Each step felt liberating, even as my pulse raced with the fear of being caught. I turned the corner, only to see the truck—asmall, unassuming vehicle blending into the shadows. It looked like a beacon of freedom, my heart swelling at the sight.
But just as I reached for the door, a shout pierced the air, shattering the stillness. “Stop right there!”
I turned to find a guard barreling towards me, his flashlight slicing through the darkness like a knife. I cursed under my breath. I had anticipated lagging guards but this? Panic flooded my veins, and instinct took over. With a burst of adrenaline, I dove into the truck's cab and slammed the door shut, fumbling with the ignition.
“Start, damn it!” I muttered as the engine spluttered to life. I glanced through the window just in time to see the guard racing toward me, his uniform glinting in the feeble light.
“Go, go, go!” I shouted, throwing the truck into gear and racing away from the prison, the squeal of tires mingling with the chaos behind me.
As I turned the corner, relief washed over me, and I caught my breath, feeling the weight of desperation suddenly lift. Freedom was within reach. I could almost see the future I had dreamed of—the one with Scarlett, the new life we would build together.
With every mile that brought me further from those walls, I couldn’t shake the sense that I had just crossed a threshold from which there was no turning back. But in that moment, the only thing that mattered was getting to my daughter, to the glimmer of hope waiting for me beyond the horizon. I wouldn’t let anything stop me—not the guards, not my past, and especially not my own demons. I was ready to reclaim my life, and together, we would redefine our story. But the secrets I'd kept close would remain there. She could never find out.
22
For her
Michael
The day after Halloween, Scarlett's father escaped from prison, and she was the one who helped him. Now, several days later, anxiety gnawed at her as she awaited his call, a call she had not yet received despite leaving him a burner phone. The realization that he might have used her just to regain his freedom plunged her into a deep emotional turmoil.
But Scarlett wasn't acting erratically this time; she was simply enveloped in sadness and silence. She withdrew from everyone, refusing to talk, and had stopped taking her medication again. In response, the four of us temporarily moved into the church to keep an eye on her, but she absolutely despised it. At least, that’show she portrayed it; it could have all been an elaborate act for all we knew.
As I settled in the corner of her room near the window, I found myself captivated by her every movement. Each stretch, every yawn, and every shiver was on display for me. She was using liquor to dull the ache of her unmedicated state, rendering her achingly vulnerable. At that moment, I had never found her more alluring. I craved her—yearned for her all to myself—but deep down, I knew that was a fantasy. She was too entwined with Hunter and Kellin, and although Jax was less of a concern, he remained competition.
Suddenly, she rose from the bed and walked over to me, her lip caught between her teeth as her gaze bore into mine. Heat surged through me, and I found myself unable to look away. I beckoned her to sit, rubbing my thigh, and she slid onto my lap with effortless compliance, resting her head against my shoulder. Her fingers danced along my other thigh, causing an electric pulse to strike through me.
"Look how good you are for me," I whispered softly into her ear, my warm breath brushing against her skin.
She nodded, her eyelids fluttering as her gaze momentarily rolled back. As she began to move against me, she once again bit her bottom lip. Dressed in nothing but a t-shirt that belonged to Saint, she wore nothing underneath. Her curly black hair was tightly braided into pigtails that fell over her shoulders, giving her an innocent appearance, though she was anything but. The only makeup she wore was a touch of mascara and some lip gloss, her skin glowing as if she’d been touched by light itself.
"You’re going to be a good girl for me and take your damn meds," I insisted, my hand sliding up the front of her shirt until my thumb found her clit, drawing a shudder from her body.
"Mich—"
"I’ll make you come first, but after that, you’re taking your fucking meds, or I will make you. You’re better than this," I replied, my tone blunt and unapologetically honest. "This isn’t who you are." I pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her head, swirling my thumb, feeling the wetness that was already building between her legs.
Scarlett's breath hitched at my touch, a sound so sweet and fragile it made my heart race. I tightened my grip on her, feeling her warmth seep into me like a balm for my own growing restlessness. I needed to break through the haze that surrounded her mind, to bring her back to the surface and remind her of the vibrant, fierce girl she once was—before the world had tried to drown her.
"Please, Scarlett," I whispered, squeezing her tightly. "Let me help you."
She pulled away slightly, just enough to meet my eyes, a flicker of defiance sparking in her gaze. I knew she was battling her own demons, weighing her desire for connection against the fear of further pain. But she didn’t say a word; instead, she sank back against me, nuzzling her face against my collarbone, as if seeking comfort from my presence.
"Your father… he doesn't define you," I murmured, unconsciously rubbing my fingers against her thigh, tracing circles that sent shivers racing along her skin. "You're so much more than this moment—more than any of this chaos."
Her lips curled into a small, uncertain smile, but it quickly vanished. She shifted attentively on my lap, the conflict inside her palpable.
“Do you really believe that? That I can still be… me?” Her voice carried a tremor, hinting at the storm that raged beneath her calm facade.
“It’s who you were meant to be,” I affirmed, the intensity of my gaze holding hers captive. “This darkness—it’s temporary. You don’t have to face it alone. You have us, me, by your side.”
A quiet moment passed, followed by the tension of unspoken words hanging between us like an unsteady truce.
Then, to my surprise, she slumped forward, resting her forehead against my temple. “I don’t know how to trust anymore,” she admitted, her voice a mere whisper. “I thought he was different, that he’d stay out this time. I wanted to believe I could find a way to help him.”
“Your loyalty is admirable, but it’s misplaced,” I said softly. “You deserve better than a life dictated by someone else’s mistakes.”
Finally, she shifted again, stealing a glance over her shoulder towards the door as if assessing whether to invite others into this moment or keep it just for ourselves. The thought made my chest constrict.
