Page 3 of Scarred Sins

I politely declined the offer to put my picture on the wall.

It’s a risk I cannot afford to take.

Blair Hawke was declared dead, alongside everyone else in that prison. To this day, the killers were never caught, but they’re still being sought. Thankfully, a few other bodies were missing on the day, and the police wrote it off as a personal attack on them and me.

No body, no crime.

Still, I can’t risk anyone seeing or recognizing me.

That’s half the reason I opted for such a small city, with a population of less than ten thousand people. It’s beautiful, cheap to live in, and people generally mind their own business.

No one bothers me, and I prefer it like that.

Once the chicken is prepared, I take it back out to the couple with a smile. They return the emotion with a wide smile of their own before digging in and starting a conversation amongst themselves.

The small bell above the freshly painted door breaks my gaze away from the couple, and I sigh out in annoyance.

The mailman, whose name I learned to be Jack, brings another pitch-black box.

“Amy,’’ he greets politely. “Another one for you.’’

I roll my eyes, taking the box in one hand and pulling out a pen from my apron with the other one. I scribble on the delivery paper, then put the pen back in its place.

“You have a secret admirer,’’ Jack teases.

I lift a brow, my voice dry. “You think?”

He beams. “Of course! A gift every month? On the same day? The guy must be smitten with you.’’

The day I officially took on the name of Amy Marshall, the gifts started pouring in. Every seventh of the month, a box is delivered, and it’s not a coincidence.

Mainly because the boxes may be addressed to Amy Marshall, but the contents are definitely intended for Blair Hawke. Someone knows – no matter how much I deny it, someone knows, and it’s a fucking threat.

“Amy,’’ Carol strolls from the kitchen, and I hide the box behind my back.

“Yes, Carol?”

“Would you mind covering Layla’s shift tomorrow? She called in sick. I know you’re probably busy, but I have no one else.’’

“Of course, no worries.’’

It just means more money for me.

Besides, I owe it to Layla. She covered a lot of my shifts in the past. At first, the gifts I started receiving were sporadic. It was every three months, then every two months, and now it’s every month. And each time I’d get them, I could barely leave my bed.

I’d stay locked up in the vacant house, afraid to move from my room. The darkness always consumed me almost to the point of no return.

Almost.

“You should go out more,” Carol notes. She acts like a worried mother, not that I’d know what that feels like, given that mine was terrible. “How are you supposed to meet new people if you’re spending all your free time alone?”

I shrug. “I love my peace. Being alone is good.’’

The door of the restaurant opens, and another customer comes in, leaving the conversation to linger in the air. Even if I get lonely and tired of being alone, how do I even begin to trust a person? The fact that I’m so used to being alone, with no one to depend on, is terrifying. My trust was breached too many times by the people who were supposed to protect me.

It only proves that the only person I can trust and count on is myself.

Now, I have two options here.