Page 74 of The Man with a Treasure

He pointed down.

I was butt-ass naked, holding a Giordano.

Like I said. Dead Man Walking.

Sal had meant well and wanted to add to Scarlett’s now veggie soup diet. The mashed potatoes were a hit! Scarlett loved the taste and texture. They even made her cry—which left me and Sal both quite baffled. But her stomach wasn’t appreciative of the butter.

Poor Scarlett laid in her bed in the fetal position. “It hurts.”

I sat next to her, rubbing her back. “We will go back to soups for a while.”

Her spine rounded, following my hand. “You are so warm.”

I moved closer to her to offer more heat with my thighs.

Her moans were full of gratitude. “Angel? Can you put your heat on my belly?”

“Uh.” I reached out with my hand but that had me needing to turn on my side, almost spooning her. As inappropriate as it looked, Scarlett didn’t know nor care.

She sighed, “Oh, that is so much better,” holding the top of my hand, pushing my palm tighter to her stomach.

Of course, Sal had to enter and give his opinion. Smirking, he lifted a brow. “Who were you to say no, eh?” He told Scarlett, “Here is some peppermint tea for your tummy.”

I lifted a brow while mouthing, “Tummy?”

He flicked me off then left the room. “I’m getting some sleep.”

While Sal rested, Scarlett asked many questions about her unfortunate event in the kitchen. “Why can I not eat the potato whole?” “Why did the Africa Lion hurt the beautiful animal?” But once she fell asleep, I slipped from her hold to return to my own room.

First, I stepped into the living room. Sal was asleep on the couch.

Tapping his shoulder, I said, “Your turn to watch. Give me an hour.”

Groggy, he sat up. “Of course. Get some rest.”

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out, but my rest would be short-lived. Scarlett’s scream had me shooting upright in my bed. In boxer shorts, I grabbed my gun and ran to her. Sal was already charging for her door. We both rushed in.

Believing her hands were bound again—due to being trapped in her nightmare—Scarlett stood at the head of her bed, begging for them to stop.

Who exactly? I didn’t know.

I don’t think I wanted to know.

The more I cared for Scarlett, the more her past torture ate away at me.

Sal winced at her torment. “Do we dare touch her?”

I had experience, due to her mother’s suffering. It wasn’t always wise to interfere. Sometimes a touch didn’t wake Isabella. Her mind only mixed it with her nightmare.

Feeling like I was repeating history, I sadly asked, “How do I fight these ghosts, Sal?”

With an expression of pure empathy, he touched my shoulder. “With faith.”

I took a deep breath and, as I had with her mother many times, I softened my voice. “Scarlett, can you hear me?” I lifted my chin and silently prayed for more guidance, as I said, “It is your Angel of the Night.”

Her crying… stopped.

Her eyes opened. “Angel?”