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20

SCARLET

I t’s been hours and I’ve yet to hear a word from Gunn. I dig my fingers into my hair, tugging at it with worry.

This is exactly why people in my line of work avoid personal attachments. We know only too well the chances of never coming home.

I grab my phone off the chest of drawers and stare at the screen. “Just call me already, dammit!”

But much to my dismay, I don’t have the power of manifestation.

Is he still at Briar House? Was he able to convince Luca and Carina to give me an audience? Will they give me asylum when Gideon discovers I’ve chosen Gunn over the vow I made to him?

My stomach clenches and I dig my fingers into it, attempting to quell the burn I know is coming.

Finally, my phone rings. It’s him.

I’ve never punched the accept button so hard. “Hello. Hello!”

“They’re coming,” he screams into the phone, and though it’s hard to make out over the sound of his bike and the wind hitting the receiver, his next word come through perfectly clear. “Run!”

My skin instantly prickles, that feeling of being doused with ice water coming over me.

“Who?” I ask, but I’m already taking count of all the weapons on my body and I snatch my gun from the bed. I pull back the slide and check that there’s a bullet in the chamber and fifteen in the magazine.

“The alliance. They know where you are. I’m on the way, but you have to get out of there.” There’s some strange background noise, honking and tires screeching. “Fuck!”

“Gunn!” I scream just as the line goes dead. “Fuck.”

I run out of the room that used to be Gunn’s when he was a child, and race toward the stairs. But I come to an immediate halt when I hear footsteps coming from the first floor.

They’re here.

Remaining as silent as possible, I try to count the steps. They’re so quiet, barely there, it’s no wonder I didn’t hear them come inside.

How did they know where Gunn left me?

I shift my weight as to not alert anyone down there of my presence and risk a peek over the banister.

A dark-haired man pressed against the wall has his riffle aimed right at me. He shoots, the bullet missing my shoulder by inches. I duck back inside the room, shutting the door before several men can be heard reaching the second floor.

Someone starts kicking at it and the doorframe begins to shatter. I let out three shots through the door, hitting whoever is on the other side. It buys me time to get to the window.

Unfortunately for me, two guys are already coming up the fire escape.

“Fuck!” I aim and shoot. All the bullets do is ricochet off the metal, causing the men to duck and slow their progress.

Behind me, the door continues to give. I quickly count the rounds left in my gun. Nine to go.

I make hasty calculations. My odds of survival out the door vs. the window. There are at least three guys in the hall, and two outside.

The decision is taken out of my hands when the hallway guys break through.

Without hesitation, I aim at the first target. It’s the only chance I’ll get at an accurate shot. I hit my mark and he goes down at the same time I dive for the other side of one of the beds.

The two remaining men scatter as well, aware that at this close range, the odds for shooting each other have just gone up.

“Come out and you’ll have a chance to defend yourself with the boss,” the one guy says.

“If he intended on giving me a chance, you wouldn’t have come armed,” I retort.

In my peripheral, I see someone appear at the window. I don’t give him the opportunity to search for me. A tug on the trigger, and his body rolls down the fire escape, taking his buddy with him.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

“Is it really hard, though?” I laugh.

“Gunn will pay the price if you don’t cooperate. Is that really what you want?” He finally says something that makes me pause.

I don’t know enough about Luca to believe he’d hurt Gunn for protecting me. What I do know is that regardless, I’m in a pretty shitty predicament and I can think of only one way to get out of it.

“Okay, okay,” I say in the humblest voice. “I’ll come out. But promise me nothing will happen to Gunn.”

“We promise,” he agrees.

“Okay.”

“Toss your gun to the right and come up with your hands where we can see them.”

I raise my hands and slowly stand. The men immediately set their weapon sights on my head. Their friend, the one that had rolled down the fire escape stairs, appears at the window, his gun drawn as well.

“Stay where you are,” the apparent leader orders.

“Yes, sir.” I remain as still as possible, keeping my eyes slightly downcast. The picture of meek resignation.

All three come closer, narrowing the space between us.

“Good girl,” the leader says and reaches for my wrist.

“I am good.” I lift my gaze to his and grin. “And you’re stupid.”

Twisting my wrist out of his grasp, I throw head forward, hitting him hard on the jaw and knocking him out cold. As he stumbles backward, I swipe my leg low, catching his mate right on the shins. He screams and goes down to his knees, but before I can finish him, I’m yanked back by my hair.

“Fucking bitch!” window guy yells in my ear. He throws me to the floor and kicks me in the stomach.

I hate getting a foot to the gut. It’s more the guttural sounds forced out of you and the inability to breathe than the pain itself. And it does seem to take me forever to suck in a breath.

“Finish her.” The other man, the one I’d kicked in the shins, manages to stand up and he’s pissed. “Just fucking finish her.”

“The boss wants her alive.”

“Fuck them.” Shin guy rubs his leg and grimaces. “We can say she attacked us.”

“I like that idea.”

I’m lying there, hand clutched to my abdomen, gasping, when the click of the hammer has me peering up, right into the barrel of his gun.

My life doesn’t flash before me as I’ve been told. Actually, not much thought happens besides wondering if I should close my eyes or keep them open.

In the end, I decide the image I’d rather take with me to the beyond is definitely not of a gun. At least, not that type of gun. So I shut my lids and think of Gunn.

Two shots crack through the air. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t even feel that cold sensation I’ve heard about.

“Get up!” I’m unceremoniously hauled up. “Are you hurt?”

