Page 46 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Scarlet

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Carter calls out from the bedroom as I lock the large safe room leading from my office. “I found your sealed record from when you were sixteen.”

Oh, there we go. This should be fun.

I walk out of the office and toward the bedroom, where we retired when the night was getting a bit too old and we were growing quite hungry.

We ate the leftover pasta I thought he might be too fussy to eat, since he seems more like a “gourmet meals” kind of man.

Yet, he enjoyed it without an issue. He wasn’t even too good to eat in bed with me.

“What about it?”

“What did the kid do?” he asks.

“I caught him when he kicked a dog. He was about to repeat the action and beat up the poor thing. So, I beat him up instead. With my shoe.”

“With your . . . what?”

“There was nothing on hand.” I shrug. “It was spontaneous. I wasn’t prepared. I was wearing these combat-style platform boots, really thick and heavy, and I beat the crap out of him with it.” I reach the bedroom and stand in its doorway. “I have something for you.”

He lifts his head from where he’s lying on the bed, and I swear his gaze brightens.

“The Crimson Violin.” He rises to sit, and I walk to him, handing him his precious instrument. He turns it in his hands, inspecting it.

“Don’t worry. I took good care of it.”

He gives me this look that screams, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You’re quite fond of animals?” he asks, setting the violin next to the bed once satisfied.

“Very. Every single person I’ve killed so far has harmed animals to some degree.

I love picking the smug ones.” I grin as I climb next to him under the covers.

“The rich ones who kill endangered species for clout, the ones who experiment on them, the assholes who are simply cruel, and the ones who have been reported for suspected animal abuse but the authorities either didn’t have enough evidence or couldn’t be bothered.

I get so much fucking satisfaction from it. ”

“Because they’re bad people, or because of your love for animals? Would you get the same satisfaction if you killed a murderer? Or a rapist?”

“Maybe. I never tried nor cared to. Don’t get me wrong, they need punishment too, but.

..animals are voiceless. Some of them love unconditionally, no matter what you do to them.

They’ll fear you and still hope you’ll pet them.

Love them. Trust them. I dream of smashing their abuser’s bones as they scream for mercy.

I get fucking hot just thinking about that justice. ”

He brushes a strand of wavy hair off of my face, a trace of a smile in his peculiar hazel eyes. It’s like looking at an eclipse—so incredibly rare and beautiful.

“How do you find them?”

“I have a list,” I answer.

“And you pick one from the list every . . . week?”

I scoff. “I wish, but no. I have to be careful. I research and watch my targets for a while, and when that angry beast inside of me begs for blood and violence, like when Bernard showed up at the fucking café, I pick one from that list. Doing it more often would require more resources. It’s too risky. ”

“Interesting. I can certainly help if you’d like to indulge more. I can protect you if you’d like me to.”

I draw back slightly, caught off guard by the offer. “Umm...thank you.”

I don’t know what else to say. I’m almost speechless.

He shrugs, settling deeper into the pillow, like what he just told me didn’t mean the world. “I understand you, Scarlet. And I appreciate what you do, how you channel that reckless energy. If I can help keep you off either your victims’ or authorities’ radar, of course I will.”

I burst out laughing because the surreal quality of this moment is really getting to me. “Well, in that case, seriously, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He smiles, a faint dimple appearing in his gaunt cheek.

Fuck, he’s such a beautiful man, with the longer hair at the top of his head falling lazily to the side. The sexual tension still lingers in the air, yet its hunger has subsided. Silence settles. Comfort too.

We lazily gaze into each other’s eyes, like we can learn all those unsaid things about ourselves if we don’t ask the questions out loud.

Our steady breaths are the only sounds in my dimly lit bedroom. Strangely heartening. Effortless.

The adrenaline drains slowly, and tiredness follows, weighing down my lids, but I’m reluctant to close my eyes. Like he would disappear if I fell asleep.

“Would you play for me?”

He watches me for a few seconds before he turns and grabs the violin off of the floor, then props himself against the headboard.

I interrupt him when he opens his mouth to ask a question I anticipate. “Something that...consumes you.”

He nods, unfocusing his gaze as he allows himself a moment to think.

