My gaze travels from her to the table, where the girls are staring avidly. The bride-to-be, according to the sash hanging crookedly across her chest, licks her lips.
Maria’s pretty enough, with full breasts and her wet, inviting mouth. But even if she weren’t drunk off her arse, it’s not safe. The flame’s burning steadily inside me, staying low for now. When it ignites, so will I, and any semblance of self-control or normal human behavior will be gone from me.
This is not the time for me to be around other people.
“No, darling,” I say, the maddening itch of the flame crawling up my spine. “You should go back to your friends.”
Carl’s smarter than she is. In his line of work, he’s seen plenty of the best and worst of humanity and he knows when things are going sideways. He’s looking serious now. “Ma’am, if you want to go back to your table, I’ll bring you anotherround. On the house.”
Maria’s hand is sliding toward mine on the bar. “Or, you and I can take off together. You’re gorgeous. I love your eyes.”
I know what she's seeing. I'm 6'4, I inherited my father's height and broad shoulders. My eyes are a pale amber and girls love my blond hair, long enough to curl a bit. But that's just the exterior.
She’s not looking close enough because she’s not running away.
I lean just an inch closer. “Maria. Pretty girl with no sense of self-preservation. Go back to your friends.”
The lass sees it then. The madness dancing in my eyes sinks through her alcohol haze and she steps back hastily, almost stumbling on those high heels and hurries back to her disappointed friends.
Carl releases a slow breath. Pulling a stack of cash from my wallet, I slide it over. “This should get them drunk enough to send them home in liquid form and something for your trouble.”
“Thanks, Michael.” He gives me a relieved grin. “Have a good night.”
The bar is nearly silent as I leave, aside from the nervous whispers from the bridal party in thecorner.
Back in my room, I strip down for a shower, trying to wash the feel of every encounter I had that day off me. Afterward, I run the lass with the cat’s photo through my image recognition database. The program comes up with several dozen possibilities, narrows it down to Boston, then pulls a Massachusetts driver’s license photo.
It’s nae flattering, this one. The lass is looking impatient, hair up in a messy ponytail and those lush lips tight. The terrible image still can’t hide how bonnie she is.
“Scarlett Banner,” I murmur. “Twenty-two, 5”10, 150 pounds, and an organ donor. Robert Banner’s daughter.”
Pulling up her social media accounts, I see she’s not particularly active. Smart girl. Her father would have told her not to give out information about herself. A few pictures from the beach on a sunny day, more of that cat with the spiteful glare. None from home.
“Ah. This is where you spend your free time, sweetheart.”
Scrolling back to last fall, there’s several pictures from the Halloween festival in Salem, colorful images of costumes mixed with shadowy, grim edifices of old buildings filled with the dark history of the witch trials. Now, I can see parts ofSalem in the background of most of the pictures since.
Scarlett’s life isn’t spent in that expensive house on Beacon Hill, and knowing who her father left her with when he died, I canna blame her.
Chapter Four
In which some people are just so creepy.
Scarlett…
Staring out the bus window, I keep rubbing my neck where that piece of filth touched me until it burns. I can still feel his slimy fingers on my skin. Kyle just sat there and grinned, watching his buddy corner me.
An hour ago…
“Scarlett, would you come in here, please?”
I froze mid-step. Kyle wasneverpolite to me. This couldn’t be good. Straightening my shoulders, I reversed course and walked into his “command center.” The air was thick with choking clouds of cigar smoke. Kyle was industriously puffing on one of his overpriced Cuban cigars, as was the man in the chair across from him.
This room was redecorated to look searingly modern, with uncomfortable chairs and glass-topped tables. They’d ripped out the old stone fireplace in here and replaced it with a long,narrow horizontal monstrosity that had chilly blue and lavender flames flickering behind the glass.
“I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine, Xavier Frost. Xav, my sweet little sister Scarlett. We call her Scar.”
The way Kyle said that sent a chill up my spine. He and Steve called me Scar to mock me, but this sounded different. He was putting the emphasis on the word like it meant something.
