Page 51 of Rose

Savior woke before the sun even hinted at rising. It was muscle memory now. In a few more minutes, if he wasn’t dressed and out the door, his father would storm in—yelling, cursing, fists flying. So he got up. Brushed his teeth. Washed his face. Let the cold water ground him.

Today was his birthday. Thirteen. A number that meant nothing to him.

While other kids might be excited, he felt…

nothing. Birthdays weren’t joy. Not in this house.

He didn’t feel thirteen either—he felt older.

Hardened. Like he’d aged ten extra years in silence and pain, each one etched into the broad shoulders and thick frame he carried like armor.

He stepped out of the bathroom and paused. Perched on his already-made bed were the twins, smiles stretched wide and sleepy curls everywhere, like they’d raced each other out of bed.

“Happy birthday, Savvy!” they chimed together.

His heart softened, just a little. If love existed in this house, it was tucked inside those two faces.

“Thanks, twins,” he murmured, moving to the drawer to grab workout clothes.

“Happy Birthday, ugly,” Olivia mumbled as she walked in, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Thanks, Olive Oil,” Savior smirked, earning a middle finger from her as she flopped onto the bed beside the twins.

“What are you doing for your birthday?” Sarai asked, her voice hopeful, sweet.

Savior hesitated. How could he explain that nothing was planned, because nothing ever was? That the twins got parties and pancakes, but for him, it was just another test to survive.

Before he could speak, the door burst open. Saint stepped in, dressed in his usual white tee and basketball shorts. No smile. No happy birthday. Just sharp eyes and a harder tone.

“Ready? I thought I’d have to come drag your ass outta bed.”

Sarai ran to him, her small arms around his waist in full daddy’s girl fashion. Savior watched the shift in Saint’s eyes—how they softened for her in a way they never had for him.

“Daddy, Savvy’s running again today? But it’s his birthday,” Sarai said, confused. “Yeah, today should be about stuffing cake in his face. Mommy made us a big breakfast. Where’s Savvy’s big breakfast?” Sincere added, climbing down from the bed in his Spiderman pajamas.

Saint looked at his youngest son, then to Savior, who didn’t return the glance. He knew better.

“You want a big breakfast, Savior?” Saint asked .

It was a trap. His tone said it all. Say yes, and he’d pay for it later. Say no, and maybe he’d avoid a bruise today.

“No… I’m good. We can go run.” His voice betrayed him, cracking just slightly.

Selene popped into the doorway, face fresh, robe tied loose. “Twins! I’ve been looking for you. Breakfast is ready.”

Sincere bolted past her without a second thought. Saint gently set Sarai down, but she stood firm, arms crossed, defiance in her little face.

Olivia gave Savior a sad, silent look—wishing she could offer more than just presence, but knowing she couldn’t. So, she stayed on the edge of his bed, quietly watching, holding space in the only way she knew how.

“Savior should eat breakfast too. It’s his birthday. He’s already big and muscular—he don’t need to run no more,” she said with attitude, earning the smallest, saddest smile from him.

Saint’s jaw clenched. Selene gave Savior a look—soft, guilty—but he felt no warmth in it.

“Happy birthday, Sav,” she offered.

“Thanks.”

“Go eat, Gold,” Saint said. “Savior will eat when he gets back.”

Sarai huffed but turned and ran straight into her brother’s arms. Savior scooped her up and held her close. Even at ten, she was still his baby sister.

“I promise to eat Mommy’s big breakfast when I get back,” he whispered, kissing her cheek.

“I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes too. Aunt Marley taught me. I know you love those,” she whispered back, kissing his cheek in return.

“Thank you, Gold.”

He set her down gently and watched her skip off, grabbing Olivia hand as they exit. The door closed behind them. The silence returned. The run awaited. And just like every other birthday, he left the house with an empty stomach and a full heartache.

Savior followed his father out of the house, expecting the usual morning run, but paused when Saint opened the door to the 1967 Ford Mustang Fastback—his pride and joy, the car he treated better than anything else. Maybe even better than his own son.

“I thought we were running?” Savior asked, confused.

Saint tossed him the keys without a second glance. “Let’s go for a ride instead. You’re driving.”

Savior blinked, stunned. “Really?” His voice cracked with disbelief. He expected a trick, a test, not this. Not freedom.

“You finally thirteen,” Saint said, sliding into the passenger seat. “One step closer to being a man. It’s time you start acting like one.”

Savior tried to hide the grin spreading across his face as he climbed behind the wheel. He didn’t have a license, but he’d been driving for years—Saint made sure of that. This felt different though. A gift. A moment.