The room is bathed in a soft, muted glow as he rests the violin on his collarbone, relaxing into the hold and setting his jaw on the chin rest. It was hard to visualize a hardened and cold man like him playing such a delicate instrument, but here he is, his composure unraveling bit by bit as his fingers settle on the strings. Hidden layers come to life before me.

Lifting the bow, he draws it across the strings with a grace I didn’t know he had in him.

The first note hums low and deep, vibrating in the quiet space between us.

I feel the sound more than hear it at first. It reaches inside me, finding sensitive places I forgot existed.

His eyes fall shut, lashes casting soft shadows on his carved cheekbones as stray strands of hair fall over his features, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks. ..serene.

Each stroke of the bow is fluid. He’s carving emotion out of thin air, each note a revelation that technically doesn’t exist within him.

Yet here they are, emotions on full display.

His hands move deftly, guiding the violin with an entrancing confidence.

The faint sway of his body pulls me into his rhythm.

An enthralling melody spills from his fingertips.

Sharp at times. Piercing. Then it falls to a murmur.

Gentle. Almost shy. Right there, in those movements, in his strained expression, I see how fiercely he guards himself.

His soul. His trust. Maybe his heart too.

My chest tightens with a strange ache. I hadn’t expected this side of him—the unconscious vulnerability, the soul he hides beneath every harsh line, every cold glance. Yet here he is, exposing himself in a way his words and logical mind never could.

I couldn’t look away, even if I tried. His brow furrows as he leans into a haunting note, his jaw clenched with concentration, his fingers coaxing out sounds that are both raw and impossibly tender.

The music swells and fills every corner of the room.

I’m holding my breath, fearing he’ll stop if I exhale too loudly.

This moment, this version of him—it’s utterly ravishing. A man unraveling, yet completely in control.

When he opens his eyes, there’s a flicker of something unguarded in his gaze. Just for me. And I realize that I’ve seen him, truly, maybe for the first time.

Carter

A loud, distant knock startles me awake from potentially the best sleep of my fucking life. It takes me a second to acknowledge where I am, but fuck is it amazing to wake up with Scarlet next to me, with her delicate, warm hand resting on my chest.

“Love,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

The knock sounds louder the second time around.

“Mmm...” she moans, nestling into me and making me want to scream at whoever the fuck dares disturb us.

But I can’t. This is her house. And...shit, that could be her family.

Who am I kidding? It could only be her family.

“Scarlet, someone’s at the door.”

Her eyes flutter open, an endearing smile slowly settling on her lips. The third round of knocking startles her, and her eyes go wide as she rushes out of bed.

“Fuck. Sorry.” She runs her hands through her hair and slaps her face a few times, her sleepy look fucking adorable as she attempts to wake herself. “Okay, I’m going...” She rushes toward the open bedroom door.

“Kitten!” I call after her.

She stops and whips around.

A grin tugs at my cheeks as I gesture down her body. “Maybe throw something on before you answer the door?”

“Shit. Oh, for fuck’s sake. At least you’re discovering early on that I certainly am not a morning person.”

I chuckle as I watch her fumble around for a robe, and then I start getting dressed too.

She disappears out the door as I finish, and voices drift in from the living room.

One of them—male—sounds rather urgent. Barefoot, and with my shirt annoyingly untucked, I walk out of the bedroom to be by her side.

A man stands in Scarlet’s house, hands settled on his hips, stance a little bit too aggressive for my taste.

With heavy steps, I head straight to her as she fumbles with the espresso machine on a small coffee station. But I slow down when I recognize the resemblance. Short stature, mahogany-brown hair, dark-brown eyes that look so much like hers. He’s taller, older too, but he’s definitely her brother.

“Who exactly are you?” he asks.

“Don’t be fucking rude, Marc. I told you he’s here.” Scarlet slaps his shoulder after she turns the espresso machine on, and it rumbles away. She steps next to me when I’m close enough, wrapping her arm around mine. “Carter, this is my very rude brother, Marc.”

Neither of us makes any movement toward a polite introduction.

“Oh, for god’s sake, play nice.” Scarlet says.

Logically, if I want to keep this woman in my life, starting on the right foot with her family is imperative.

I reach out to him, my hand hanging for a handshake. “Nice to meet you. Carter Pierce.”

He looks between my hand and his sister, lips pursed and shoulders tense, before he finally gives in and shakes it. “Marc Brasa.” He introduces himself without their mother’s last name.

How interesting.