Black Romance - 17 My Flower

“Are we feeling better today?” His voice skipped through my chest, twisting my heart.

“You’re back again,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady. The tension I felt melted away as soon as I knew it was Salt.

The room felt lighter, the air cleaner and fresh as if his presence made the difference. He was like the shining star in a black world. For the first time in my life, I was happy to be in that room.

“Did I get you into trouble?” Salt asked as he approached me in the dark. “Or are we on good terms today?”

When he stopped a foot away, I realized just how big he was. He was towering over me, at least six feet tall. His shoulders spanned the length of my arms if I stretched them out, his chest was puffed up and firm behind the fitted button-up shirt.

I half expected the buttons to pop off and shoot me in the face as he curled his arms around his ribs, resting his chin on the edge of his fist.

Shaking my head, I focused on his face as the shadowed room turned into actual objects. “No, I did what you told me to.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice a whisper as he smirked. “I’m glad you listened.”

I felt my lips curl up into a soft smile, the movement so out of place and forgotten I wasn’t sure it was real. All of my smiles had been fake for as long as I could remember, but not then, not with him.

Why am I happy he’s pleased with me?

Shaking the smile off my face, I focused on what I was actually doing and not how happy it made me to please him. “Are you here for another dance?” I asked.

Lifting his hand to my face, he brushed his thumb across my jaw. “You’re too pretty for this, you know that?”

My body went up in flames, instantly trembling from his touch. I felt my cheeks blush, my skin so hot I was certain he could see the bright fire on my face.

No Berlin! Stop this now!

Taking a step backwards, I dropped my eyes to the floor. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t tell me I’m pretty.”

“You don’t like a compliment?” he asked, his eyes piercing the top of my head as I refused to look up.

I could feel him watching me, I could feel the intensity in his gaze as he tried to read what was going through my mind. He could never understand me, no matter how much he tried.

“I don’t like it, it’s not real, not in a place like this.” Braiding my fingers together, I started picking at the beds of my nails nervously. “Look, I don’t know what your plan is here, but whatever it is, you should reconsider.”

“Reconsider?” Taking a firm step in, Salt pinched my chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look up at him. “Reconsider what?”

Searching his face, I wanted him to see the concern I felt for him. He was playing with fire. Virgo didn’t like being messed with, he didn’t like men who thought they were above him.

And this man, he thought he was above everybody. I could see it in his clothes, in the way he held himself, in his fierce, unforgiving stare.

“I don’t think you understand what you’re doing. Every time you come in here like this—”

Cutting me off, his jaw crooked. “Like what? What am I coming in here like?”

“Like you own the place, like you have rights to do whatever the hell you want.”

“You’re the one who said no one will tell me no. Did the rules change suddenly overnight?”

Veering my stare, I spoke clear and firm. “Games in this place will get you killed. Do you understand that? Can’t you see what I’m trying to telling you?”

“I’m not afraid—” His voice turned dark, his tone deep and stern. “I create the games, my flower, no one else.”

Sucking in a quick gasp, my brain went wild. He had called me his flower, no one but my mother had ever called me that. I hadn’t heard that word in years. When he said it, it hit me, making my heart stop in my chest and my mother’s voice skip through my head.

My flower. . . I’m not a flower anymore.

There was no color left in me. I was wilted, dying slowly without sun and air.