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It’s the sickly maniacal smirk on the face of someone I thought was dead. How the hell is she alive? I beat her with that tray.
You never confirmed she was actually dead.
I didn’t. I was too busy running for my life, too scared to find out if I had actually killed her. As much as I hate her for what she did to me, I didn’t want to kill her.
Seeing Scarlett alive in front of me, the hate radiating off her, I wish I had ended her life because she is going to make mine hell.
“You look surprised to see me, Skye. Well, you see, you didn’t kill me, but the head injury you gave me when you beat me with that tray rattled my brain. I live with daily headaches and the worst brain fog. When Tommy told me he found you, I knew I had to be here. There was no way I was passing up an opportunity to see my friend again.”
Her words might sound friendly on the surface, but I know Scarlett. She is seething mad, and I don’t blame her. I left her for dead, and clearly, I’ve caused damage to her.
“It’s not possible,” I say on a rush of air.
“All the horror films we’ve watched over the years, and you didn’t learn anything. You always check to make sure the bad guy is dead.”
She steps towards me, and I try to move back, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m flanked by the two men from the car. Instead, I brace, holding my bound hands in front of my stomach. It is the only protection I can give myself, but she doesn’t hit me or touch me.
With just inches between us, she tilts her head to the side. “You look glowing, Skye.”
I realise a beat too late that her words are double-edged. I try to stop her as she reaches for the hem of my sweater, but she pulls it up, and I can do nothing to hide the swell of my stomach underneath.
“Your little problem still remains,” she says, her eyes locked there.
Using my bound hands, I shove her away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss at her.
A hand collars the back of my neck, squeezing my nape so tight, I cry out.
“Watch your tongue,” Tommy’s voice snarls close to my ear.
I don’t like the way Scarlett is looking at him all doe-eyed. She made no secret of her feelings for Tommy, but I find myself wondering if something has grown between them in the time I’ve been gone.
“You can still stop this.” I direct my words at Tommy, but he releases his grasp on my neck to grab my hands.
With no care for me, he marches me over to the hook, lifting my hands over my head to secure the metal between the rope. The strain on my shoulders and my chest is immediate, and my body screams for a reprieve. I balance on my tiptoes, trying to take some pressure off both, but it does nothing. Fire licks between my shoulder blades.
The blurry smudge in my vision doesn’t mask the way Scarlett steps into Tommy’s arms, or the way he kisses her so forcefully, she groans against his mouth.
The dryness of my throat makes it hard to swallow as I watch them, fear tickling my insides. They are working together, and not only that, they’re clearly having some sort of relationship.
“Does my father know you have me?”
They break apart, the hate in Tommy’s eyes leaving sticky dampness on the back of my neck. “Your father’s weak.”
“Meaning what?”
Tommy steps into my space, grabbing my cheeks between his fingers. His entire face becomes an angry mask as his lips pull into a snarl. “My brother died. Countless others have died at the hands of that dirty little fucking club, and yet your father prefers to hide in his bars, drinking and whoring his way around the city. It’s men like me who are putting our lives on the line. Men like Jack.” He flinches as he says his brother’s name. The pain within him is still so fresh, and he is so tormented by his loss.
“We all loved Jack,” I say, searching for any way to calm him down. “The life, the world you live in, it’s dangerous, Tommy. That’s why I never wanted you to be a part of it. It isn’t too late. We can leave, start a new life somewhere else—”
He tightens his grip on my face, my words lost to a whimper I can’t hold back. “How can we start a new life when you’ve been defiled by the enemy?”
He releases me with a shove, and I teeter on my tiptoes, struggling to keep my balance as the hook sways back and forth. My sweater has risen up, revealing the high waist of my pink leggings that seemed so important to find this morning. Tommy reaches for the waistband, and an ugly feeling spreads through me as he shoves them down to my pubic bone.
“Don’t.” My voice cracks as I spit out my plea.
I can’t reconcile the man in front of me with the boy who was once everything to me. I don’t recognise him at all. There is an undercurrent of anger and hate burning in his eyes and an uncertainty with it. I no longer know what Tommy is capable of.
“Are you worried I’m going to rape you, Skye-bug?” The softness of his words almost hides the sinister meaning behind them. His fingers trail over my stomach, between the bottom of my bump and just above where my pubic hair starts.
