Scar (Black Hearts MC #8)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELSIE

I feel warmth at my back, and a heavy weight draped over me. Blinking a few times, I realise that it is Scar. As I look down at his hand wrapped around my waist, I sigh, feeling contented. I jolt when a slight feeling of panic creeps in. I quickly grab my phone and track my father’s and Layton’s cell. Still hours away, thank god. I sigh in relief. We may actually get to enjoy this weekend before he leaves. My main priority is to feed him, rebuild some of his strength. Carefully, I lift his arm and slink out of bed so not to disturb him. I turn to make sure he is still asleep, and he looks so peaceful. Smiling to myself, I creep out of the room to start making him breakfast.

Pancakes, bacon, hash browns, eggs, orange juice, coffee, syrup, French toast, and even waffles. I carefully carry the overloaded tray back up to my room, and as I push the door open with my foot, I walk in to see him still asleep. After placing the tray down on my dressing table, I walk to him.

“Scar,” I whisper, gently stroking his hair away from his face. “Scar,” I whisper again.

He groans, stretching his arms above his head, and it’s then that I notice he’s been drinking some of his water through the night. That’s good, I think to myself. He needs his strength back if he is to get out of here. I don’t think I could bare to see him suffer any longer.

He rubs his eyes, looking up at me with a soft sleepy smile playing across his lips. “Sit up. I brought you breakfast,” I tell him softly. He sits up and leans against the headboard, the cover slipping down to his waist revealing his bare torso. Even now, with the outline of his ribs and his collarbone showing, he’s still impressive.

“Looking at me like that, I’m beginning to think you are hungry for something else,” he quips, his voice deep and husky with sleep. I clear my throat and quickly avert my gaze, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment. Moving carefully, I grab the tray and place it on his lap. His eyes go wide. “You raid the local diner or something?” he asks.

I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear as I climb back into bed next to him. Reaching over, I snatch a strawberry off his plate of pancakes and take a bite, shrugging. “I cooked it. You need to eat and build up your strength, especially if you are to go home,” I add, my voice breaking at the last part, looking down at my lap.

Scar takes my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Say that again,” he demands softly.

I exhale a breath. I wasn’t going to tell him yet. I’d wanted to keep this time to just us, but truthfully, I’m delusional. My father could come back at any point. They could all return and he will be back down there in the basement, starving to death. I can’t risk that.

“Elsie, look at me,” he demands. My eyes connect with his, and I can’t help it. A tear escapes, trickling down my cheek, his eyes following its path.

“You need to go, you need to go home,” I tell him, removing his hand that still has hold of my chin, keeping his encased in mine, my thumb brushing over his calloused skin. “You stay here, you will die, and I’m not okay having that on my conscience,” I tell him. Another traitorous tear escapes but I quickly swipe it away. Sniffing, I let out a little laugh. “I’ve grown to like you.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head. “Not like that,” I add quickly, lying to him and myself. “I don’t have many people to talk to.” I pause. “That’s a lie, I have no one to talk to.” I scoff. “But I can’t be selfish and keep you here, just because I like your company. That would make me no better than my father.”

Looking into his grey eyes, they shine with something I haven’t seen before, like they are lit up with flecks of silver. He surprises me by leaning forward, his hands cupping my face as he plants a chaste kiss on my lips. Smiling wide, like I’ve just told him he’s won the jackpot, my heart warms and breaks all at the same time. He leans back a little, the orange juice and the coffee wobbling on the tray from his movement. His smile falls as he drops his hands from my face.

“If I go, they will hunt me down. They will come for my club,” he states, shaking his head. “Fuck, I got so wrapped up in the thought that I could actually go home, I forgot the consequences if I actually did it.” He sighs as he sits back against the headboard. His gaze remains on mine before he picks up a bit of bacon and starts eating it.

“He won’t come looking for you,” I tell him. His curious gaze assesses me. “I...” I pause. “I haven’t thought it through properly, but you have my word. I will make sure that he won’t come for you or your club. I just need to figure out something that would deter him from doing that.” Scar goes to speak but I shake my head. “No. That doesn’t mean that we wait, and that doesn’t mean that you can’t go. Just leave and don’t look back,” I tell him.

