The Gangleader's Obsessed with Me

Thorns On The Roses

"Lorelei." I jolt awake as something soft and crinkly smacks against my face. I blink, and there's James standing over me, wielding a rolled-up newspaper like I'm a misbehaving cat.

"What?" I mumble, rubbing my face. I'm still groggy—and warm, somehow.

"Your friend is gone."

I glance over at the chair. Sure enough, gang member guy is...not there. There's a small pang of disappointment that makes no sense whatsoever. I blink again, noticing my shoes are off and a light blanket is draped over me. Huh.

"Oh. Damn. His feet must be made of feathers 'cause I didn't hear a thing," I mutter, standing up and stretching.

James stares at me, his expression unreadable. Like he's processing the absurdity of this whole situation—and failing.

"Sorry, are we...experiencing the same thing?" I raise an eyebrow, grabbing my bag from beside the chair. "James, a stranger stumbled into your car with gunshot wounds, you drove him here instead of to a hospital because he asked you to...while bleeding out. Then you make me play surgeon, pulling bullets out so he could sleep soundly on my chair—my chair, which is now soaked in blood—"

"I'll cover that cleaning bill," I interject quickly, though I doubt he's listening.

"—and then, without so much as a thank you, he just ups and vanishes at the c***k of dawn?"

"Hey," I shrug, adjusting my bag, "that's just life, James. Life's weird."

James's jaw drops as I stroll around him, grabbing my keys with a little flourish. "Thank you so much. You're my dearest friend, truly. Send me the cost of the couch cleaning—whatever, just add it to my tab." I give him a quick smile.

James just sputters, "How—how are you not completely freaking out about this? Lorelei, we're not done talking about this!"

I shut the door behind me, stifling a laugh as I head toward my car. It almost feels like I'm floating. That is, until I see the smeared blood on the dented door. My face falls.

"Oh...shit." I crouch by the door, peeking into the back seat where the stains of last night's chaos are stark against the fabric. The evidence is everywhere, haunting my car like a ghost that won't leave.

I sigh, shaking my head. Where'd you go, Mr. Gang Member? And...why didn't you say goodbye?

#

"Lorelei Madden," my mother's voice floats down the hall like an ominous chime as I head to my room, trying desperately to ignore her. Her footsteps are quick and light behind me, practically bouncing with energy.

"Where were you last night?" she demands, her voice going up a notch with each question. "And why did James have to drop off the groceries? And where is your car? Also, I've told you a thousand times—I don't like those white eggs! Why'd you buy—"

"Mom," I cut her off, sharper than I intend. I take a deep breath, softening my tone. "I really need to get ready for work. Can we talk later?"

She huffs, not pleased, but finally lets me slip away to the haven of my bedroom. I shut the door and sigh, letting the tension drain. My mother was just...relentless. Her questions didn't stop; they multiplied. Living with her was like being under a microscope, every decision inspected and commented on. She's always there, always asking, always managing to make me feel like I'm five again.

I really need my own place, I think, flopping back on the bed. A familiar ache spreads through my neck—the kind that comes from sleeping hunched over in a too-small chair. Last night's chaos left me exhausted in ways that even sleep didn't fix.

It's after ten. I need to get moving. I pull myself up, head to the shower, and glance in the mirror. The woman looking back at me seems almost like a stranger—dark circles, a faint tiredness settling in around her eyes. I frown, rubbing at my cheeks as if that'll erase the lines. Twenty-one, and I already look like this? A quiet sigh slips out. Life felt bigger than me these days.

The door swings open, breaking the quiet. I whirl around, ready to spit fire. "Mom, can you please—"

"Relax," she says, rolling her eyes, looking amused that I'd even try to ask for privacy. "Someone dropped this off for you." She holds up a small, crumpled paper bag, waving it in front of me as if I might not believe her otherwise.

I take it, brow furrowing. "Who?"

"Oh, they didn't say." She he raises a brow, leaning closer, conspiratorial. "Also...there's some car just sitting in the driveway. Fancy little bow on it and everything. But no one's in it."

What?

I clutch my towel tighter around me, inching past her to the front door. And sure enough, there's a car parked in the driveway—a sleek, black car, shiny and new, with a little red bow on the hood and a note tucked under the wiper. I step closer, reading the note:

"I ruined your car...hope this'll make up for it."

My mother's voice rings out from the porch. "Whose is it?" Her arms are folded tightly across her chest, her eyes darting between me and the car as if I'm hiding some terrible secret.

I glance around, half-expecting to spot gang member guy lurking in the shadows. But no, it's just me, standing here with a bow-tied car and a vague sense of disbelief. I clear my throat, hesitating. "I...I guess it's mine?"

Her eyes narrow, suspicion instantly blooming across her face. "Yours? A car like this? From who, exactly?"

"A friend, mom." Hardly.

My mother's eyes narrow, glancing from the car to me and back again, her brows knitting into a familiar frown. "So, a friend just up and bought you a car? Out of nowhere?"

I take a deep breath, pasting on a tight smile. "Yep, must've made a generous friend." I lift my chin, daring her to argue, but I know that's exactly what she'll do.

