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“And the remaining fifty percent?”
She gapes at me like I’m an alien. “You’re joking, right? How about your fucking buddy… fuck buddy… whatever he is.” She shakes her head. “You know, the only other person who has even cum inside me? A real fucking Einstein, you are.”
I let out a fierce growl and pounce on her, my hand tightening around her throat. “You think it’s wise to be so fucking mouthy to Emerson Rossi?”
Alistair snaps out of his trance, his eyes widening in alarm, and forcefully pushes me away from her. “What the hell is wrong with you? Putting your hands on your wife? The mother of our child?”
Our child. My child. Alistair’s child.
I look down as a wave of shame washes over me, fixating on the floor of the limo. I don't know what just came over me, but a rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. No one has ever dared to speak to me like that and survived. Call it instinct, habit, or pure stupidity. Dammit!
“I'm sorry, Scarlett. This is a lot to take in all at once,” I whisper, my voice filled with regret. “I don’t know what came over me. People don’t usually speak to me like that, and if they do… well, they’re not around to tell the tale. I’d never hurt you, in any way you wouldn’t like that is,” I try to joke to lighten the mood.
She rubs her throat, her eyes filled with sympathy. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Startled, but I’ll live. You got some life-altering news right after marrying a stranger. It's certain to provoke the ugliest side of someone. I’m sorry for being a bitch.” She flashes a quick smile. “It could be the hormones or you bring out a side of myself I thought I turned off a long time ago. I have endured much worse from my uncle. A little choking won’t kill me. But do it again while I’m carrying a child, and I’ll cut your cock off in your sleep.”
“She might say it’s fine, but so help me, Emerson. If you touch her like that again, we will have a problem. I can understand this is a lot to process, but we do not put our hands on our woman.”
“It won’t happen again, and if it does you have permission to kill me. I never want my child to know harm to his mother like I did with mine.” I wince as I let a secret from my past slip in front of Scarlett. Alistair obviously knows, we have no secrets, but I can’t believe I just admitted such a thing to Scarlett. This is a for sure sign the stress of her words has rendered me off my game.
“I don’t want to trade one prison for another. I won’t be treated how Tobin treats the women in his life.. I want a relationship, a love like my parents had before they died,” Scarlett whispers, and a smile appears on her lips at the mention of her parents. “I know it’s crazy to hope for something like that in a world like yours. But I see how you two are with one another. And a part of me hopes that maybe we can have that too.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Cupcake?” Alistair removes her hand from her throat and examines it. “He’s an asshole, but I swear he’s not usually violent toward his friends let alone his wife.”
“I’m fine,” she laughs softly. “Believe me Tobin has done much worse.”
Alistair’s eyes darken as he lets out a snarl. “No one will put a hand on you again, do you hear me? We’ll make sure of it. You’re now Scarlett Rossi, our woman. I’d kill for you and our child.”
Our woman? Is that what she is now? I mean, I know technically she’s my wife, but is it possible for her to actually be more? If she keeps up that attitude and fearlessness, she might just make it in our world. But is that what she wants? What I want?
“Is that what you really want, Scarlett? To be ours? This life isn’t for the weak and timid. It will chew you up and spit you out. We're not good people, we’re not even nice, except when it comes to each other. You just saw that.” I give her a pointed stare. “ What do you want from us? To still escape this marriage? Be my wife in name only? I won’t let you take Alistair from me. He’s mine.”
CHAPTER 12
SCARLETT
No one has asked me what I want in a very long time. Truthfully, I forgot what it’s like to even be asked my opinion on anything. Knowing that Emerson wants my opinion, that it has some sort of value is a strange feeling. I look at Alistair with his dark, puppy dog eyes, then at Emerson with his dark eyes full of anger and caring.
Is this what I want?
“I don't know,” I whisper, the uncertainty evident in my voice. “I’d love nothing more than to say yes and pray for a happily ever after for us and this baby. But this is the real world, and while I have this feeling I can trust you. Minus that fact that you fuck like kings, I know nothing about you. That’s not a no, but it’s also not a yes, either. It’s a can I get to know my husband and his…” I look at Alistair. “Boyfriend?”
“We’ve never discussed labels, honestly.. Our friendship started when we were kids and then as teens, it turned into something more. Now we just are.. us. But I’d very much like to be your boyfriend.” Alistair nuzzles my neck, causing me to giggle. “Unless you know someplace where you can have two arranged husbands.”
I throw my head back, laughing, and God, does it feel good. Then, like a lightning strike, I remember we’re still in the limo. “We’ve been driving for a while. Where are we going?”
“Don't all newlyweds have a honeymoon?” Emerson replies, a smile playing on his lips.
“Well, I suppose so, but this isn’t really a conventional wedding, now, is it? I don’t even know if I can fly? Can you fly while pregnant?” Panic flows through me at the thought of putting my baby in danger.
Emerson and Alistair stare at each other for a minute, like they’re having a silent conversation with only their eyes. Alistair digs in his pocket, pulling out his phone and calling someone. “Hey, Doc McMuffins, it’s me, Alistair. I have a question for you. Can you fly while pregnant?” He goes quiet, his attention focused on the conversation happening on the other end of the line. “Oh, okay. Thank you.” He hangs up and slides the phone back into his slacks pocket.
“You can fly up to twenty-eight weeks internationally and thirty-six domestically. So I think we’re safe, yeah?” He tilts his head as he looks at me.
“Yeah. But should we trust someone with a name like McMuffins?”
“That’s not his real name. It’s McMurphy, but he pissed me off last time he dug a bullet from my shoulder, so I call him McMuffins to piss him off. He’s a good doctor, I promise.” Alistair wags his brows at me, but I’m still caught up on the part where he said last time a bullet was dug from him.
It serves as a stark reminder of the inherent danger that accompanies the lives of these two men. Do I really want to be a part of that long-term? Can I choose to raise my baby in that same dangerous world, exposing him or her to its risks?
