Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(74)

“I wouldn’t blame you,” I say. “Just, you know, keep them to yourself, in case they’re contagious.”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I practice safe sentiment. I’ll be sure to wrap it before I yap it.”

I laugh at that. This goddamn woman. She’s got a mouth on her, without a doubt, the kind of mouth that’s destined to get her in a lot of trouble in life.

Already has, it seems.

Aristov, he’s the kind of guy who likes to break wild horses, and Scarlet is one of the most strong-willed I’ve ever encountered. She might not be broken, but it wouldn’t take much more, not with the way she buckles when it comes to him.

It’s uncharacteristic.

Sure, I haven’t known her long.

But she doesn’t flinch from me.

I don’t scare her.

So why does he?

My eyes narrow slightly, and damn if she doesn’t notice, because I see her stiffen in response to it.

“Tell me about Aristov.”

Her expression blanks. There she goes, trying to fade on me, shutting down.

“I’ve already told you about him,” she says. “He’s a cruel man.”

“One that stole from you.”

“Yes.”

“He stole the light from your life,” I say, recalling her words. “He stole your innocence.”

Her eyes close. It’s automatic. She can’t even look at me when I say that. When she reopens them, they’re glassy, but she doesn’t shed a single tear.

I’ve yet to see her cry.

“Yes.”

That’s all she says.

Since she’s not elaborating on her own, f*ck it... I’m going to ask. “How?”

It’s a simple question, but I know right away she’s not going to answer it. Her hands leave my shoulders and she steps back, out of my grasp, as she forces a smile on her lips, the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

“I stink,” she says. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Of course not,” I say, waving her away. “Help yourself to whatever. It’ll take me at least two weeks to start complaining about you, so make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” she says, turning to walk out of the library. “I make no promises when it comes to singing in the shower, though. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

“Make that one week, then,” I call after her. “I’ll start complaining by next weekend, so enjoy these next few days.”

She laughs, disappearing from the room.

I stare at the doorway once she’s gone, drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. She evaded like a motherf*cker. She wasn’t even trying to be sly about it. She just flat out wasn’t answering.

Shoving up from the chair, I stroll out of the library, making my way into the kitchen for something to eat. There’s not much in here, so I just grab two slices of bread, pull out some lunch meat, and slap that shit together with a dab of mustard. Viola.

I take a bite, chewing, as I grab a Capri Sun from the fridge and walk out. My sandwich gets smashed as I stroll back down the hall, so busy tearing the plastic off of the small yellow straw that I almost drop it all.

“Hey, bro.”

I stop near the living room when Leo greets me. I look up at him before glancing into the room. Melody isn’t singing anymore, thank f*ck. “Hey.”

“So that lady,” Leo says. “Morgan.”

“What about her?” I ask, fiddling with the straw, trying to poke it through the hole but I’m using the wrong end. Goddamnit.

“She’s back already, huh? Saw her walk by a bit ago.”

“She needs a place to stay,” I tell him, flipping the straw around. “Figured I’d be nice for once. Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.”

I shove the straw in, impaling the f*cking thing, putting it right through the other side of the little silver pouch, stabbing my hand. I’m three seconds away from just squeezing the damn thing and letting it squirt out, wherever the hell it wants to go, figuring at least some of it will make its way into my mouth, when Leo snatches it from me, fixing the straw before handing it back.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “These things are bullshit.”

Look, before you go thinking I’m incompetent, remember my world is two-dimensional. I’ve adapted to that, for the most part, but sometimes objects are *s. I misjudge distances, can’t catch a f*cking thing, spill drinks and bump into door frames. I also can’t seem to ever get a straw in a hole, which, as I’m sure you can imagine, makes sticking things in other holes a bit of a struggle.

* is what I’m getting at, in case you didn’t pick up on that. I aim and sometimes miss like a virginal teenage boy who has never used his dick.

I take a sip, sucking through the straw.

“I don’t know why you keep buying those,” Leo says. “They give you trouble every time.”

“I like them,” I say. “Besides, no bitch ass little juice pouch is going to best me, Pretty Boy.”

I hit the stairs, making my way up them as I take another bite of my sandwich. It’s dark on the second floor. I flip on the light in my bedroom just as the water shuts off in my bathroom.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, kicking my boots off as I eat. They’re already untied, so it isn’t that hard. I shove them aside with my foot just as the bathroom door opens. My gaze shifts that way as Scarlet steps out, nothing more than a gray towel wrapped around her. She pauses, looking at me, so I hold out my half-eaten sandwich. “Hungry?”