The Truth About the Roswells
1210 Words
“The truth about me?” I repeat, rising to my feet in instant annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He rises, too, though I note that Balto’s fixation with him lingers after they part. “There’s no need to get upset. I’m not saying you’re lying. I just want to know your story.”
“Well, why should I tell you?”
The amused look on his face is back. I have to admit, it’s a whole lot more attractive than his usual, menacing glare. In fact, the whole rugged, wrong-side-of-the-tracks look is starting to have a weirdly s****l effect on me that I’m not quite familiar with. “I thought we established that we were going tit for tat on this. I have information you want about the Roswells, and you have information I want about, well… you and the Roswells.”
Technically, we didn’t establish that. He told me he had information I wanted, and I agreed to meet him. I suppose it only makes sense, though, that he wants something in return.
I’m just not sure how I feel about the term tit for tat.
“I want to know about you first,” I tell him. “I don’t know anything about you.”
He shrugs. “What do you want to know?”
“Well… where are you from? What’s your family like? Why do the Roswells hate you?”
“I’m from here—born and raised. I’m from a very large family who have been very good to me all my life. And the answer to your last question is complicated. I’d rather start with you.”
I bite my lip, sinking back down onto the hay bale. I really don’t like sharing my feelings or experiences with anyone; it’s even hard with Finn, who’s been my best friend all my life. But I suppose, in this case, it’s for the best. “Okay. My name’s Quinn Price, and I’m a Sagittarius.”
He shoots me a sarcastic look.
I raise my hands in an innocent surrender. “Well, what do you want to know?”
He takes a seat on a tack trunk across from me. The big, black horse pokes his head out of his stall to sniff Dean, who gives him an easy pet. He seems to like animals a lot more than the Roswells. “Tell me about your family, and where you’re from.”
Great. Rip the Band-Aid right off, why don’t you?
“I’m an only child. Lived in Blue Ridge, Georgia all my life—up in the mountains. A month ago, my parents died in a car crash.”
He doesn’t blink. He already knew this. “Were you there?”
What kind of a question is that? And could he not at least pretend to show a little sympathy? “No, I wasn’t there.”
He must sense the sting in my voice, because his expression softens. “I’m sorry about your parents. I lost my father about a year ago, and it nearly broke me.”
Okay, that, I certainly wasn’t expecting.
I shouldn’t ask. In any other situation, I wouldn’t. But he’s certainly set the precedent for asking the rude and personal questions right off the bat, so… “How did he die?”
His already dark eyes seem to grow a hundred shades darker. “He was killed.”
He was killed?
My mind flashes to the mania in Aidan’s voice when he told me I couldn’t see Dean anymore, and the apparent rivalry between Dean and Cooper.
Is it possible the Roswells had something to do with Dean’s father’s murder?
And what about Cooper’s mother? Is it possible Dean and his family had something to do with hers?
Slow down, Quinn, I warn myself. You have no idea how Cooper’s mother died.
“I’m… sorry,” I manage when I realize I still haven’t said anything. “Did they catch whoever did it?”
He seems to have a hard time with that particular question—so much that he doesn’t even bother trying to answer it. “Tell me what happened next—after your parents died. Did you know Aidan already? How did he know about you?”
“I didn’t know him already. I have no idea how he found out about me. He never said.”
“And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“Of course, I thought it was strange. But what was I supposed to do? It was go with him or go into foster care.”
“Right. And the hundred-acre estate won.”
Okay, he’s officially back to pissing me off. “My best friend spent five years in foster care before he was adopted. The stories he told me…” I shiver at the thought. “He would never have forgiven me for making that decision when I had another option.”
He watches me thoughtfully. He doesn’t seem at all concerned that he’s pissed me off. “This is the best friend you were on the phone with in the stairwell?”
“Yeah, so?”
He shrugs. “Seemed awfully stubborn. Probably in love with you, if I had to guess.”
I groan, hitting my head against the wall of the stall behind me. “What does any of this have to do with what you’re going to tell me about Aidan? Can we cut to the chase already?”
“Almost. First, I need to know if you love the guy back.”
“Why the hell would you need to know that?”
“If I promise to tell you why, will you answer me first?”
I groan again, but I don’t see a point in continuing to object. After all, I have nothing to hide. “I love him as a friend, and nothing more. And he feels the same way about me. It’s not—”
“Aidan adopted you because he wants to control you,” Dean interrupts. “I don’t know why yet—haven’t pieced that much together. I’ll need your help with that, from here on out.”
“Control me, how?”
“He’s probably hoping you fall for Cooper, which would make you easier to control—hence my question of whether you loved your friend back. It would have been a small comfort to me if you did. Unfortunately, I’ve seen the effect Cooper Roswell has on women.”
I’m struggling to keep up at this point. “You… he… what?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t put it past Aidan to try to charm you himself, either. Has he tried that yet?”
Has he? If he has, he’s done a lousy job of it.
“I’m going to tell you the truth about the Roswells,” Dean tells me calmly. “But I need you to promise not to freak out.”
They’re murderers. They’re f*****g murderers. This town is filled with some West Side Story-level gang rivalry murder, and now I’m a part of it.
“I promise not to freak out,” I lie.
“Okay.” He swallows. “The Roswells are vampires.”
- Writer