“Don’t scratch my shit, or that’s your ass,” Saint muttered.

Savior didn’t care. He was floating. For once, it felt like maybe… maybe his father saw him. Valued him. Maybe this birthday would be different.

“So where we going?” he asked as he cranked the engine.

“The warehouse. Got a gift for you,” Saint said with a smirk.

Savior lit up. The wind kissed his face as they cut through the Miami streets, old-school rap thumping through the speakers. For a moment, he felt alive. Normal. Appreciated.

They pulled up to the warehouse. Savior parked, stepped out, nodding to the men standing guard. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Inside, Saint led the way. “Havoc, package delivered and waiting,” Greg said as they passed.

Savior’s heart jumped. The package had to be for him. A car? A bike? Maybe even a surprise party. Something cool. Something that said you matter.

But then Saint led him down to the basement.

The basement wasn't for gifts. It was for silence. Secrets. Blood.

Still, he followed, forcing himself to believe the best. Maybe whatever it was needed to be hidden.

He stopped cold.

A man sat tied to a chair—bloodied, bruised, barely breathing. Savior recognized him. He’d seen him around the crew, laughing with his father like family.

“Man... Havoc… I didn’t mean to—” the man began, before Greg silenced him with a brutal punch. The crack of bone echoed. Savior didn’t flinch. He’d heard worse. Seen worse.

But this felt off.

Saint turned to him, a glint of steel in his hand. A blade. He offered it to his son.

“You’re thirteen now, Khaos,” he said. “Time to be a man.”

Savior took the knife slowly, his brows pinched. “What?”

“That nigga stole from you. Stole from your fucking family. And stealers are what?”

Savior stared at the man. His mouth was dry. His voice even drier. “Snakes.”

Saint stepped closer. “What do we do to snakes?”

Savior’s grip tightened around the blade. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. “Cut their head off.”

“Then do it,” Saint said, voice hard and final. “You a man now. Next in line. Show me.”

Savior’s stomach twisted. His hands trembled, but he couldn’t show it. Not in front of Saint. Not in front of the crew.

The man stared back at him—pleading, broken, already half-dead.

This wasn’t Savior’s first kill. But it was the first that would follow him forever.

No cake. No balloons. No birthday song.

Just blood. Just silence. Just a boy becoming a man in the worst way.

And when it was done, he walked out of that basement with red on his hands and a coldness etched into his soul.

Happy fucking birthday.

“Mmm... shit.” Savior groaned, eyes fluttering open to find Ahzii between his legs, her eyes locked on his as her mouth worked his dick like she owned it.

Her head bobbed in a smooth, relentless rhythm while her hands massaged his balls with skillful pressure.

The nightmare—no, flashback—faded instantly under the pull of her throat.

She didn’t ease up. She swallowed him whole, relaxing her jaw as she took him deeper, then gagged just a little, sending a jolt through his spine.

“Fuck... Allure,” he growled, his toes curling as he felt his soul about to leave his body.

It wasn’t even noon on his thirty-third birthday, and he already knew—this was the best birthday he’d ever had.

“Mmm...” she moaned around him, the vibration of her voice sending a ripple of pleasure up his spine. He felt his nut rise fast—too fast—and she knew it. She stayed on rhythm, devouring every drop the second he erupted in her throat.

“Shit...” he breathed out, chest rising and falling as she swallowed, then licked him clean like he was dessert.

Ahzii rose slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and giving him that wicked little grin. “Happy birthday, Sav,” she said sweetly, like she hadn’t just stolen his soul and handed it back like a gift.

“Damn... Allure.” He reached for her, pulling her into his arms as she squealed and laughed.

“That’s how you waking your man up on his birthday?” he teased, voice still hoarse from the high.

She grinned. “Still not my man. But I figured you deserved it—especially after the way you fucked me senseless last night.”

He laughed, full and easy, the way he only did with her. Ahzii had been staying with him for the past two weeks. He’d refused to let her leave, and truthfully, she hadn’t wanted to. His bed was more comfortable than hers, and so was his presence.

She pecked his lips quickly before slipping out of his grasp. “Get up and get dressed. We’re going for a run. Then I’ll come back and make breakfast.”

Savior raised a brow, amused. “Don’t burn down my kitchen, Allure.”

She turned to mug him. “First off, I can cook. I just don’t like to. And I hope you bite your tongue when you eat for coming for my cooking.”

She spun on her heel, but he moved fast, grabbing her and pulling her back in with one arm around her waist.