It’s Conor, surprisingly enough, that I listen to. He seems to understand what the others don’t.
“She’s going to leave if you keep acting the maggot,” he tells me. “And then what?”
He’s right. And I know he’s right. He helps me to my feet, and Crow wipes the blood from his lip, his eyes darting to Scarlett in the crowd and back to me.
Crow is the boss of the syndicate now. My boss. And I just had a go at him that I had no right to have.
But he understands better than anyone. The trouble with women. It wasn’t so long ago that his own woman almost got him killed.
So instead of telling me to feck off and he’ll take a few fingers for that offense, which I rightfully deserve, he gives me a nod. To go to her.
Conor tosses me a rag and I wipe the blood from my face before I push my way through the crowd. But the place where Scarlett stood only moments before is now empty. And after a few minutes of scanning the building, I realize she’s no longer in it at all.
It’s always this way with her. These games of cat and fecking mouse. She loves it. Toying with people. Toying with me, specifically.
But I’m in no mood for it tonight. Or anymore for that matter.
I drive to her apartment first. But the light inside isn’t on and she isn’t home. I’d let myself in, if I believed she was here, or would be back anytime soon, but I know that isn’t likely.
Whatever the reason she came to the fight tonight, she put it out of her mind just as quickly. The woman is as elusive as ever.
After scoping out her usual stomping grounds and checking in with Mack who hasn’t seen her, I drive to my place.
I’m only planning to grab a shower and a change before I go back to her place, but when I let myself into the house, there’s no need.
Her perfume still lingers in the entryway, and her shadowed profile sits atop the window seat. Her knees are hugged into her chest, her bare feet crossed at the ankles as she stares up at the moon.
“How did ye even know where I live?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she gets up and moves across the floor in my direction, quiet and predatory.
“Scarlett?”
She comes too close. Her hands moving up over the expanse of my chest before her fingertips are on my neck.
I know what needs to be done. Logically. But right now, with her hands on me, my cock is doing all the thinking.
So, when she leans up on her toes and pulls my head down to hers, I give in. There's honey on her lips, but destruction in her kiss. And in the darkness, it’s easy to forget why she’s even here, or if it matters, as I yank her body against mine and grab her ass.
But when the slightest of whimpers escapes her, it comes back to me quickly.
I pull away and she follows.
“Scarlett,” I warn her. “Don’t come any fucking closer.”
“Fuck me,” she begs.
“Jesus Christ.”
I walk to the wall and turn on the lights, and whatever fleeting thought I had of doing just that vanishes when I see her face up close. She’s moving towards me again, like the hunter she is, only limping and in pain. She’s playing it off like it’s nothing. But it isn’t nothing, and it’s a whole lot of something and I’m fed up with seeing her hurt.
“Rory,” she whispers. “I need you.”
Her voice is soft and sweet, but her eyes tell me the demon in her wants to come out and play. She reaches up to take control again, but I put the kibosh on it by pinning her up against the wall with my body. I’m covered in sweat and blood and dirt, and she doesn’t give a fuck. Her lips move to my neck and she doesn’t just kiss me, she tastes me.
And fuck me, she’s pure evil.
“I want you,” she tells me again. “I want you so fucking bad.”
