“No, you don’t.”
I grab her face between my fingers, careful not to hurt her as I examine the damage. I close my eyes and take a breath. Trying to calm myself before I speak.
“Name.”
She doesn’t answer, and my fingers dig into the flesh of her arm.
“Give me a name, Scarlett.”
“For what?” she teases. Like this is all some big fucking joke. “So you can go and defend my honor?”
“Aye,” I answer. “So I can go and defend your goddamned honor.”
“Rory,” she sighs.
“Scarlett.”
We’re at an impasse. Our eyes locked together. There’s a tiny flicker of emotion in hers. Guilt maybe. Regret. I don’t know.
But she came to me. She came to me for a reason. She brought herself to that warehouse knowing exactly what I would do.
In the past, this is where I’ve always lost her. She’d run, just as soon as things started to get too hard. When she started to feel vulnerable.
I let it slide then.
Because I didn’t know her. I had no right to tell her how to live her life, even though I wanted to. When I found out she was trick rolling clients instead of fucking them, there was a part of me that was relieved. Because I wanted her for myself. No doubt about that. But there was another part of me- the one I’ve always been a slave to- that wanted to save her.
When it comes to women and children, I have a weakness.
I can’t fucking stand to see them suffering. And knowing Scarlett was doing this to herself triggered every caveman instinct inside of me.
The thing I discovered about Scarlett though, is that she doesn’t take orders from anyone. In her ship and in her life, she’s the fucking captain. No bones about that. She doesn’t accept help, and she doesn’t show weakness. And the minute a man tries to tell her what to do, even with the best of intentions, she will tell him to fuck right off.
Needless to say, we’ve been butting heads ever since.
But there’s a limit for everything. And seeing her bruised face and her bloodied lip, my mind is made up. I’m done playing this game with her. And I’m about to let her know it too.
I force her gaze to mine. Scarlett doesn’t like to look people in the eyes. I have a notion that she’s afraid of what she thinks they’ll find there. She always keeps herself locked up so tight.
But I’ve just made it my mission to know all of her. So she better get used to being uncomfortable.
“A name,” I repeat.
She smiles up at me in challenge.
“Why did ye do it?” I ask. “Why did ye come there? You had to know what ye were doing. You had to know ye were going to push me past my limit, sweetheart. There’s only so much a man can take.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” she asks. “Hold me hostage again?”
“Aye,” I answer her.
She laughs, until she realizes I’m not fucking joking. Then she tries to bolt for the door. I catch her around the waist and lock my arms around her. That’s when she moves for her knife again.
Scarlett’s wild like an animal. When she feels threatened, she will fuck up whatever is standing in her way.
I learned that lesson the hard way.
I grab hold of her wrist, and she tries with her other, which I grab hold of too. They are small in my hands. Too fragile. I don’t know how a girl so fragile has survived for so long on the road she’s chosen for herself.
