Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(23)

Scarlet shoves in beside me again, holding a black leather wallet. She flips it open, the driver’s license of some middle-aged white guy greeting me from the plastic window inside. She raids it for cash, counting out loud.

“Twenty… thirty… forty… fifty… fifty-five… sixty… sixty, uh, seven.” She groans. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Did you just pickpocket someone else to pay me?”

She shoves the money my way. “Save your self-righteous pandering for the floozy over there. I’m three-dollars short.”

“And thirty-four cents,” I point out, taking the cash.

“And thirty-four cents,” she mocks. “Unbelievable.”

“I’ll give it to you,” I say. “The few dollars you’re missing.”

“Really?”

“It’ll cost a hundred dollars for every day it takes you to pay me back, of course, but sure…”

She groans. “Of course.”

Her gaze scans the bar, settling on the bartender as he heads our general direction. It’s the same one from every other time. He gave me a bottle of rum as soon as I sat down again. He’s learning.

I watch as Scarlet’s expression shifts, a flit of a smile on her lips. She shoves the stool further away to get closer to the bar, reaching up on her tiptoes to lean across it, gathering his attention. He approaches, looking at me warily, like he’s assessing whether or not she’s with me right now, before focusing his attention on her. There’s a glint in his eyes, apparently deciding she’s fair game.

He smiles. “Hey, Morgan.”

She arches an eyebrow, her face lighting up. “You remember.”

Her voice changes when she says that, growing sweeter. She’s exaggerating every syllable, blatantly flirting.

I wonder if she’d be doing that if she knew he was the one who ratted her out to me.

“Of course,” he says. “What can I get for you?”

“Well, uh, actually…” Her smile grows sheepish as she gently bites down on her bottom lip, a moment of silence passing before she whispers, “I was kind of hoping you’d do me a favor. It’s totally okay if you can’t, I completely understand, and I really hate to ask…”

“What do you need?”

“To borrow four dollars,” she says. “Like I said, you can tell me no, but it’s just that, you know, it’s been a long night, and…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling a wad of crumpled cash from his pocket. Tips. He wades through it, handing over four singles. He doesn’t question it, just dishes out what she asks for.

She takes the money, beaming at the guy. “Oh my god, you’re my hero. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Heat rushes up his neck, flushing his face as he laughs a bit. “It’s just a couple bucks, no big deal.”

He wanders off to help another customer. The second he turns the other direction, Scarlet’s smile dims. She shoves the money at me. “Now that guy is a gentleman.”

I grab it. “He’s a doormat. A *. A parasite.”

“Says the * who just bled me dry.”

“I didn’t,” I say, looking her in the eyes, my voice low. “I could’ve, though. I could’ve slit your throat and took your life instead… could’ve turned that red room just a little bit redder while your little cop friend took you from behind, if you would’ve preferred it that way.”

The color drains from Scarlet’s cheeks as the spark dims in her eyes. It’s fleeting, a flash of emptiness, like she’s nothing more than a shell of a human. Cold. I don’t have to wrap my hands around her throat to kill her, no… those words take the life right out of her.

She knows I watched them.

Seems they were too preoccupied to notice my presence as I lurked around that night. And the look that passes across her face right now? She wore it then, too. She wore it as he f*cked her. Not a stitch of enjoyment. Not a stitch of anything. It was as if a switch got flipped inside of her, shutting off her humanity, turning her into a puppet with strings. He f*cked her, yeah, but he didn’t f*ck her. Whatever made up who she is vanished the moment the man put his filthy hands on her.

The look is short-lived, though, life rushing right back into her. Her nostrils flare, hands clenching into tight fists, like maybe she wants to hit me, like maybe she’s considering clocking me right in the eye for having the nerve to witness something she wanted to go unseen. She shoves closer, brazenly pressing up against me, her voice barely a whisper as she says, “You probably should’ve killed me.”

“And why’s that, Scarlet?”

She hesitates, like she doesn’t know how to answer my question, and turns to leave as she says, “You wouldn’t understand.”

I snatch ahold of her arm, keeping her there.

I’m not done.

Her eyes shoot daggers my way, her hands still balled into fists as she tries to yank away, but my grip is firm. Heat radiates off of her, like anger is literally burning up her core, an explosion imminent. It might be fun to watch her go kaboom.

“Let go of me,” she says, her gaze on my hand. “Now.”

“Sit down,” I tell her as I nod to the empty stool, loosening my hold on her arm.