Page 2 of Violent Little Thing

The Least You Could Do

DELILAH ROSE

“ Y ou need to be at the house by seven tonight.”

“What?” The question scratches my throat while my brain scrambles to process his command.

“I’m ready to cash in my favor.”

All it takes is one look from my brother, Weston Rose, with disgust narrowing his light, hazel eyes and dread makes a crash landing in the pit of my stomach.

He bites out, “Wear a white dress and do something with your hair. I need you to look like you give a fuck about yourself tonight.”

No greeting, no fake concern for my well-being. Just a demand. Always a demand.

At twenty-six and six years his junior, I’m used to his authoritative air. It doesn’t make it any easier to be around him .

“Why?”

He scoffs like he can’t believe I have the nerve to require more information and pulls the toothpick from the corner of his mouth.

I drop my gaze to watch him roll it between his fingers before his grating, nasally voice intensifies the headache pounding at my temples.

“There’s an event for The Society tonight.”

With the sweating water bottle still pressed against my head for relief, my face falls in a frown.

“Starts at nine, but I need you to get to the house by seven so we can make the one-hour drive out to the estate together.”

“No. I don’t want to.” I didn’t know what my father did at his society meetings for years, and now that my brother is following in his footsteps, I want to remain in the dark.

The less I know, the less I have to pretend to forget.

My brother’s grim tone cuts into my thoughts and he covers the hand I have resting on the table, the force of his grip crushing my knuckles.

I don’t bother wincing. It’s never fazed him and I’m too preoccupied with the headache migrating to the spot directly over my right eye to care.

“You say no like you have a choice. You owe me, or have you forgotten?—”

His sentence dies when I snatch my hand away and the movement sends the slippery water bottle flying from my grasp.

The plastic crackles as it returns to its original shape, no longer strangled by my palm.

I shoot a furtive glance around the restaurant to check for eavesdropping bystanders, but all I see are people consumed in their meals and companions.

Bending down, I pick up the bottle and set it on the table beside my plate .

“It’s the least you could do after I helped you land an apartment last year.”

He says it like it’s my fault. Like I chose to be a twenty-five-year-old without so much as a state-issued ID or bank account trying to move out on my own last year.

He says it like I’m living in the lap of luxury instead of a cozy studio in The Highlands with my roommate, Indigo.

But it’s always the same with him. I don’t think he knows how to be anything other than cutting and controlling.

Throw conniving in for bonus points and you have my older brother’s MO in a nutshell.

The devil works hard, but my brother works harder. “Besides, we need to present a united front now that dad’s gone.”

Irritation pricks my skin with heat, and I heave a sigh.

Weston takes that as acquiescence, draining the remaining liquor in his glass in a single gulp.

Then he pulls out two twenties and places them under the corner of his plate before shoving away from the table.

His glacial stare lands on me again while he gestures toward my untouched club sandwich. “I hope you know I’m not paying for that. Tired of covering your ass,” he gripes, standing. “See you tonight, baby sis .”

With my gaze fixated on my glass of sweet tea, I don’t look up again as he leaves the restaurant in a cloud of Acqua di Gio.

I don’t know if I want to retch from the nausea roiling in my gut or let tears cascade down my cheeks. I’ve always hated being an angry crier. It sends the wrong message—what’s boiling inside of me is rage, not sadness.

It’s hard to swallow past the emotion in my throat, but I do it .

Not in public. Never in public . It’s a reminder I give myself often. If I learned nothing else from being a Rose all my life, I learned to keep shit to myself until I was in the privacy of my own home.

Using a trick that’s never failed me, I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stem my tears and pick up my spoon to stir a packet of sugar into my sweet tea. This place never quite makes it sweet enough.

I stir until a mini tornado forms in the glass, entranced by the spinning amber liquid until my body relaxes enough to get me out of freeze mode.

“Wear a white dress and do something with your hair. I need you to look like you give a fuck about yourself tonight.”

“I don’t even own a white dress,” I mumble.

Reaching up, I run a hand through the ends of my new bob.

Since Indigo’s in cosmetology school, I agreed to let her use me as her at-home model.

After twenty-five years of not being allowed to get anything but a trim, I was too eager to volunteer for a shorter style and new color.

She claims the ash brown color compliments my skin tone and is perfect for summer.

And well, she’s my first girlfriend, so I trust whatever she says.

Pulling in an exhausted breath, I collect the condensation from the ice-cold glass on my fingertips and run them over my forehead, chasing an ounce of relief before reaching in my purse for my wallet.

A second later, my hand is in the air to flag down a waiter for a to-go box.

