Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(104)

But the most recognizable scars are deliberate, the ones caused by a carefully controlled cut with a scalpel. I know when you’ve had your appendix removed, when you’ve had open-heart surgery, when you’ve had a tracheotomy…

And I know when you’ve had C-section.

It’s damn near impossible to hide that truth.

Easier to ignore, though.

Believe me, I ignored it.

Can’t ignore it anymore.

I’m a f*cking fool.

“Where is she?” I ask. “Your daughter?”

He smiles. “Shoot me, Mister Scar, and you will never know.”



I don’t take kindly to being threatened.

Blackmail? Coercion? Not f*cking happening.

I get it, you know... there are consequences to every action. Cause and effect. If this, then that. But there are consequences to inaction, too, and that’s something people don’t often realize.

Scarlet is living the consequences right now because nobody has stopped this from happening.

My stepfather’s voice bounces around in my head as I sit in the passenger seat of my car, slouching down in the dark, the obnoxious ding-ding-dinging of the put on your f*cking seatbelt warning echoing through the small space.

A clear conscience just means you’ve got a bad memory. He used to say it all the time. And I’ve gotta tell you, right about now, I wish I could catch a case of amnesia and have my memory wiped, because my conscience is muddled tonight.

“Speak,” I say sharply, my voice making Seven jump as he speeds toward Queens. He keeps casting sidelong glances my way, not saying a damn word, subtlety not his strong suit. “Ask your questions or get out of my car.”

“What happened?”

“What happened?” I repeat. “You wanna maybe specify a bit? Because a lot has happened in my life, Seven, and I’m not interested in spilling my guts to you like a little bitch.”

He hesitates, turning on the blinker to make a left turn. Once he’s onto the next road, merging back into traffic, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Lets go with why do you have a teddy bear?”

“Gift from my favorite philosopher,” I say, glaring at the thing as it rests on the dashboard.

Seven doesn’t understand, but it’s not my place to explain it to him. Hell, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. I get it, it’s all there, but how to deal with it is another matter.

The more he stays out of it, the better off he is.

“Look, they’ve got history,” I say. “He wants her back. She doesn’t want to go. He’s getting desperate. That’s all you really need to know. I was going to shoot him, but I decided not to, so here we are. You’re all caught up. Now get me to my house, and then go home to your wife, and don’t worry about what else might’ve happened, because it’s not your problem. Just worry about yourself.”

He nods once and says nothing else, the rest of the drive complete silence.

Well, except for the seatbelt warning.

The house is lit up when I get there. Seven gives me my keys, and I take my phone, before snatching up the old teddy bear, carrying it by its burned foot.

I head inside, saying goodnight to Seven.

The first thing I hear when I open the front door is another goddamn song being sung.

Someone put Baby in a corner and Patrick Swayze got pissed. Blah. Blah. Blah. You know what it is.

Leo and his girlfriend are cuddling on the new couch. I slip right past them, heading for the library, finding it empty and dark. The first thing I notice, though, is my puzzle has been fixed, the broken pieces stuck back together.

No Scarlet, though.

Walking back out, I head for the stairs, hearing my brother shout out as I pass the living room. “Hey, bro!”

I stall in the doorway, nodding in greeting. “You seen Scarlet?”

“No,” he says. “Might be upstairs, though.”

“I figured.”

“I see you got us a new couch.” He runs his hand along the leather arm. “Where’d you get it?”

“Stole it from a strip club.”

He laughs, like I’m joking, so I just walk off before he comes to the realization that he’s cuddling his girlfriend on a couch where dozens of men have probably jacked off.

I trudge upstairs. It’s dark. I think maybe she’s trying to sleep, but the bed is empty, as is the bathroom. I turn to leave when my gaze catches something in my reflection above the dresser.

Reaching over, I flick on the light, stopping where I am. Lipstick is smeared on the mirror, two words scribbled in red.

I’m sorry.

She’s gone.

I know it.

Those words tell me that.

That’s as good as a ‘goodbye’ as I’m probably getting, as far as farewells go with this woman.

I don’t like it.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Sunrise is coming.

There’s a hint of light on the horizon, the pitch black sky a deep purple hue in the east, slowly pushing toward blue. Another hour or so and the skyline will be streaked with colors, orange and pink and white as the sun settles in, daylight arriving. It’s weird, the twitch of anticipation I feel.

I haven’t watched the sun come up in weeks. I’m still awake whenever it happens, my internal clock set to see it, but the clouds or buildings have blocked my view.