure.

"Harder," she demands, her voice strained. "f**k Sin"

The bed frame protesting against the wall with every movement. The room fills with the sounds of our coupling grunts and gasps, the wet sounds of our bodies joining, the rhythmic creak of the mattress. Sweat beads on my brow, dripping onto her collarbones as I bend my head to bite at her neck, marking her, only for tonight.

Veronica's hand snakes between us, her fingers finding her c**t as she chases her own release. I feel her inner walls begin to flutter around me, the telltale sign that she's close. I shift my angle, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out, her body tensing as she shatters beneath me. The sight of her coming undone head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream is what pushes me over the edge. With a guttural roar, before I fully lost myself, I pulled out of her, my release pooling onto her stomach. For a few seconds, my mind goes blessedly blank, the tension of the last day melting away in the aftermath of my climax. I collapse beside her, my chest heaving, the sweat cooling on my skin. Veronica turns to face me, her fingers tracing the lines of my tattoos.

"Better?" she asks, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. I don't answer. I close my eyes, but even in the afterglow, the image creeps back in: a pink pointe shoe sitting on my desk, a silent reminder that some problems can't be f****d away.

For a while, I let the silence sit, thick and heavy in the dim light of Veronica's bedroom. She was beside me, stretched across the sheets with one arm tucked beneath her head, her breathing even and deep. I stared at the ceiling, but I wasn't seeing it. My mind had already gone somewhere else.

Tomorrow. How was I supposed to approach Wynter?

Walking up to her dorm room was too obvious. Cornering her on campus would make her suspicious. And if I came at her like Luca wanted, she would panic before I got a single useful answer out of her. She wasn't built for confrontation. That was the problem. Every time I pictured her, I saw the same things I'd watched all day. Her lowering her head when people passed her. The way she apologized when someone else bumped into her. The rose pen between her fingers. Those damn pointe shoes.

W.R.M.

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, the stubble rough against my palm. Veronica was talking but her words weren't registering in my mind.

Maybe I should start with the bag. Ask if she'd noticed anything strange that night. Let her tell me what she remembered. Give her an opportunity to explain herself before I decided what she was.

"You're doing it again."

I blinked. Veronica was looking at me, her expression unreadable in the low light.

"Doing what?"

She pushed herself upright, the sheets falling away to pool around her waist. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face, seeing past the mask I'd tried to put back on after our frantic coupling.

"Zoning me out."

"I'm not." I argued.

"You are." She slid out of bed and reached for the robe draped over the chair. She slipped it around herself and tied the belt with a sharp tug, the movement sharp and decisive. "So what?" she asked, turning toward me. "You came here to f**k me and ignore me?"

I sat up, the sheets tangling around my legs. "Veronica—"

She started toward the bedroom door, her back straight and rigid. I caught her wrist before she could get away.

"No." I loosened my grip immediately when she looked down at my hand, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot going on."

She didn't answer, just stood there with her wrist still in my loose grip, her gaze fixed on the wall behind me. I released her and rubbed the back of my neck, the muscles there tight and knotted.

"What did you say?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from me, stubbornness written all over her face.

"I asked if you wanted wine."

A pause.

"And to smoke a little." She glanced at me from the corner of her eye, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. "Maybe you could stay the night."

I almost laughed. Stay the night. Veronica knew exactly what she was asking. I didn't stay nights. I left before the hour more often than not. Sometimes before either of us had finished pretending this was anything other than what it was. It was easier that way. No waking up beside someone. No morning conversations. No expectations waiting in the daylight. But tonight, I was tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixed. The kind that settled behind my eyes and made everything feel heavier than it should. I looked at her for a long moment, really looked at her. The way the silk robe clung to her curves, the stubborn set of her jaw, the vulnerability she tried to hide behind her sharp tongue and then I nodded.

"Okay."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, a genuine surprise in her eyes. "I'll stay the night with you, V."

Something softened in her expression, but she tried to hide it with a quick blink. "Good." She turned toward the kitchen, her movements now more fluid, less rigid. I watched her go before falling back against the headboard, the cool wood a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering on my skin. For once, I didn't want to leave. Maybe because tomorrow was waiting for me either way.