I might not have an appetite right now, but I’ll be damned if I waste my last twenty dollars on something I don’t even eat.

The extra water bottle will run me $4 alone and I may be having regrets.

I won’t have bus fare to get home and walking home with a headache sounds about as fun as whatever mystery event awaits me tonight.

“I hope you know I’m not paying for that. Tired of covering your ass.”

A sharp pain stabs me above my right eye, making me wince as I remember my brother’s parting dig.

At least he’s never been coy about his feelings for me. We’ve never shared the sibling bond I see celebrated in tv shows and books. No, contempt has always been the only emotion between us.

Weston Rose hates me, and I can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual.

With the way he reminds me of my faults, I don’t see that ever changing.

Who I am is cemented in his head because I had the audacity to want better for myself after our father passed last year.

Throwing my shortcomings in my face is the only language he knows.

Except we both know the apartment isn’t really all he’s holding over my head. We just can’t say the quiet part out loud.

At least after this—after tonight—I won’t owe him anymore.

He’s right. The least I could do is clear my debts before I move on to the next phase of my life.

Indigo wraps her knuckles on the thin partition separating our living space. “Can I come in?”

My lips twist at her earnest question. “Yeah, Indy, come in.”

The first thing I see when she rounds the corner is a flash of white. “Here’s the dress you asked for.”

I take the wooden hanger from her grip and hold up the dress to inspect. It’s beautiful. I knew it would be. Everything Indigo owns looks like art.

Our apartment is no exception. It’s tiny, but it feels more like a home than the mini mansion I grew up in.

The tapestries on the wall, the cluttered fold-out table in our kitchenette and the VCR in our living area. It’s all the warmth and charm my childhood was missing, a time capsule of everything I never got to experience.

“Where are you going again?”

Indigo’s voice filters through my distraction and it’s only then I remember I’m holding the hanger and she’s standing beside my twin-size bed.

“Um…” I run my tongue over my teeth. “It’s a dinner thing. With my brother.”

Her left brow flattens at the mention of my brother, and I bite my tongue to stop a smile from forming. I’ve never spoken ill of my brother in front of her, but somehow, she knows.

Not tarrying on it, my roommate bites her lip as she looks over me. “Hmm. I’m gonna steam the dress. It should fit you like a glove,” she remarks. “You’ve gained weight since you moved in, thank god.”

The fondness in her voice and the lingering touch of her fingers on my forearm fills me with a warmth that’s evaded me all my life. I didn’t know I’d have to wait until I reached my mid-twenties to know what friendship truly means. To have someone who sees me without judging.

When I moved in, all I had to my name was the deposit and my share of the first month’s rent. Indigo had the rest. She’s what I like to call sunshine in human form. She taught me how to grocery shop, how to apply for jobs, how to enroll in classes to get my G.E.D…

“Come on, Lilah. Let’s do something with your head.”

“What’s so special about tonight?” I ask as Weston eases to a stop at the end of a mile-long single lane road leading to the estate.

I’ve only been here once but what I remember is that the meeting place for The Lost Rose Society AKA The Society is ensconced in secrets I never want to decode.

Despite the opulence and grandeur visible to the eye, all I sense is darkness shrouding the grounds.

Chills dance along my skin as we get closer to the gate.

The car stops at the security booth and the whining of the automatic window pulls my attention from the mansion just beyond the gates and back to what’s going on beside me.

A moment after greeting the attendant, Weston reaches up to free a black envelope that was tucked into the sun visor. I can’t make out any words on it before he extends it out of the window, but it’s enough to make the security guard open the gate.

Looking like it was plucked from the pages of a fairytale, the stone manor comes into view. As enchanting as it is, I don’t allow myself to get caught up in the facade because I still don’t know why we’re here.

My question has conveniently gone unanswered, so I turn to ask him again. “Wes, what’s so special about tonight?”

“You’ll see.”

Annoyance heats my blood. “I’m not going inside until you tell me.”

Weston only kisses his teeth, rolling his window back up. “Tonight is auction night for The Society.”

He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he maneuvers the car through the gates of the property and onto the brick motor court outside the palatial building.

The same nausea from lunch assaults my stomach. My mouth waters in the worst way and that headache I got to ease up earlier chooses this moment to make a comeback.

Why do I need to be here for an auction? I don’t have any money. The man beside me made sure of that.

“An auction? For what?”

For the first time tonight, I’m worthy of my brother’s undivided attention. He shifts his Benz to Park before turning to regard me with a simple tilt of his lips. “Your virginity.”