I open my eyes as Gunn inspects me for injury. On the floor are the two men. Dead.

“They were your soldiers,” I say in disbelief. “You took out your own for me?”

“Not mine. Luca’s.”

“But you’re part of the alliance.”

“Not anymore.” He takes my hand and tugs me out of the orphanage house. “We have to go. Reinforcements will be on the way.”

His Ducati is still on when we reach it. Gunn slings a leg over the seat and I follow suit.

We take off at a breakneck speed. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and press my cheek against his back, not because of fear of falling off, but for fear that this might be a dream and I’ll wake up. A dream in which Gunn came back for me.

And I don’t want to let go.

“Where are we?” I ask as we pull up to a black iron gate.

“St. Joseph’s Cemetery.” He drives through the entrance and we wind our way toward the back.

I hate cemeteries. Hate how eerily quiet they are, especially at night. Full of secret keepers. The hushed.

Imagine if those people beneath the lush grass and crawling mist could talk. What would they say? Who would they point their fingers at?

Me.

My mouth suddenly dry, I ask, “Isn’t this where the Sinacores are buried?”

“Yes.” He gives me a grim look. “And so is she.”

“Who?” I ask, even as the answer comes to me. Because I know. I have always known.

Gunn parks the bike at the edge of a pass and shuts the engine. We have to walk from here.

“Come.” He gets off and extends his hand to me.

I stare at it, then at the path between the graves that leads to a family plot at the top of a slight hill. From here, I can spot the little fence that separates the Sinacores from the rest of the dead, the shadowy figures of their tombstones seeming to loom over us.

“I’m scared.” Every scene from the horror movies I watched as a kid comes back to haunt me—twisted hands breaking through the dirt, the undead out for revenge, and decaying bodies in search of the one that killed them.

His fingers wrap around mine. “I’m here.”

We walk toward the place, and I might as well be heading toward a tribunal.

I pause, my feet refusing to go past the line of demarcation. Once I cross I’ll be able to see the proof of what I did. I’ll stand before her , and I don’t know if I can bare it.

“You have to.” Giving me a slight tug, Gunn places me in front of a beautiful white marble headstone. On it, reads, Alma Maria di Persia. Beloved Daughter and Sister.

Every cell in my body freezes upon seeing her name. My breath lodges in my throat and I can barely utter a sound of horror. I’m standing at the gates of the underworld, ready to be judged, and my soul is completely tainted with guilt.

“No!” I finally scream and make to run, but strong arms come around me and stop me mid-flight. “Let me go!”

“You have to make peace with it, Scar,” Gunn says. “You have to face her.”

I kick and punch, but he’s like a brick wall surrounding me, keeping me imprisoned against him. “Stop it, Scarlet.”

Suddenly, all the fight is drained from me and I fall limply to my knees, bringing Gunn with me. I look back, but the moment I see her name again a sob explodes from me and I burry my face in Gunn’s chest. “I can’t.”

“You have to. If you don’t, the guilt will consume you.”

“Maybe I deserve that.”

“Maybe. Maybe we all do. You can still tell her how sorry you are.”

I touch my side, the spot where I’ve cut time and again, keeping the wound fresh, so afraid that if it closes I’ll forget her like I’ve done so many others. Afraid I’ll forget what I did, the name of the innocent life I took. But how could I? Alma Maria di Persia. Her name is an invisible scar on my black soul that will never heal.

Using what little strength I have left, I force myself to face Alma’s grave. I dig my fingers into the dirt covering her casket, needing to somehow connect with her.

“I didn’t mean for any of it to happen,” I whisper to her, sensing that wherever she is, she can hear me. “Why were you there? You didn’t belong there.”

Tears stream down my cheeks as I recall that night at Flag’s Point Marina. Gideon called Luca to make an exchange, Carina for her father, Gregorio. Alma wasn’t supposed to be there. Why was she there? A civilian should never be a part of mafia business.

When I threw the knife that ended her life, it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for the man that betrayed Gideon’s father.

It hit her instead and just like that, my hands were covered in innocent blood. There was no justifying it. No sin on her part that cancelled out mine.

I tear myself out of Gunn’s grasp and crawl to the headstone. The guilt that’s been rotting away at my chest abruptly dislodges and comes up my throat, nearly choking me, and I scream.

“Forgive me!” I cling to the base of the marble as if it were Alma’s own feet and I beg. “Please, please forgive me.”

For a long while, I wail. I remain there, crying, desperate for relief. When I don’t get it, I tug my knife out but before I can do any damage, Gunn takes hold of my hand.

“Don’t shut off the pain. She deserves better than that.” He takes the knife, but he doesn’t try to move me. Instead, he curls around me, warm and strong. A powerful anchor that allows me to let go because I know he won’t let me drift away.

Finally, after what seems like hours, that relief I so desperately sought finds me.

I take a breath and another. Each one comes out easier than the last.

When I’m able to speak, I turn to him and ask, “Have you ever killed an innocent person?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I don’t have to have the same experiences as you to understand what you feel. And I don’t have to be in your skin to feel your pain. Punishing yourself won’t bring her back.”

“It will keep me from doing it again.” I let out a lengthy exhale and drop my head back to gaze at the night sky. “The worst part of all this is that I’ll never see her. I’ll never be able to drop down to my knees and beg her for forgiveness.”

“Why do you say that?”

I look at him and shrug. “You know. People like us don’t go to Heaven, Gunn. I won’t see her again. She won’t know how truly sorry I am.”

He doesn’t argue the point. Instead, he reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “She knows.”