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I listen to sniffles and muffled sobs as I stand outside Scarlet's door. I know the fear she feels, the overburdening feeling of knowing death is on your doorstep because I have had to deal with it every day of my life. I walk these streets with my eyes wide open, checking my surroundings over and over again, watching and waiting for someone to avenge the death of a loved one that I killed. I live on borrowed time. Every breath I take, I am acutely aware it may be my last.
Something pulls inside my chest. It’s unwelcome and unfamiliar. It urges me to go and comfort her. I have to walk away. I can’t bear the sound of her pain. It resonates too much with my own, reminding me I am just as weak and vulnerable as everyone else. I can't afford those feelings. I have to stay strong. I have to constantly wear this mask of masculine brutality. It is the only thing that keeps me alive, keeps me sane. If I allow myself to feel anything, all the walls of protection I have built so strongly around me will crumble to dust, leaving me open, raw, and so fucking exposed.
Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the kitchen, I sink into the sofa, unscrew the bottle and take a swig. The liquid heats my throat, extinguishing all thoughts of going to Scarlet.
I texted Nick to let him know I am back on home soil and have the girl secured. Then I make a call to Joe, who is on my security team, and arrange for the cat supplies to be delivered. I also organize a roster of our most reliable men to be on guard outside the apartment. I have no doubts that the redhead crying in the other room will try to escape, and I don't trust her despite my thorough and tight security system. I can't be here twenty-four/seven to watch her. Leaving her alone is not an option.
Scarlet has been on my hit list for twelve months. She has outsmarted me, flown under the radar, and cleverly has covered her tracks along the way. Make no mistake, though, now that I have her, I will not let her go.
It’s just past eleven before the sniffles stop, and all is quiet down the hall. I gently open her door, finding her asleep on the bed. The floor-to-ceiling windows are designed so that you can see out, but no one can see in. Nightlights of Manhattan fill the room with just enough glow that I can see her features. Her long slender legs are curled up almost to her chest, and the wet shadow on the pillowcase is evidence she cried herself to sleep.
I try to shoo the fleabag off the bed subtly so I don’t wake Scarlet, but he just stretches his legs and yawns before falling back to sleep. Taking a seat on the floor next to the bed, I look up at her, whilst having another swig of whiskey.
It's a waste to have to kill such a beautiful young creature.
I wonder what she will be like in her final moments. When she is on her knees before me, will she sob and beg? Will she piss her pants or vomit like most of them do before trying to negotiate with their lives? No. I don’t think she will do any of those things. She strikes me as the silent, accepting type, smart enough not to waste her last breaths on an already lost battle. She has previously risked herself befort in her efforts to destroy my family and me. I can’t imagine she’d value it too much, to begin with. But why? Why would this beautiful young woman with so much potential and so much of her life ahead of her have no care for it? What happened to her that made her give up on herself?
Before I met Scarlet, I had thought that she exposed us for the money, the notoriety, the promotion. Now, however, since I’ve spent a little time with her, that is not her at all. She placed her own life behind a stupid cat. She is selfless and too smart to have not known the dangers she put herself into when she exposed my family.
Is that what losing your entire family drives a person to do? Surely she would have something or someone else to live for. I have lost so many people in my life, yet I have never contemplated dying myself for them.
Taking out my phone, I text Nicolai to ask him if he has any information on Scarlet's family. I don’t know why I care to understand her or her motives, but I do. I find myself wanting to know every single detail of her existence.
Scarlet stirs on the bed, turning over so I can no longer see her face. Her long auburn waves splay across the pillow like copper silk. My cock stirs in my pants as thoughts of my hand wrapped around the strands, tugging her head back as I take her from behind.
I look at the half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand, shaking my head. I have had way too much to drink, and it’s messing with my thoughts. I take another swig and another and hope to God the thoughts wash down with the whiskey.
Sixteen
Scarlet
I wake to the strong smell of stale alcohol. It’s pungent in the air, making me nauseous. Rolling over on the bed, I am startled to discover the source of the smell is lying asleep on the floor. Still in his black jeans and t-shirt, Luca hugs an empty whiskey bottle on the carpet just beside my bed. His quiet snores testify he is in a deep sleep.
This is it! This is my chance to escape, to run!
I push aside the thoughts in the back of my head, telling me I am a fool. Even if I make it out of here, Nicolai will come for me. I am a dead woman walking no matter where I flee. Looking at the empty bottle in Luca’s hands, I consider smashing it over his head and killing him but push that thought away too. I am not capable of killing a person. Who am I kidding? I would never be able to end someone’s life with my own hands, even a monster such as Luca.
I creep slowly and carefully off the bed, tippy-toeing out the door and down the hallway until I get to the entrance door. As I turn the handle, it makes a squeaking sound and loudly clicks open. He didn't lock the door from the inside? What an idiot!
My heart thumps deep and heavy in my chest as I slowly push the door open and step into the foyer. My freedom lasts a solid second before a huge brute of a man stands from a chair next to the door and regards me with a lethal stare.
“You didn’t really think it would be that easy, now did you, red?” Luca’s voice mocks from behind me. I don’t turn around straight away. I’m not certain who I’d rather face right now, the brute or the bastard.
Eventually, I succumb, turning around. Luca stands a few feet back from the entrance looking bemused and a lot like shit. His hair is a ruffled mess. His shirt is all crumpled. A five o’clock shadow darkens his face, which has taken on a grey sickly hue. No wonder, if he polished off that bottle of booze, he was still holding.
“Just getting acquainted with Hammer, were you?” He mocks me again.
I frown at him. “Just seeing if the air was as rank out here as it is in your apartment.” I turn my head to the brute Luca called Hammer. “But, nope. It still smells like shit.” Brute curls his lips up at the ends, amused by my insult, as I casually walk back inside the entrance. Luca brushes past me to slam the door closed.
“I thought you were smarter than that,” he comments, walking by me and into the kitchen. He pulls out a bottle of water from the fridge and drinks it in one go.
“Why Hammer?”
“Someone has to keep a watch.” he looks at the clock on the microwave. “Joe will take his place in about ten minutes.”
I scrunch my face up. “No, I mean, why do you call him Hammer?” I explain. “That has to be his nickname, right?”
“When he was twelve, he killed his next-door neighbor with a hammer.”
