Page 22 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Scarlet

I had the strangest dream last night. Feverish. Surreal.

It was a feeling more than anything. It bred images in my mind, painted in deep red hues.

Intertwined limbs, wrists bound with silk, wet lips parted in ecstasy, and a thin, dewy layer covering my naked, flushed body.

His too. Because, of course it happened again, and the wretched Carter Pierce invaded another of my dreams.

Never before like this, though.

Since that first moment we met in that dark alley, he’s been a constant presence once I fall asleep. But this was intimate on a different level.

He was naked, tattooed flesh steamed in that same thin dew, glistening with our hedonism. He was an angry god, and I was his willing subject.

Nothing I’ve done today has managed to pry those images out of my mind. Through breakfast, through work, through two cold showers. The second one had to happen after those images bled into a daydream involving Metamorphosis.

Jealousy sprouted at the thought of all those women who have felt his feverish power on their skin, in real life, with tears spawned from that transcendent collision between agony and rapture flowing down their cheeks.

They are utterly unique, and I wish to capture them.

I wish I could feel them. Understand their impact.

I spent all of my lunchtime, and the couple of hours after, reasoning with myself that maybe, just maybe...if I have this experience with Carter at the helm, I will feel it too.

I’m fucking desperate for it.

Feeling something would be better than feeling nothing at all.

In the end, I had to leave the damn house because I was driving myself nuts.

“I have a hazelnut oat cappuccino for Scarlet!” The barista shouts loud enough to pull me out of that deep hole I was about to fall into again.

I put my hand up and walk to the counter to grab my drink. Same one I order all the time. The one I ordered the day Carter and I finally saw each other for the first time since that night in the alley.

Same coffee shop too.

I can’t help but grin. It was a great meet-cute. Unhinged. Perfect.

If I discount the very rude attempted murder later that day.

My phone chimes as I turn and head toward the exit.

Sleep well, kitten?

Ear to ear, the smirk extends. I can’t freaking help it.

Mmm…very well. Dreamy.

How about you, killer-boy?

Do tell.

I definitely did not sleep as well as you.

This is a story worth telling in person. *wink*

What’s keeping you up?

You’ll get your wish soon enough, kitten.

A mild case of home invasion, among other things.

Oh, goody, my prayers will finally be answered.

Now who would dare break into The Carver’s house?

Walking toward the café’s exit, I tap my finger against the edge of the phone, watching those three dots appear and disappear as Carter types.

Who indeed…

I’ll share my theory if you tell me your dreams.

I walk out onto the street, biting my lip as I begin to type. But I smash right into someone and barely manage to hold on to my coffee without spilling it.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” I bounce back, fumbling to stick my phone into my handbag. “That was totally my fault, I do apologi—”

That last word sticks in my throat like hot tar when I see the person I just bumped into—my soon-to-be motherfucking ex-husband. And look at that, he’s hand in hand with his new squeeze.

What a fucking delight.

“I would say this is an interesting coincidence, but you live an hour and a half away. So...” I trail off, tension rippling through my muscles as I take them in.

“You would be right. There’s no coincidence at all.” A smug satisfaction laces through Bernard’s eyes.

He steps forward and I step back, but I almost bump into the café’s wall. Before he can corner me, I shift quickly to my right so my back is clear and I can escape if needed.

“You’ve been following me.”

“You didn’t give me any choice, Scarlet. If you don’t see reason, I have to make you understand. In person.”

“And you chose a busy café in which to throw your pathetic threats at me?”

I scoff, and his smug grin switches to disdain.

“You have a tendency to hole up in your hermit hide for weeks, and I can’t afford to wait until you decide to crawl out of it,” he says.

“Crawl indeed,” Ariana adds. Her voice is so much more annoying than I ever noticed before. She cocks an eyebrow, looking me up and down with such an air of superiority. She’s lucky I can’t spit in her face right here, right now. Though a vague ache pulls at my heartstrings at what we once had.

Deceit, Scarlet, that’s what you had. She was never your friend!

I don’t know when my blood began to boil, but it’s bubbling at the surface, and I’m squeezing my free fist hard enough that deep pressure blooms in my palm. This is not good. Not fucking good at all.

“Can you just get to the threat part of this conversation so I can carry on with my day?”

