Her words provoke me, and it’s exactly her intention because she’s scared and she wants to run from me and whatever she’s feeling right now.
“This isn’t a bleeding joke, Scarlett,” I tell her. “And we are going to talk about it, too.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she argues.
I take a deep breath. And then another.
“I have no problem sorting out a bloke for ye. All ye ever had to do was ask. But there’s a time and a place. And that wasn’t it.”
“It’s no big deal,” she snaps. “The news reports said it was a robbery gone wrong.”
Her phone is on the nightstand, and she must have retrieved it at some point during the night. The thought of her waking up in the middle of the night and then coming back to me when she had the choice to leave… it makes me feel something.
I yank her into my chest and drag my lips along the soft skin of her neck. Breathing in the fading scent of her perfume and even some of me where I rubbed off on her. I like that too.
“The news reports said it was a robbery gone wrong because we got lucky. That isn’t the way we do things, Scarlett. You almost fucked us both last night.”
“Well then you can just fuck off.” She tries to pull away again. “If you’re so goddamn worried about catching heat.”
I pin her to the bed and bear my weight down on her, forcing her to look at me.
She’s doing that thing again. Breathing fast. Her fingers dig into my biceps as her eyes squeeze shut.
“Scarlett.”
She doesn’t reply.
“It’s me, baby doll. You have nothing to be scared of with me.”
“Get off me.”
Her voice is soft like a child’s and broken like nothing I’ve heard from her before. And I am a fuckwit of the highest order. I sit up and pull her with me.
I give her enough distance to breathe, but not enough to let her run out on me again.
After a few moments, it’s like it never even happened.
“You’re either with me, or against me,” she says. “It’s the only way.”
“I’m always on your side, sweetheart,” I assure her. “But I need to understand what’s happening here.”
She looks at me, and it’s obvious that she’s hanging on by a thread. Whatever is going on, it’s slowly unraveling what little sanity she has left. There is so much rage inside of her. So much hurt. And I want to take it away for her, but she won’t let me.
“Is someone threatening you? Was that prick threatening you?”
“They’re all a threat,” she says. “They all need to go. Because it’s either them or me. And it’s never going to be me.”
I’m trying to make sense of her riddles. The broken bits of information she feeds me, but it isn’t easy.
“Them,” I repeat. “So, there’s more.”
“I have a list,” she answers.
And why does that not surprise me?
The room falls quiet, and I honestly have no bloody clue how to help her. In her mind, this story is already written. There’s a hurricane brewing in her eyes, and it’s heading straight for whoever fucked her over.
There is only one thing I can offer her. One thing that will ensure she doesn’t destroy herself in the process.
