Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(83)
I’ve stolen from him, used what belongs to him without permission, taking what I have no right to take. But yet I’m still alive, he’s kept me breathing, long after he would’ve killed others for doing what I did. I’m not sure why that is, why he grants me leniency that he doesn’t give others, and judging by his expression, I’d wager a guess that he doesn’t know why he does it, either.
I nod. “You should’ve.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Three months.
Ninety days.
The little girl couldn’t count that high. She tried to keep track, but she lost her way somewhere in the middle, the days blurring together.
She hadn’t left the palace at all. She’d missed three months of sunshine, missed running barefoot in the grass and soaring high on a swing, chasing butterflies and picking flowers for her mother to keep.
The Tin Man wouldn’t let her go outside. All the doors were full of locks and armed with an alarm. So most days, when she got tired of drawing, she just stood at the window with Buster and stared out, remembering how her mother used to take her to the park every weekend and push her so high on the swings she thought she could fly.
“What are you doing, kitten?”
The little girl turned away from the window, looking to the Tin Man in the doorway of the bedroom. He didn’t look like himself today, not wearing a suit, dressed down in a pair of black shorts and a plain white t-shirt with white sneakers. Tattoos covered him. She never got to see most of them. They weren’t colorful pictures, like some people had, just weird drawings and words in dark ink, like he forgot a piece of paper and wanted to doodle one day.
“Nothing,” she said, because it was true.
She wasn’t doing anything.
Just more waiting.
“Then come on,” he said, nodding his head. “You can come with me to the beach tonight.”
Her eyes widened. The beach? “Can I go swimming?”
“If you can find something to wear to swim. You have five minutes. Be downstairs.”
He walked away. He didn’t have to tell her twice. She tore the bedroom apart, finding a pair of black cotton shorts and a yellow tank top, yanking it on. It wasn’t a swimsuit, but that didn’t matter. She’d swim in a dress if she had to.
She met him downstairs five minutes later, finding him in the foyer, holding a duffel bag with a towel draped over it.
He barely even looked at her before opening the front door, ordering her to go ahead of him. The warm air blasted her when she stepped outside, and she smiled, feeling the last bit of the day’s sun on her face. It was already so late. Did people go swimming at nighttime?
She didn’t ask, not wanting him to change his mind. They drove about ten minutes in his black car before parking near the shoreline. She could see the sand, could smell the water, could feel the breeze on her face as it rustled her messy hair. It was the best feeling ever.
They walked out onto the beach just as the sun set. Nobody was in the water, few people even near the sand. It was closed, she realized. Everything around them was closed, even the amusement park in the distance. Off-season. Coney Island.
“Go on,” he said, “but stay where I can see you.”
“Won’t I get in trouble?”
He scoffed. “From who?”
“The police?”
The Tin Man laughed, like he found the police funny, before waving toward the water. “Go swim. I will keep you out of trouble.”
She didn’t know how he could do that, if swimming was illegal, but she wasn’t going to pass up the chance. She ran off, the sand soft against her bare feet, the water warm as she crashed right into it.
It didn’t matter that she had no one to play with. It didn’t matter that she was out there on her own. After three months of only really having Buster, she was kind of used to being alone.
She laughed, and splashed, soaked from head to toe, sand clinging to every part of her. Her attention drifted to the Tin Man every so often, making sure he could see her, and watched as a group of guys joined him. They stood in the darkness, talking, exchanging things, none of them looking like they were having fun out there on the beach. Flying monkeys. They weren’t like the others, though. These guys were new. They didn’t have tattoos. The Tin Man turned away from them eventually, his attention on her. He waved, motioning for her to come to him.
Time to go.
The little girl ran out of the water, heading straight for him, flinging water everywhere. She skidded to a stop near the group, her stomach queasy.
One man let out a low whistle, a guy with freckles like polka dots and eyes like seaweed. “Man, she looks just like her, doesn’t she?”
The Tin Man made a face as he shoved the towel around the little girl, covering even her head so she could barely see anyone. He pushed her behind him, away from the group, as he took a step toward the man, standing right up against him, his voice gravely serious as he said, “I let you have the suka, I let you stick your cock in her, and I did not kill you for it, but if you so much as ever ask about my daughter again, svinya, I will cut off your balls. I do not care what leverage you think you hold over me.”
The Tin Man shoved against him, making the man retreat a few steps, and stood there, holding his ground, as the group left. Once they were alone, he turned back to the little girl, drying her hair as he crouched down before wrapping the towel around her properly and securing it under her arm.