Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(106)

I laugh at that, although my tears are still falling, laughing and crying at the same time, like a maniac. It’s not funny, no, but it’s so f*cked up that I can’t help myself. “Sorry.”

“Jesus... don’t apologize, either. Stop saying you’re sorry all the f*cking time.”

I want to point out that I’ve said it only maybe three times to him total, and that I should be apologizing, but I keep my mouth shut as I wipe my face on my shirt, trying to dry my eyes. I know it makes him uncomfortable. Emotion. Remorse. Tears. Apologies. The whole nine yards.

I press my face against the teddy bear, inhaling deeply. Dust tickles my nose. It smells musty. It doesn’t smell at all like sunshine or innocence. There’s no her in the bear anymore.

I don’t know what happened.

More tears fall, silent ones this time. I wipe them away and just sit there, hugging Buster.

After a moment, Lorenzo lets out a dramatic sigh before sitting down on the roof beside me, maybe a foot of space between us. We’re not touching, but he’s close enough that I can feel his warmth.

“Are you done crying now?” he asks.

I laugh again. “You’re such an *.”

“I was going to talk to you,” he says, “but you might blow snot on me with all that blubbering.”

I shake my head, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I’m a mess, but there’s nothing else I can do about it. It isn’t like he brought along any tissues.

Turning my head, I gaze at him. The sky is steadily lightening. I can make him out better now than when he showed up. Uneasiness wafts from him as he picks at the skin around his fingernails, out of his element. For the first time since I’ve met this man, he’s letting his nerves show, his guard lowering just enough for me to see it. I can tell he doesn’t want to be doing this, but he’s doing it, and that’s not something I ever expected from him.

He doesn’t owe me anything.

He glances at me, surveying my face. Reaching over, he grabs my right hand, turning it over, palm up, my wrist bending as he pushes the tattoo there toward me. My Scarlet Letter, he calls it.

I glance down at it. “Sasha.”

“Pity,” he says. “I hoped it would end up standing for ‘salad tosser’. I was looking forward to it.”

I roll my eyes, snatching my hand back away.

“It was different at first,” I say, running my fingers along the ridges of the tattoo, feeling for the scar beneath it. I can even still see it, if I look hard enough. “He carved an ‘S’ into my wrist. I hated it… hated seeing it. It stood for something else back then.”

“Suka.”

I cringe, hearing that word in his voice.

“Yes,” I say. “So after I escaped him, I covered it with her… the only good thing that ever came from me being his suka.”

It’s quiet after that, the two of us sitting here, as I stare out along the roof.

He knows my truth.

“What’s your first memory?” I ask after a while.

He doesn’t hesitate, answering, “The night my father was murdered. I remember coming down the steps and seeing the gun in the man’s hand. First time I ever saw one.”

“Do you remember your father?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t remember my parents,” I say. “My first memory is of a social worker telling me the home I’d been living in didn’t want me anymore. I was five. I remember being so upset. I just wanted a family. I wanted a mom, but I never got one. So when I had Sasha, I was determined to give her what I never got. I was going to be the best goddamn mom on the planet.”

“I’m sure you’re a great mother.”

“I tried to be,” I say quietly. “I was only sixteen when I had her, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew we had to get away from Kassian, so I took her and ran. It wasn’t perfect, but we were happy… until he caught up to us. He took her, and he left me for dead. I haven’t seen her since. I don’t know where she is.”

Tears break free again.

I’m trying not to cry, because the man is actually listening, but it’s hard holding it back now that I’ve been cracked open.

I went to the police. I went to Child Protective Services. I’ve talked to lawyers and social workers and private investigators. Nobody wants to get involved. They all refuse to help.

Kassian is powerful. He’s wealthy. He’s terrifying. So they all just called it a ‘domestic problem’ and sent me packing.

In the beginning, I staked out his house. I kept an eye on the club. I followed his men around. Not once did I see her, or any sign that Kassian even had her, but I knew.

I know.

He’s got her somewhere.

“Did you...?” I trail off. “I mean, was she...?”

“I didn’t see her,” Lorenzo says, answering a question I can’t bring myself to finish. “The bear was on a fireplace mantle. He said it was just collecting dust, so he figured you’d want it.”

I close my eyes as those words sink in. They hurt, like a punch to the chest, strong enough to knock my heart out of rhythm so it might never beat right again. “Buster was her security blanket. She loved this bear. She carried him everywhere. She wouldn’t... she wouldn’t just give him up. Especially now. She’s gotta be terrified. She just turned five, and she’s never been away from me until this happened, and now... now she’s really alone, and there’s nothing I can do to help her.”