“What?” I kept my voice low as I paced the floor, running my free hand through my hair.

“Long time no talk.” Brock laughed but there wasn’t a hint of humor in his words.

“I’m f**king busy. I can’t just drop everything.”

“Whoa, Bishop. I think you need to take a second to remember who you are talking to.”

I blew out a heavy breath as I struggled not to flip out on this douchebag.

“When and where?” I asked as I leaned against my bedroom door frame, my eyes glued to the lock that dangled from the spare-bedroom door.

“I’m sensitive to your situation so I’ll let you pick the time. How’s The Pink sound?”

I rolled my eyes as I thought about the shithole strip club two towns away.

“I’ll call.” I hung up and tossed my phone onto the bed. “Fuck!” My frustration was driving me to the f**king edge.

“Cole?” A tiny voice called from the other side of my bedroom wall. I let my eyes close as I silently cursed myself for making so much noise. “Please let me out of here.” She sounded so young, so fragile, and that overwhelming desire to protect her crept back inside of me.

“I’m coming, darlin’.” I shook my head and grabbed the keys, hesitating as I slid it into the lock. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood and swallowed any feelings I had for this girl. This needed to go by the rules, and soon she could run right back out my life and I would go back to focusing on what I needed to do. I twisted the key and cleared my throat as I pushed the door open. Rose sat on the old mattress, her legs curled beneath her.

“I can’t stand being locked in here, Cole. I promise I will do whatever you say if you just let me out of here.” Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and expose how scared she was. She kept her chin raised defiantly.

“Colt. No one calls me Cole anymore, Rose.” I shook my head and turned to leave the room, the door still wide open. Within seconds I could hear Rose’s bare feet padding across the wood floor.

“I haven’t been called Rose in years,” she said quietly.

I hadn’t even thought about Rose in nearly four years. I blocked her from my mind the moment I nearly killed a man for her and she wasn’t even there.

“It’s the best way to unwind after a long day,” Brock said with a laugh. Something about his smile made my skin crawl. He looked like your average clean-cut guy, with his freshly shaved face and a haircut like a f**king third grader.

“Strippers are a waste of money,” I replied, completely disinterested in spending any more time with this ass**le than I had to. I took a long drag from my cigarette as my eyes scanned the deserted land behind the club.

“You know they allow smoking inside.”

I blew out a cloud of smoke toward his face and he waved his hand, coughing like a bitch.

“I don’t like smoking indoors. Feels…unnatural.” I took another drag, clicking my ashes into the air and watching them fall to the ground. The smoking wasn’t the problem. In fact, I had been trying to quit for three weeks now. I just didn’t want shit to do with some dumb ass**le’s bachelor party.

“Let go of me!” a female called from the far corner of the vacant lot. I looked past Brock to see what the problem was. He put his hand on my chest and grinned.

“Probably didn’t pay her enough.” He laughed and I had to suppress the urge to beat his f**king face in. God I hated this guy.

“Please!” the voice called again and this time it was more than obvious it wasn’t some simple domestic dispute. I took off across the lot, walking as fast as I could. Brock had to damn near jog to keep up with me.

“This isn’t our problem, Bishop.”

I gave him a sideways glance, warning him that I was not in the f**king mood. Just then I saw her and my body froze. Bright fire-red hair hanging in waves down to the center of her back.

“Rose?” I said aloud to myself.

“She ain’t no Rose. Firecracker maybe,” Brock replied, and I ignored him. I was now focused on the man facing her. He was bald and stood about a foot taller than she. He was above average in build, and he was dangerously close to getting his ass kicked.

“Prior military?”

Brock narrowed his gaze then nodded in agreement.

“I think I’ve seen her dance here before. That ass looks familiar. I’d have to put my face in it to be sure.” He chuckled and I turned to glare at him. “It was a joke.”

The woman squealed as the man grabbed her by her arms and lifted her from the ground, dropping her on her side.

I flicked my cigarette and took off, seeing red. Murderous red that could only come from memories of Rose. She brought out the best and absolute worst in me.

“Who the f**k are you?” the guy asked, his arms open like he was looking for trouble. Lucky for him, trouble had just arrived. I swung, hitting him with a wide right hook and he stumbled backward a few steps before widening his stance and catching his balance.

“I’ll f**king kill you, you son of a bitch,” the guy yelled as he cupped his hand under his mouth to catch the blood.

“If it’s you or me, I’d make yourself right with God, motherfucker.” I landed a jab square on his nose and it popped, bones crumbling under my knuckles.

“That’s enough!” Brock yelled, and I shook my head, looking this woman beater in the eyes, a twisted smile on my lips. “Jesus Christ, Bishop! That’s enough!” The ass**le’s feet gave way and I followed him to the ground, kneeling over him as I repeatedly landed blow after blow to his face. His head snapped back, cracking off the asphalt that peeked out from below the weeds.

After about a dozen hits my hand was numb and the man was no longer responding. I could only tell he was still alive from the blood that bubbled from his mouth as he struggled to take a labored breath.

“You really want to go down for murder over some f**king junkie hooker? Do you have any idea what they do to cops in prison?”

I pushed to my feet, staring down at the bloodied mess I had created.

“I’m not a hooker, I’m a dancer.”

I took a step back, my jaw clenched as I struggled to keep myself from killing this ass**le.

“Shut the f**k up, Brock,” my voice was low, animalistic.

