He turns around now, which only makes me gasp. He’s wearing an apron, covered completely in blood, a bloody knife in his hand. I try to settle my heartbeat, but I can hear it roaring in my ears. “Scarlett,tesoro! You scared me. What are you doing?”
“What areyoudoing? What is that?” I ask, gesturing towards the bloody board, my voice shaking.
Gio inches closer to me and I step back. He studies me for a second and I blink back at him, words failing me. “Why don't you go inside, and I'll meet you there once I've cleaned up,” he says calmly.
I walk backwards from the murder scene and slowly make my way back into the house. Gio would never hurt anybody. Not on purpose, anyway. As much as my dad has always told me that the business is dangerous, I didn’t realise just how dangerous.
As he finishes cleaning up, my mind whirs of the hundreds of things he could have been doing.
“What are you doing here, Scarlett?” he asks, his voice pulling me out of my daydream. I turn on the couch, watching as my uncle – now in fresh clothes – sits across from me in the plush leather seat.
“What were you doing?” I gawk, not able to move on as quickly as he seems like he wants to. He runs his hand through his hair, fiddling with the ends before clearing his throat.
“I recently took up butchery,” he says plainly. Right. It’s just that simple.
“But- In the backyard? Is that even sanitary?” I ask, genuinely concerned. He nods, planning to dismiss me.
“What are you doing here, Scarlett?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t expect to see that and I’m already on edge so I-”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”
“But I do. I mean, I came looking for answers and now I just saw all of that, so you can imagine what I’m thinking.”
“No. I can’t. What’s going on?”
I snort, a disbelieving chuckle slipping from my lips. “What’s not going on, Gio? Dad still hasn’t woken up and we’re nowhere near finding out about Tinzin and I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me!” Hot angry blood surges through me, my cheeks instantly reddening.
Gio’s mouth opens and then closes, searching for words. He holds his hands up and then drops them with a sigh. “Keeping secrets?” he asks, stuttering. “What is there that I haven't told you?”
I roll my eyes, dropping my head back and then facing him again, angry and upset tears brimming in my eyes. “Comeon, Gio, don’t bullshit me. Why were you at Yelsy’s?”
“You mean the shop where I've been buying falafel for years?”
My brain short-circuits and I try to get it to start up again. I blink at him, hoping that words will come to me, and I’ll have something to say. “Why were you talking to the owner?”
“He's the only reason I got it so cheap. He knew Lucas, so we had a mutual friend. The food they have there is to die for, Scar. You’ve tried it.”
I blink back the tears that have started forming. I hate this side of me. The side of me that’s not put together. The side that cries when I’m angry. The side that cries at any given moment when things go sideways. “But- But he’s the one I saw outside the jewellery store. I found someone’s ID atVossthat matches his,” I try to explain.
“You said it was dark that night. You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. It might not have been him. You probably got them mistaken.”
I never get people mistaken. That doesn’t happen to me. At first I was confused, but after spending hours looking through security footage and ID’s, it made sense that it was him. I recognised his posture and his face shape; I made sure the security footage linked with the time the sign-in cards had his ID. I never get things wrong…I never…. I never do.
“Then why were you talking to him while staring at us?” I ask. I could understand if they knew each other, but having them in the same room, watching us didn’t sit right with me.
“I was telling him what a great kid you are,” Gio explains, sighing. I know my uncle loves me. I know that. He always talks highly of me and I appreciate him for that. “Though, I’m not sure about that boyfriend of yours. I don’t like the way he was touching you.”
My skin instantly gets hot, thinking of the way he was touching me and the way I let him. The second I saw Gerard and my uncle together, I knew something was off, so when they started to stare, I hadto think fast.
I didn’t anticipate the feel of Evan’s heavy hand on my neck, the way his fingers twirled in my hair, the tight tug of it that drove me insane. His huge hand is exactly that…just huge. I don’t understand how it can feel so rough but touch me so gently, silently igniting the heavy want in my lower stomach.
The fact that I felt that kind of want – that chase of a release – from Evan Branson is troubling. But strangely exciting. I’ve been denying the girls’ allegations of there being some sort of sexual tension between us, but after having his hands on me like that, I don’t know how much longer I can go on denying it.
The last thing I want or need right now are complicated feelings towards Evan. Especially not when my uncle was just…
“He’s not my boyfriend,” is the lame excuse that comes out of my mouth.
