Page 32

“No,” The word comes out fiercely. “You’re not a whore, Scarlett, but there is so much going on right now that you don’t understand, that you can’t understand.”

Her eyes dart between mine, as if she thinks she might catch some lie in one of them.

“I’m not the idiot you all think I am…” She begins, that hate still there in her voice.

“You’re not an idiot.” I repeat. “But right now, you’re not in the right frame of mind to understand any of this, to risk…”

“Because I’m an invalid.” She hisses. “Because I’m too fragile and sick…”

My hand silences her protests, but I’m quick to remove it once she falls silent. “There’s a reason you’re here. A reason you allowed Alex to bring you here. A plan to all of this madness.”

“What plan?”

“I can’t tell you.” I know the words sound like bullshit. I know as soon as I speak them and she reacts exactly as I expect, with scorn and derision.

She snarls, pushing me away. “You think I’m that stupid?” She spits. “You think I’m that easily fooled?”

“It’s not about fooling you.” I snap, grabbing hold of her so she can’t try to escape again. “For fucksake, Scarlett, this is about saving your life.”

She stares back at me like I’ve thrown an entire bucket of water over her. “What are you saying?” She says oh so quietly.

“I’m on your side. I have been from the start.”

“But you, you chased me, you just…”

I smirk again. “I couldn’t resist when you offered yourself up so beautifully to me. I’m not a good man, Scarlett. The old you knew that, understood that. But that doesn’t mean I’m like him either. And I am on your side.”

She’s clearly torn between desperately wanting to believe me and afraid that this is just another trick, another manipulation meant to trap her.

“I’m on your side.” I repeat again, lifting my hand to cup her cheek while my thumb brushes away the remnants of her tears. “Let me show you,” I murmur. “Let me remind you that I’m different.”

Her brows furrow, confusion clouding her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to,” I say, stepping back. “It will all make sense. Just let me take care of you until it does.”

I reach for a washcloth, wetting it with warm water before wringing it out. I turn back to her, the cloth in my hand. She watches me warily, her body tense, ready to bolt at the first sign of threat.

“Close your eyes,” I say softly.

She hesitates for a moment before complying, her eyelids fluttering shut. I press the warm cloth to her face, gently wiping away the remnants of my brother.

She flinches slightly at the first touch, but as I continue, she relaxes, her breath evening out.

I wash her carefully, my touch gentle and deliberate. Her skin is soft, delicate under my fingers. I trace the lines of her face, the curve of her jaw, the sweep of her high cheekbones.

She’s beautiful, even with the shadows of fear and exhaustion clinging to her.

But in this light, I can see the faint bruising around her neck. It’s higher than where the belt was. Older too, fingerprints pressed into her skin like a twisted necklace.

Is that the handiwork of my father or my brother?

I guess it could well be both.

As I let out a sigh, I wonder whether this will all feel worth it once we’re there. Once we’ve reached the endpoint. Will Scarlett agree then that her sacrifices were appropriate? God, I hope so. I don’t know how I’ll console her, how I’ll put her back together if she doesn’t.

Because it will be me playing that part. I already decided that, up on the cliffs. It’ll be me. Not her father. Me, fixing her, helping her, keeping her, once my brother and everyone else is dead.

“What, what is it?” She whispers, in that tentative voice.

I shake my head. My worries are mine, it’s not for me to burden her further, not now. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.

I reach for a towel, placing it in her hands. She clutches it, looking up at me with those wide, lost eyes. Before she has a chance to say anything more, I head to my room, pulling out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

When I return, she’s still standing there, like she hasn’t dared to even breathe. I hand them to her and she takes them just as meekly as she did the towel. “Change into these.”

Oh, the baser part of me would happily strip her down, would happily clean her skin up and wash away all those last traces of Alexander.

But I know that’s a step too far. We might be finally making headway, but one false move, one misstep and she’ll go running back to him, putting herself in even more danger.

I’m seeing glimpses now, hints that the real Scarlett is waking up. I can’t afford to be reckless. I can’t afford to fuck this up.

I step out of the room, gently shutting the door, giving her privacy as I lean against the wall, my head tipping back as I take a deep breath.