. "Lorelei, who is this 'friend'? What kind of person just hands out cars like they're sticks of gum?"

"It's...complicated," I say, trying to shrug it off, but she's already leaning in, practically bristling with suspicion.

"Complicated? Sounds like trouble if you ask me. A stranger shows up, buys you a car, and you expect me to believe you're not mixed up in something? Is this some scheme?"

"It's not a scheme," I mutter, glancing at the car again. Everything about this is absurd, and yet here it is—a gleaming, brand-new car sitting right here, waiting for me. "Honestly, I don't even know what to think myself. I don't want it."

My mother lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Lorelei, tell me the truth. This is all too much. A stranger shows up, hands you a car like it's some kind of bizarre bribe, and you expect me to just smile and nod?"

I can already see where her train of thought is headed. I groan internally. "Mom, I told you, he's just a friend."

"Oh, a friend, is he? Lorelei, I swear, if you're..." Her voice lowers as she steps closer, eyes darting around as if to protect her from the neighbors' imaginary judgment. "Are you...selling yourself? Are you...a p********e?"

My jaw practically drops. "Oh, for crying out loud—"

"Because if that's what's going on, you'd better tell me right now!" Her voice gets louder, her gaze fierce.

I throw my hands up in defeat, letting out a long sigh. "Yes, Mom. Absolutely. I've gone and found myself a sugar daddy. Isn't that great? Just a dream come true."

Her hand flies to her chest, appalled. "Lorelei!"

"What?" I deadpan, exhaustion settling over me. "You're the one asking."

"At a time like this, you have the gall to make jokes with me?" She leans in, her glare intense. "You better get rid of that car, Lorelei. I don't want to see it in my driveway after today."

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll park it down the street." I start to turn away, but not before she reaches for a cup off the porch railing and hurls it in my direction. I duck just in time, and it clatters to the ground as I grab my bag and storm back toward the car.

Everything about this is ridiculous. Part of me wants to track down gang member guy and throw the keys back at him. Not only do I not want this car, but I'd also like a little clarity on why he thinks he can just drop life-altering gifts in my lap and disappear.

But there's the simple truth—I have no idea how to find him. I don't even know his name. All I've got is a dented car in a shop, an absurd new ride with a red bow on it, and a sense that I'm being pulled into something way over my head. And yet...there's something else, too. A strange thrill, curiosity tugging at me, as if I want to understand why he did this.

I climb into the car, letting out a long sigh as I shut the door. The silence in here is surreal, a complete contrast to the chaos in my head. The little paper bag in the passenger seat catches my eye—chocolates. As if that somehow makes this whole thing normal.

Gang member guy, I think, popping a piece of chocolate into my mouth, you're going to need to explain yourself.

###

"Mr. Barry, I can't find the tulips," I call out, glancing around the cluttered back shelves for the fourth time.

He shuffles over, blinking through his thick glasses, his white hair a little wild today, sticking up in wisps like he'd been tugging at it. "I...I didn't order any," he says, the words coming out slowly, heavy, as if admitting it out loud makes it more real.

"Oh." My stomach sinks, and I rub my thumb over the chipped countertop. "So...we'll have to cancel Michel's order?"

Mr. Barry lets out a sigh, sinking into the old, creaky wooden chair we keep behind the counter. He looks around The Flower Spot, taking in the familiar chaos of overflowing pots, sun-faded posters, and shelves stacked with half-empty seed packets. The place is tired, but it's ours. It's been ours since he hired me three years ago, when every other shop in town had politely turned me away.

But that was before the slow days started creeping in. Before fewer and fewer people bothered stopping by, drawn away by big stores with glossy aisles and fancy floral sections. We've been struggling for months now, but this...this feels different.

He lifts a hand to his forehead, adjusting his glasses. "I don't know if we can keep going, Lorelei...I—I'm drowning here."

My heart twists, and I bring my fingers to my lips, unsure what to say. "Mr. Barry, I understand. Really. And I told you, I don't need to be paid for a while. It's okay."

He shakes his head slowly, the sadness deepening in his gaze. "No...Lorelei, it's more than that. It's not just about the money." He glances around, his eyes softening as he looks at the worn wooden counters, the hanging baskets in need of fresh blooms, the faded 'Open' sign we never got around to replacing. "After we sell the rest of these flowers, I...think it's time to close the shop. For good."

"Mr. Barry..." I trail off, not knowing what to say. My throat feels tight, and I can't help but feel like I'm losing something far bigger than just a job. This place has been my sanctuary. My little corner of the world, messy and cluttered as it is.

He gives me a sympathetic smile, one that tries to reassure me but just makes my chest ache more. "I'm sorry, Lorelei. I can't keep doing this. I'm too old to fight this kind of fight." He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck before retreating into the back room, leaving me alone.

I glance around the shop, the dusty shelves and mismatched pots, the faint scent of roses and lavender that never really leaves the air. This place isn't just a job to me; it's been a home, a purpose, even on the hard days.

But the world doesn't seem to need little shops like ours anymore, no matter how much heart we've put into it.

With a heavy sigh, I tug at a strand of my hair, trying to steady myself as I turn back to the roses on the counter.