Page 21 of Rose

Kiyan perked up instantly, his whole face lighting like she just promised forever.

“You know how long I been wanting you to stay in this bed with me?”

Ahzii rolled her eyes but let out a small laugh.

She rolled her eyes, smirking despite herself. “Not to crush your dreams or anything—but I’m still not sleeping with you.”

He mugged. “So you can ride the fuck outta me, but not lay beside me?”

“Exactly,” she said without hesitation. “You already in too deep. Don’t fuck around and catch more feelings—I will cut you off.”

Her tone was cool, matter-of-fact.

Kiyan chuckled in disbelief. “Who the fuck raised you?”

Ahzii smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I was raised by a great, strong Black woman,” she said. “Parents died. And the right woman took us in.”

Kiyan paused. “Wait... You’re adopted?”

She nodded like it was nothing. “Yup . I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

She turned and walked out without another word.

Kiyan didn’t follow.

Which told her exactly what she needed to know.

He was speechless.

And that was fine. She wasn’t here for conversation, connection, or comfort.

Especially not the kind that asked her to unpack shit she buried a long time ago.

Ahzii moved into the guest bathroom, stripping out of her clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water beat against her skin, washing away the sweat, the sex, and the strain of the past few days. When she stepped out, she quickly realized she didn’t bring anything to wear.

But a small smile tugged at her lips when she saw the oversized t-shirt and boxers folded neatly on the counter .

After patting herself dry, she reached for the lotion sitting next to the clothes—something soft and vanilla-scented. She knew Kiyan left it there for her. That small gesture didn’t change anything, but it did speak to the kind of man he was.

She slipped on the t-shirt and boxers, the fabric swallowing her in the most flattering way—loose enough to be comfortable, snug enough to remind you she was still all curves beneath it.

She padded out of the room, planning to thank him, but paused when she heard his shower running upstairs. No use waiting. She was thirsty anyway.

Navigating the dark, she headed downstairs toward the kitchen. She’d been here enough times to move without flipping the lights on.

Until—

“That nigga must not’ve satisfied you.”

The voice—deep, raspy, unfamiliar and too close —made her jump.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

She froze mid-step, breathing sharp, eyes scanning the shadows.

The living room sat still in the darkness.

Her fingers fumbled toward the nearest lamp, flipping the switch with shaky hands. Warm light bathed the room—just enough to illuminate the figure leaning casually in the corner.

Savior.

The man from the barbershop. The man whose presence had haunted her in silence.

Now, in the stillness, she actually saw him.

The chill that ran through her was more than fear—it was recognition.

He was fine in that dangerous, carved-from-stone kind of way. Deep chocolate skin that shimmered like polished mahogany, waves still sharp, the cut clean and gleaming. His face was stoic, but his mouth twisted into a slow, knowing grin.

What stopped her—what snatched her attention—were the tattoos. Intricate, detailed, stories inked into skin. Even standing in the fog of fear, the artist in her was mesmerized.

Still, her voice came out low, controlled.

“What do you want?”

Her eyes flicked toward the stairs. Kiyan was still in the shower. She silently begged him to come down. Now.

Savior chuckled, flashing white teeth lined in a gleaming gold grill.

“The real question,” he said smoothly, “is why you fucking with a nigga who can’t even fuck you to sleep—let alone give you something comfortable to wear?”

Ahzii glared, jaw tightening, but her eyes involuntarily dropped to her borrowed shirt and boxers.

That wasn’t Kiyan.

He gave her the clothes.

The thought made her stomach twist.

“How did you even—”

“You move quiet when you’ve spent your life surviving,” he said, cutting her off, his tone unreadable.

His gaze slid down her body, slow and deliberate.

“Too beautiful of a woman to be treated like a late-night option,” he added, licking his lips with the kind of hunger that made her body tense and her throat dry.

“Look, if you’re gonna steal something—”

Her voice was steady, but her pulse wasn’t.

He cut her off smoothly, that mug he wore now full of offense.

“Do I look like the type of nigga that needs to steal anything?”

His tone was calm, clipped—and that made it worse.

“What the fuck do you want, Savior?” she asked, voice low as her eyes flicked up the stairs again.

Kiyan had to be asleep by now. No way he was still in the shower.

“Oh, so you know who I am,” Savior said, hand resting against his chest dramatically. “And you think I’m a thieving ass nigga. Damn. I’m hurt, Gorgeous. ”

She crossed her arms, stepping back into herself.

“At this point, you’re stalking me. I won’t hesitate to file a restraining order.”

“Put a restraining order on your man ?”

That stopped her.

“What?” she snapped, her mug now confused and bold.

“Yeah. Your man.”

He took a step toward her, and she instinctively took one back.

“Your failed attempt at buying me with roses and a bottomless meal tab at your sister’s restaurant doesn’t make you my man,” she spat. “I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in.”

In two strides, he was right in front of her. Close enough to steal the breath from her chest. Her back hit the wall. Hard. There was nowhere else to go.

She turned her head toward the stairs, mouth opening to scream—

But his hand was already over her lips.

“Don’t,” he warned.

His voice was low. Ice-cold. Lethal.

“If that basketball nigga comes running down these stairs thinking he’s Superman, I’ll blow both his knees out. He won’t play again. And you …” his eyes narrowed, “…don’t want to be the reason someone’s dreams get ended. Do you?”

The question hung in the air like a blade.

“Do you, Gorgeous?”

He was staring into her like she was both his salvation and his next mistake.

She shook her head slowly, eyes wide. He pulled his hand away from her mouth. Ahzii inhaled sharply, finally breathing again. But his eyes didn’t leave hers.

They lingered on her lips, then her neck, then right back up.

