Page 10 of Rose

Franklin leaned down and kissed his wife softly before Cynthia turned, all smiles, and introduced him to Sarai.

She extended her hand, and Franklin took it, his grip firm but his gaze shamelessly lingering where it shouldn’t.

Sarai’s polite smile masked the deadly chill in her eyes, though it didn’t go unnoticed by Savior watching from across the room.

Franklin’s interest was obvious—the kind of hungry stare that disgusted men wore without shame, even with their wives standing beside them.

Savior watched, stone-faced, as Franklin took Cynthia’s hand, and in a sick twist, Cynthia grabbed Sarai’s and led them both toward the grand staircase.

The sickest part of this entire mission wasn’t just Franklin’s role in the trafficking empire.

It was that his wife was the true mastermind.

A pediatric nurse by day, Cynthia used her position to gain the trust of new mothers, bonding with them, comforting them—only to sell them into slavery before they’d even healed.

But what turned Savior’s stomach most was knowing what they did together.

They didn’t just traffic women. They used them first. And tonight, they thought they picked the perfect victim. But tonight, they chose wrong.

Sarai glanced back once at Savior, subtle but clear. He lifted his champagne flute in silent acknowledgment. Stay sharp. Finish the job.

She ascended the stairs, letting herself be led to Franklin’s study.

The door clicked shut behind them, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room.

“What is this, a private party?” Sarai asked, her tone sweet, curious, playing her role with perfect ease.

“Something like that.” Cynthia smiled, slipping off her heels and settling onto the sectional in the corner, every move calculated and predatory.

Sarai stayed near the door, playing shy, scanning the room in one sweep. Desk. Liquor cabinet. Hidden cameras. Exit routes.

“Take a seat, sweetheart. We promise we don’t bite,” Franklin said, voice thick with fake charm. “Just trying to keep the party going.”

His voice alone made Sarai’s stomach turn, but she moved anyway, settling onto the couch, masking the disgust with a playful smile.

“So why are we up here? The party’s downstairs,” she asked lightly, feigning innocence, watching them both through lowered lashes.

Cynthia smiled, a predator in designer skin. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but my husband and I love spicing things up in our relationship.”

“Spice things up how?” Sarai asked, tilting her head, her voice calm, curious, letting the question hang between them.

Franklin leaned against the desk, pulling out a small bag of white powder. Without shame, he poured a line on the glass top and sniffed it in one clean motion, like it was as casual as drinking water.

Cynthia’s smile never wavered.

“Well, we like bringing beautiful women into the bedroom with us. And ever since we laid eyes on you at your restaurant... we wanted you.”

Her tone dripped with lust, and Sarai fought the urge to gag.

“Keep them occupied a little longer, Gold.” Savior’s voice whispered in her earpiece.

She gave a subtle nod, and Cynthia mistook it as agreement.

The clock was ticking.

But Sarai smiled sweetly, knowing death was already in the room.

“Umm… okay. So, you want to do a threesome with... me?” Sarai asked, voice soft, innocent, playing dumb.

They both nodded without hesitation.

“Like my wife said, you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on… besides my wife, of course,” Franklin said, flashing a smile that made her skin crawl.

Sarai flicked her gaze to Cynthia, who just smiled sweetly, the devil hiding behind pretty teeth.

“But what about the party?” Sarai asked, tilting her head, letting the question hang.

They both laughed like she’d told a joke.

“Those people aren’t worried about us, sweetheart,” Franklin said, slipping off his jacket, the residue of cocaine still dusted beneath his nose.

Cynthia scooted closer on the couch, her hand sliding onto Sarai’s thigh. The second her fingers touched skin, Sarai’s pulse flared with the urge to put a bullet between her eyes.

“Just relax. We just want to give you a good time,” Cynthia cooed.

Sarai forced a shy smile, swallowing the rising bile.

“Okay… but can I use the bathroom first? I need to freshen up.”

Cynthia pulled her hand back, still smiling.

“Of course. Right over there in the corner.”

As Cynthia stood, already peeling off her designer dress, Sarai slipped away, heart pounding but face calm.

She closed the bathroom door quietly, turned the faucet on to drown her voice, and took a deep breath.

“Gold, you good?” Savior’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

“Yeah. Everything good on your end?” she asked low, retrieving the Glock tucked beneath her dress, strapped tight against her thigh.

“Yeah… Sin made it to the dock. He’s waiting.”

Sarai exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

“Let’s end this shit. I’m in the last room down the hall, on the right.”

“All love,” Savior said.

“All love.” The words fell soft from her lips. What they always said before leaving each other, before pulling the trigger.

A knock on the door, then Cynthia’s voice, light but tinged with impatience.

“Gold… sweetie, you okay?”

Sarai opened the door slowly.

They were nearly naked now—Cynthia in lace bra and panties, Franklin shirtless, slacks hanging low on his hips, cocaine smeared across his face like war paint.

Their faces dropped when they saw her step out with a Glock raised and steady.

Before they could react, the study door creaked open and Savior stepped in, calm and smooth, his voice slicing through the tension.

“Oh, so this is where the real party’s at.”

They froze.

Franklin scrambled upright, coke dust scattering from his nose as the baggy hit the floor.

“What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?” Franklin shouted, panic turning his voice sharp.

Cynthia clutched her chest, voice cracking. “What is this? Who are you two?”

Savior smiled coldly, stepping farther into the room, his presence suffocating, gun resting casually in the waistband of his slacks but his energy far deadlier.

“Franklin and Cynthia Ross. Y’all really the power couple of the year, huh?”

Sarai stood by her brother’s side, gun still trained on them both, her face unreadable, but her next move already written in blood.