Fuck, what am I doing?

I’m playing with fire, I know that.

We had a plan. A damned good plan. And right now, I’m pissing all over it.

But I can’t stand by and watch her suffer alone anymore. I can’t be the cold, heartless bastard she wanted me to be. Not with her. Not now.

And I can see it, I’m losing her. All this abuse, all this horror – she thought she could withstand anything, the old Scarlett did. The brave, bold, defiant girl that agreed to do anything and everything necessary.

But the Scarlett before me now, the girl that’s beaten and broken, and drugged up to her eyeballs – no, she won’t last. Yesterday out on the cliffs proved that point.

A few minutes later she opens the door, tentatively looking out. I know logically I should let her go, should send her back to her room but if I do that I’ll be throwing her back to the wolves.

Besides, I’m not ready to let her go yet.

Selfish as I am, reckless as this is, I’m not willing to let my little bird out of my hands just yet.

These few precious hours I have before Alexander and my father return are just that, precious. I need to make them mean something, I need to give her hope, to ensure that fight in her doesn’t die before all the players are on the board.

She doesn’t protest as I lead her back into the bedroom. She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes following me as I move around the room like she’s still waiting for me to turn into another monster.

I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and hand it to her. “Drink,” I say gently.

She takes the bottle, her hands shaking slightly as she unscrews the cap. I watch her take a sip, her throat working as she swallows.

My t-shirt is swamping her small frame. She looks young, vulnerable. So fucking breakable.

I walk over to the bed, sitting down with her beside me. She tenses, her eyes darting to me, wary and uncertain.

I reach out, slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. Only, she doesn’t.

My hand cups her cheek, my thumb brushing gently against her skin as her eyes flutter closed at my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

It’s a small victory, a tiny sign of trust that she’s giving me. I take it, greedy for any crumb she’s willing to throw my way.

“Scarlett,” I murmur, leaning in, my forehead resting against hers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine. “You promise?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

I nod, my thumb continuing its gentle caress. “I promise. I’m not him, Scarlett. I won’t hurt you like that.”

She takes a deep breath, her body relaxing incrementally. “But you will hurt me?” she asks, hearing the unspoken warning all the same. Her eyes are filled with a resigned sadness that tears at the better part of me. The part I thought had died a long time ago.

“I won’t lie to you, Scarlett.” I reply, my hand dropping from her cheek. “I will hurt you, but only in the ways you want, only in the ways you need. But I swear, I won’t be the monster in your story. I never was.”

I can tell she doesn’t understand what those words mean. That in her head, right now, they make no sense whatsoever. She looks down, her fingers playing with the hem of the t-shirt.

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” she admits, her voice soft.

“That’s fair,” I say, shifting back to give her space. “But let me show you. Let me prove it to you.”

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of fear, confusion, and a spark of hope that she’s trying desperately to hide. “How?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I’m pushing. I know it. I should walk away. Give her space.

But I can’t.

I need this.

She needs this.

FUCK.

I’m not a good person, why the fuck would I suddenly be all altruistic now?

I stop thinking, stop rationalising it, and instead I lift my hand, grabbing her jaw and claim her mouth again.

If she hesitates, if she considers pushing me away again, I don’t feel it.

Her hand slides up my chest, her fingers tracing the exposed skin beneath. I can feel her desire, her need. She does want this; she does want me.

And fuck if that doesn’t make me feel like a king.

I deepen the kiss, my hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer. She lets out a soft moan, her body pressing against mine. I can feel her heart pounding, matching the rhythm of my own. I want her, fuck do I want her.

But I won’t rush this, won’t push her. Not now, not after everything she’s been through.

She pulls back slightly, her breath coming in soft gasps. “Rafe,” she whispers, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and fear. “I... I don’t know if I can...”

I brush a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, Scarlett,” I say. “We can stop right now if that’s what you want.” I force those words out, even though that’s the complete opposite of how I feel.

I’m so close to losing control, to ripping my shirt right off her body and losing myself in her.

She bites her lip, her eyes searching mine. Then she shakes her head, a small, determined movement. “No,” she says, her voice steadier than before. “I want this. I want you.”