And for a moment, he didn’t blink. He was fighting something behind those eyes—desire, rage, restraint—and losing. Because even as he loomed over her, dangerous and unpredictable, something about her pulled at him like gravity.

And that shook him more than anything else.

“I just came to talk,” he said, his voice low and measured.

Ahzii gave him a hard stare, like she hadn’t just been scared shitless seconds ago.

“Talk about what ?”

The attitude in her tone was sharp enough to slice, and her arms folded over her chest like armor .

Savior chuckled, gaze unapologetically trailing over her from head to toe.

She was unlike anyone he’d ever seen—beauty sculpted by pain. Every tattoo on her skin told a story, but it was the one inked on her neck that haunted him. She didn’t even realize the power she held over him, and that fucked with him in ways he didn’t have words for.

But somehow, it felt right.

“A nigga disrespected you yesterday.”

Ahzii sighed, unimpressed. “What about him?”

“He fucked up doing that shit.”

She held his stare like it didn’t shake her—but it did. He could see it, even if she tried to bury it. Her fear had a heartbeat.

“I don’t need a man trying to protect me.”

Her voice was steady, but her words were a challenge.

Savior rubbed a hand over his beard, the corner of his mouth lifting. Then he looked her dead in the eyes—and what she saw in his gaze stole the breath from her chest.

“But I’ll kill for you.”

She inhaled sharply, and for the first time, looked away.

“I don’t need anyone killing for me either, John Wick, ” she shot back, her sarcasm thick.

“Alluring and got a sense of humor,” he murmured, studying her like she was some celestial anomaly.

She was everything—rage, restraint, beauty, and bitterness all folded into one. And the hollowness in her eyes told him the truth: she wasn’t just wounded—she was gone inside.

“Look,” she said, standing straighter, “you chose the wrong girl to wanna kill for. You can’t kill for someone who’s already dead. Save yourself the time and trouble.”

She turned to walk away. But he grabbed her arm, not rough—but firm—and pulled her gently back, placing her against the wall again.

He stared at her like she was the only thing real in a world full of ghosts.

Savior had stared death in the eyes a hundred times. Fought men twice her size. But this woman? This dead-inside, steel-spined, soft-skinned force of nature?

She was the most dangerous thing he’d ever faced.

“Too late, Allure, ” he said, voice low and final. “I sent something to your phone. Watch the video.”

Her heart stuttered. She’d forgotten she even brought her phone downstairs.

She looked down at it—there it was, screen lit with a notification.

“You don’t have my number,” she said, voice faltering for the first time. “How did you—”

Savior leaned in, tilting her chin with two fingers.

“Second thing you should know about your man…” his tone was deliberate, smug. “There’s no one—and nothing —I can’t reach if I want it. I found you, didn’t I?”

Ahzii rolled her eyes, but it didn’t hide the fact that her pulse was thudding in her throat.

“You’re not my man,” she said flatly, ignoring the weight of his last sentence.

“Not yet,” he replied, dark eyes burning. “Now open the video.”

Still eyeing him warily, she unlocked her phone and tapped the encrypted message. Her thumb hovered over it for a beat—then she pressed play.

The screen lit up with the man from the barbershop—the one who’d disrespected her. But now, he looked nothing like the cocky fool from the other night.

He was on the floor. Shaking. Bullet holes in both of his feet, blood pooling beneath him, voice trembling as he stammered an apology.

She couldn’t tell what made her stomach turn more—watching him bleed out, the quiver in his voice… or the calm, menacing tone behind the camera. Savior’s voice.

He didn’t have to be seen. His presence was laced in every second of the video.

But it was the name the man said just before the video abruptly cut— “I’m sorry, Ahzii Carter…”

Her heart slammed.

The screen went black. The message vanished. Gone.

She stared at the blank phone screen, jaw clenched.

“Ahzii Carter?” she muttered, voice low, almost to herself. “That is not my name.”

Savior’s laugh was dark and low. “Again… not yet.”

His eyes flicked from hers to her mouth like he was imagining what her lips might taste like.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she snapped, voice rising with disbelief. “You really did that shit because his ego was hurt?”

“No.”

His expression didn’t waver. “I did it because he disrespected my lady. My future wife.”

That word— wife —hit her chest like a fist.

The ring rested against her skin, nestled in the chain she always wore. She instinctively touched it, heart tightening as the grief rose like a slow tide.

She belonged to one man. And he was gone.

Before she could tell him that—before she could put up that wall again—Savior turned away.

“I need to head out,” he said coolly, grabbing his keys like he hadn’t just delivered a death threat wrapped in romance. “And you’re no longer fucking with that inconsiderate fuck nigga upstairs.”

Ahzii mugged hard, but her body was too exhausted to argue like she wanted to.

“Nigga, fuck you. I’m a grown-ass woman. I fuck with who I want, when I want.”

Savior turned and gave her a look that sent a chill through her bones. Cold. Unblinking. Possessive.

“See you soon, Allure, ” he said with a wink.

Then he was gone.

Just like that.

She rushed to the back door, heart pounding, eyes scanning the yard. But there was no sign of him.

Kiyan’s backyard was locked in, surrounded by tall fencing and concrete walls. It would take anyone else a few minutes to scale it.

Savior ?

Already vanished. Like he was never there to begin with.

Her mind spun.

The video. The violence. The way he looked at her like she was already his. The way her body still hummed from his proximity, despite everything in her screaming run.

And the part that scared her most—

She felt something. Something she thought died with William. Something no one had touched since.

She dragged herself upstairs to the guest room and crawled into bed. She wanted sleep. Needed it.

But all she could think about was Savior Carter.

And that was something she couldn ’ t afford to do.