“What do you want? If it’s money, we have a safe in the—” Franklin started, voice shaking beneath false bravado, but Sarai’s laugh cut him off cold.

“Oh, these motherfuckers evil and delusional. That’s a bad combination.” Her voice was low, sharp, disgusted.

“The same money you made trafficking kids and women, huh? Nah, bruh. We good.” Savior’s voice was colder, and both Franklin and Cynthia lost the color in their faces, fear creeping into their eyes as they darted between the siblings.

Cynthia tried to save face. “Those women and kids knew what they were getting themselves into.”

The words tasted like poison in the air. Sarai’s glare burned through her.

“I told you to stop after the last one,” Franklin hissed lowly, shooting Cynthia a dark look. Even now, they were blaming each other.

Savior stared at them in disbelief, not because they were guilty—but because they owned it so casually, like it wasn’t worth hiding anymore.

“You two are sick as fuck.” Sarai’s voice was venom sharp.

Cynthia straightened slightly, trying to salvage her pride. “So you’re going to kill us? With all these witnesses here?” she challenged, her voice shaking beneath the false confidence.

Savior smiled. Calm. Deadly. “No.”

He stepped forward, letting the weight of his words hang in the room.

“You’re going to do the honors yourselves. Consider it repentance—for the lives you stole, the harm you caused.”

Sarai smiled beside him, cold and sweet like death itself. Franklin and Cynthia looked between them, confused, fear crackling through the room like static.

A knock sounded at the door, then a man in an all-black suit entered—posing as Franklin’s security, blending in all night unnoticed. He carried a tray of four champagne flutes.

But only two of them carried death.

Sincere’s work, flawless and undetectable.

The man placed the tray on the table in front of them, handed Sarai and Savior their drinks with a respectful nod, and walked out as if nothing was amiss.

“So what’d y’all call this earlier… a private party?” Sarai grinned, raising her glass. “Let’s toast to a killer night.”

Franklin and Cynthia stared back at them like they were staring at the devil himself.

“I’m not drinking that shit,” Franklin spat, chest heaving.

Sarai smiled wider, tilting her head, mocking the same soft tone he’d used on her earlier. “I knew you were gonna say that, sweetheart.”

She set her drink down and pulled out her phone, turning it toward them.

On the screen, a live feed of their college-aged son sleeping in his dorm room—completely unaware. A masked man stood over him, silencer pointed at his head. The blood drained from Franklin’s face. Cynthia screamed, crumbling.

“Drink it, or your precious son dies in his sleep.” Sarai’s voice never wavered.

“Three seconds,” Savior said, taking a sip of his own champagne, wincing slightly. He never liked the taste of this rich-people shit, but it was the only thing decent in this house.

“Fuck you!” Franklin roared.

“Save it for the devil, nigga.” Savior’s voice was flat, unmoved.

“Two…” Sarai began to count, slow and cruel.

“Okay! Okay, we’ll do it!” Cynthia screamed, grabbing her glass with trembling hands.

She downed it in one breath, the poison hitting instantly. Her body convulsed, mouth foaming as she collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

Before Franklin could grab his own glass, Savior pulled his gun and put one clean shot through his skull.

Silence fell over the room, thick and final .

The devils were dead.

Sarai and Savior moved fast, working in perfect sync to stage the scene.

They planted the evidence they’d collected—documents, hard drives, encrypted files that detailed every dark corner of Franklin and Cynthia’s trafficking empire.

Then they positioned the bodies, making the room look like a double suicide driven by guilt.

The cocaine, the champagne, the carefully placed note Sincere drafted—all of it would point the story exactly where they wanted.

By morning, the media would tear this place apart. Headlines would scream of scandal, betrayal, and suicide. And in the mess, the truth of their crimes would finally surface.

That’s what Khaos did best. He didn’t just kill the wicked—he burned their legacies down with them.

They slipped out of the study, leaving the darkness behind as the mansion below remained alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and ignorant bliss.

All the security cameras had been wiped clean. Their faces, their movements—erased.

No one would ever know they were there. No one would ever suspect the destruction that unfolded just a floor above them.

The Ross estate sat against the ocean’s edge, moonlight bouncing off the water. They cut across the back gardens without a word, heading for the dock where Sincere waited, calm and collected behind the wheel of a sleek black speedboat.

Without hesitation, they boarded, slipping into the night without leaving a ripple behind.

Ghosts.

Just like they were trained to be.

“Make the call, Gold,” Savior said, voice low against the rushing wind.

Sarai pulled the untraceable phone from her clutch, fingers steady despite the adrenaline still burning through her veins. She dialed 911 and slipped effortlessly into character.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answered, calm and routine.

Sarai let panic fill her voice, frantic and breathless. “Umm… I heard gunshots… and… and I don’t—”

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down so I can understand what’s going on.”

She stumbled through her words like a scared witness. “I was just going to the bathroom… and—”

“Ma’am, where are you?”

That’s when she dropped the hammer.

“Franklin Ross and his wife are dead!” Sarai screamed into the phone, voice cracking like she was on the verge of breaking down.

Then she ended the call and tossed the phone into the dark water, watching it disappear beneath the waves.

Sincere let out a quiet laugh as he steered the boat toward the distant shore where their getaway cars waited.

“Acting classes paid off, huh?” he joked, smirking as Sarai flipped him off without missing a beat .

Their mother had forced Sarai into everything growing up—acting, ballet, etiquette classes—and the boys never let her forget it.

“Fuck you. Hurry up and get us to shore. I’m sleepy,” she muttered, leaning back in her seat.

Savior chuckled, shaking his head at the twins’ banter.

Even on a night soaked in blood and death, they always found room for this. For laughter. For each other.

Because family was the only thing in his world he could count on.

And tonight, that bond had carried him through hell once again.