Bernard’s expression darkens, the smugness making way for annoyance. “You’re still my wife, Scarlet. You don’t get to disrespect me.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. “Your wife? Fuck you and your delusional bullshit, asshole.” My gaze flickers to Ariana. “You’re insulting my poor excuse of a replacement, by the way. She doesn’t look like she likes it when you call me ‘your wife.’”

She hisses at me, her souring expression emphasizing wrinkles I never noticed before.

“Actually, say it again. She looks pretty when she’s all hurt and angry,” I say, unable to contain my amusement.

“You shut your mouth.” Bernard steps right into my space, and my grin shakes. “Give me the stones, Scarlet, same monthly arrangement as before, or—”

“No. Go fuck yourself, Bernard. Along with your leverage. Shove it deep up your asshole until you can fucking taste it. Now, I have shit to do.”

I turn to leave, but he wraps his hand around my wrist, the tightness so constricting that dangerous pressure grows beneath the skin.

In moments like this one, it would be useful to be able to distinguish the sensation.

Is it pain? Is he constricting my blood vessels? Is he breaking my fucking wrist?

I pull to get away, but he yanks me right back to face him.

“Give me the stones, Scarlet, or I’ll deliver the Levain pendant back to its last owner and tell him your parents stole it. Along with the rest of their jewels.”

“Nice try, but I know for a fact it’s currently in a jewelry box in my safe.” Only, I’m not as confident as I should be in those words, because Bernard’s grin is far too smug.

He cocks his head, regarding me for a brief moment before he pulls out his phone. He swipes a couple of times on the screen, then shows it to me.

My spine stiffens, blood freezing in my veins.

“This proves nothing. It could have been taken when we were still together,” I say, looking at the photo of the precious ruby pendant held in front of his arrogant face.

“Last night, actually.” He shoves his phone back into his pocket, looking like he won this game I didn’t know we were playing. “You’ll find that the one in your safe is a pretty darn good replica I commissioned.”

“You’re bluffing,” I challenge.

Disbelief melds with fury, and I want to clock him right here in the middle of the fucking street. He could still be lying to me, but somehow, I doubt he would look so goddamn confident if he was.

“Not at all. But you’ll have your confirmation when you go home,” he says.

I won’t need it; he’s not lying about this.

As much as I wish he was. The Levain pendant is one of the few pieces my father and I have stolen that’s too beautiful to break apart and too unique to sell without getting us in serious trouble.

I took inventory of everything when I moved out, but in the madness of it all, I didn’t check each goddamn piece in detail.

It never crossed my mind this asshole would pull something like it. A fake? Really?

This is bad. Real bad.

“Why did you do this, Bernard?”

“I suggested it, actually.” Ariana crosses her arms against her chest, pursing her lips.

“You?” I should be surprised, but these two assholes were going at it behind my back long before I found out.

“Leverage,” Bernard explains. “I had other plans with it, but I knew there would come a time when you would refuse to give me my stones.”

“ Your stones? You’re fucking delusional. I can’t believe you planned for me to discover you were cheating.”

“I didn’t plan for that, actually,” he says, tightening his hold on my wrist.

I’m confused. “You were going to blackmail me while we were still together?”

“Controlling you would have been slightly easier, but I would say I’m doing pretty damn good even now that we’re separated.”

His victorious grin disgusts me.

“You piece of shit, you have no idea what you’ve just done,” I say, trying to yank my wrist free of his bruising hold. “And it’s not a separation. I fucking dumped you, you swine.”

The air shifts against the back of my neck. Rich notes of bergamot and lavender snake through my senses a moment before a chilling, smoky voice speaks behind me.

“I will break your ribs open and tear your heart out if you don’t take your hands off her.”

No fucking way!

Bernard’s hold loosens, and I can finally pull my wrist away and take a step back. But I falter when a hand slides over the small of my back and wraps around my waist. My spine snaps straight, and an apprehensive shiver runs over it.

I’m pressed against the towering body standing next to me, and his marvelous scent is hypnotizing. Is it really him? I force composure as I tilt my head with such calmness. I’m proud of myself.

And I’m right—Carter Pierce holds me against him, regarding my husband with a cold, eerie gaze that seeps bone-deep. I’m curious about the effect it has on Bernard, but I can’t tear my eyes off of the carved, sharp features of the man who tightens his grip on me like I’m about to bolt.

Then he looks down, and something so much more visceral bleeds through his expression. It shines a lot like possessiveness.