“Thank you,” a small voice called from behind me. I closed my eyes, hoping that I was finally going to come face-to-face with the woman who had changed my entire world. I turned to face her and my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. Sitting on the ground hugging her knees was a terrified woman with long dirty-blonde hair. I raised my eyes to Brock who glanced to his right. On the ground a few feet away was the fire-red wig. I looked to the sky, cursing myself for being such a f**king idiot. As the rage gave way to reality, I could now feel the blood pulsing through my hand as my knuckles throbbed and the slight breeze over the broken flesh sent sharp stabs of pain up my wrist.

“Is he dead?” Brock yelled and I had to fight the urge to punch him in the mouth just to shut him up.

“Doesn’t f**king matter.” I stepped closer and the woman cowered, her hair hanging in her face.

I sank down on my knees, reaching slowly toward her face and brushed her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear. Big green eyes met mine, but the right eye was bruised with a purpling ring that extended into her eyebrow. I ran the pad of my finger over it and she winced, pulling back from my touch.

“It’s swollen. That should go down in a few days. The bruise isn’t anything you can’t hide with a little makeup.” I held out my hand to her, palm up. She glanced at the blood that had run into my fist while I was beating that prick. “It’s okay. It’ll wash off, darlin’.”

She slipped her shaking fingers in mine, and I squeezed her hand, pain shooting through me as the wounds pulled open, but I didn’t loosen my grip. I stood, pulling her up to her feet.

“We need to get the f**k out of here, Bishop. I am not going down for a murder.”

“Go,” I called out to him, keeping my eyes on the woman.

“Go?”

“Go back inside and enjoy your evening. Tell the guys I got a call from work and I had to go.” I turned to look at him to make sure he understood everything I was saying.

“What about…”

“I’ll take care of it. Go. They are probably ready to send out a f**king search party.”

I watched Brock shake his head before retreating to the front of the club to rejoin the party.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Amber, like the color,” she replied and I glanced over at the wig that lay in the dirt. “That’s why I wear the red wig.”

“So is that your real name or the stage name?”

“It’s my real name. I’m not a dancer. Not really. I mean…you do what you have to do sometimes.”

I gently grabbed ahold of her hair, which hung over her shoulder.

“I like this better. It suits you.”

She smiled, revealing two deep dimples, and I knew that regardless of why I’d helped her, I was glad I had.

“I should probably go.” Her gaze dropped to her feet and I used my good hand to tilt her chin up so she would look at me again.

“You and I have a pretty big secret in common now.” I glanced at the ass**le who lay in the grass a few feet away. Her eyes went wide.

“I won’t say anything, I swear.” She began shaking her head back and forth and taking a step back from me.

“I know you won’t because he isn’t going to die.”

“He isn’t?”

We both looked at the man as I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket and stuck it between my lips.

“Unfortunately.” I pulled a lighter from my front pocket and held it to my face as I inhaled. “But I just got a very important job and I can’t have something like this landing on my doorstep.”

She nodded, looking relieved that I hadn’t made her an accomplice to murder. I took another drag before I let my eyes drift back to her. She was still fixated on her bloody attacker. She was wearing what used to be a white T-shirt and tiny black shorts. I would have thought she was coming from the gym had I not found her behind the club.

“You on your way home?”

“I was,” she said with a sigh, “but now my ride might have trouble driving.”

I laughed and flicked my ashes between us.

“Well, Amber like the color, I can give you a ride if you like.” I wasn’t talking about my car.

“Yeah, take me home.” Her eyes narrowed and my dick went rock hard.

“Right this way, darlin’.” I grabbed the wig from the ground and guided her to my car.

Rose was my lifelong addiction and Amber had become my methadone. She filled that desperate need to connect to my past no matter how much I tried to deny it. I had worked hard to become a good person but that one moment in time had pulled me back.

“It kills me the way you look at me now.”

“Get used to it, sweetheart.” This bitch was determined to f**k with my head. I walked into the kitchen, ignoring her as I grabbed a container of yogurt from the bottom of my fridge and a spoon from the drawer. I carried it back to her and held it out for her to take. “Eat. You can do it out here or in there.” I motioned toward the spare bedroom. “Make it fast. I have shit I’ve got to deal with.” Brock couldn’t have called at a worse time. The secrets would pile up around me quickly.

She nodded, looking down at the food in her hands before crossing the room and sitting on the couch in the living room. She peeled back the foil lid and dipped her spoon in the strawberry yogurt, stirring it around to mix the fruit.

“What happened to your dad?”

“What the f**k do you care? Little late for concern.”

“Jesus, Cole. I just want to know what happened to you after I left.”

I clenched my jaw, swallowing back all of the nasty things I wanted to say to her.

“You’re about to take your meal to go,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes at her. She looked down at her food, her fingers stilled. “He’s dead. Both of my parents are dead.”

Her eyes shot up, wide and sad.

“Your mom? How?”

“She killed herself when I was nineteen.” I crossed the room and sank down on the couch. I struggled to block out my past, and now it was looking me in the eye and begging me to talk about those secrets I had locked away so many years ago. “She shot herself in the head in our living room. Do you know how rare it is for a woman to commit suicide with a gun?”

She shook her head, tears glossing her eyes.

“Pretty f**king rare.”

“Do you…” her voice trailed off and I avoided her question. I had always held on to the belief that she hadn’t killed herself; that my father had finally put an end to his brutality, but the evidence wasn’t there.

“I found her. I should have been there to stop her.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

I blamed myself for not protecting my mother. For her death, for losing Rose and not being able to protect her when she was younger. I had spent most of my adult life trying to make it up to all of those I had let down, but it was never enough.

“Eat your food.” I relaxed against the back of the sofa and propped my feet on the old coffee table. I wasn’t having this conversation with her. Not now. Too many years had passed and I was desperately trying to rewrite history for sanity’s sake. Having her here was crumbling the facade and none of this would end well.