Page 86 of The Man with a Treasure

With this particular shower, I just needed my erection under control. As soon as I ejaculated, my head fell forward in relief. But then I heard another scream. “Fuck!”

Running with a towel around my waist through the house, I found Sal also in a towel at the laundry room entrance. He was covering his mouth, absolutely horrified.

Oh no. Scarlett.

My heart thundered as I wondered what could have possibly gone so tragically wrong in the five minutes we had left her unattended. I prepared myself for a gruesome sight as I pushed past Sal.

Scarlett was frantically pushing buttons on the washing machine. “I am so sorry, Sal! I wanted to surprise you!”

“W-What is going on?” I asked, so confused.

“Oh, Angel. I was trying to wash Sal’s suit like he washes my cup! Please help me stop this machine!”

I sagged into the wall, never so happy Sal’s dry-clean-only, expensive suit was being ruined. “You’re okay.”

“What about my suit?” the not-so-tough Italian man almost cried.

At the formal dining room table, Scarlett inspected the scars on her wrists. She just had her fill of Sal’s scrumptious homemade alfredo. Her favorite. “Why do we not talk about my fathers?”

Suddenly feeling ill, I set my fork down.

Sal did the same and leaned back in his chair.

Scarlett eyed us. “Why don’t you two have such scars?”

The answer would’ve been heartbreaking, so all I could muster was, “Sal and I were raised in a different environment than you.” I never knew I could feel guilty for experiencing love all my life.

“Why?”

This was a conversation that was easily diverted from when Scarlett wasn’t as wise. Now, she was getting to the hard questions.

Sal and I stayed quiet.

Her jaw locked. “Why did they have my mother? Why was I with them?”

I rubbed a palm over the scruff of my short beard. “Scarlett, there are certain questions your family must be the ones to answer—”

She quickly stood and slammed her hands on the table. “My name is Scar! And I am tired of hearing about a family I don’t know! Where are they?”

How could I tell her that one or more of them wanted her dead because he or they wanted the money she didn’t even know how to spend yet.

When we said nothing, she side-swiped her plate and silverware. They went soaring then crashed into a wall. “You took me from the only family I knew!”

As right as she was, I grabbed my chest because it felt like I’d been stabbed. “They were cruel to you.”

“That was only because I was misbehaving!”

I cringed. “How on Earth were you misbehaving?”

“I fought back when they wanted sex with me.”

Scarlett had learned that word when a sex scene had come on the TV and Sal or I had quickly changed the channel. My stomach soured that night when she told me it was fucking, not sex. And that she was fucked often. Since then, I had done all I could to avoid questions like these.

At the dining room table, I swallowed. “They should have never punished you for saying no.”

She slammed her hands on the table again. “How do you know? You grew up in a different environment, remember?”

Scarlett stormed out of the dining room, leaving me speechless and tormented.