“What about you?” he asks. “Your father ain’t going to believe for a second that I just got out all by myself without your help,” he points out.

I nod. “I thought of that. You need to hit me,” I tell him.

He lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “No. Fucking. Way,” he growls. “I have never laid a hand on a woman, and I ain’t about to start now,” he refuses firmly.

“It’s the only way that they will believe you got out. They are not going to believe a weak, malnourished man Houdinied his way out of the basement,” I point out.

Scar’s lips twitch. “Houdinied, huh? I kind of like that.” He smirks.

I shove his arm. “This is serious! You want to get out of here, and you need to get out of here or you will die. So suck it up and slap me,” I fume in frustration.

“I don’t hit women. The only time my palm is used to slap a woman is when she is bent over my knee, or when she is bent over and I’m balls fucking deep in her. Then and only then will the palm of my fucking hand slap a woman,” he growls. My cheeks heat and my heart beats so fast in my chest, I feel like it’s about to jump right out of my chest at the thought of him doing those things to me. I quickly look away so he can’t see just how much I like the sound of that.

I cough. “Well, just this once you are going to have to have to make an exception to your normal rule.” I look up at him through my lashes, praying that I am masking just how turned on his words made me.

His jaw is tense as his eyes pin me in place. “I will not fucking hurt you,” he grits through his teeth.

I huff out a sigh. “Look, if you don’t sucker punch me?—”

He growls, interrupting me. “Don’t fucking say it like that.”

“Smash my face in? Sock it to me? Give me a beat down? Rough me up? Or knock me the fuck out? Which would you prefer?” I ask sarcastically.

He takes an angry bite of his pancake. “I never had you down for someone that was sarcastic,” he grits out.

I smile before snatching the pancake from his hand and taking a big bite out of it. “I’m just full of surprises. Would it help if I gave you a reason to punch me?” I suggest.

He snatches the last of the pancake from my hand and shoves it in his mouth. “You could hold a fucking gun to my head and I still wouldn’t hit you.”

“Fine!” I huff. “I will just do it myself.” I get up off the bed, walk across the room and grab the heavy ornament of a dog off of my bookcase. My mother got me it and I hated it. The dog’s eyes were beady, and I swear the thing was cursed. I slowly lift it just above my head, preparing to strike or drop it.

“What are you doing?” Scar asks as he removes the tray of food from his lap. I scrunch my face up and brace for the impact of the hit.

Come on, come on, you need to do this so he can get out of here, I say, giving myself an internal pep talk. After I let out a pathetic roar and slam the heavy ornament to my face, I brace myself for the hit, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a firm hand grabs my arm. I open my eyes to see Scar stood there, gripping my arm tightly in his fist. He removes the ornament with his other hand and places it back on the bookcase.

“You do not hurt yourself,” he seethes.

“Do you have a better idea?” I ask.

He pauses for a moment, still holding my arm in his firm grip. “What drugs have you got?” he asks. I raise my brow in question. “What if you just took some tablets and slept?” he suggests.

I roll my eyes as I remove my arm from his hold. “What, I drug myself and then you magically open the door and escape the basement?” I counter. “That ain’t going to work. What is believable is that I heard banging coming from the basement and then went down to see what it was. I open the door and you hit me, knock me out and run. That is believable. You are just going to have to suck it up and hit me. You are a big bad biker, so just man up and hit a woman,” I snap.

We stand toe to toe, and I refuse to back down. I may hate my mother, my father, and refuse to become anything like them, but I sure as shit inherited their stubbornness, their strong will and refusal to back down. Well, when it came to others that is. With them I just do what makes them happy from fear more than anything else.

Scar’s jaw is clenched, the muscle ticking. He’s pissed, but he’s holding back. “I’m not even going to tell you the shit I’ve done, the pain I’ve caused others, the times I’ve tortured men for hours where they begged me to end their lives. I’ve killed men for hurting women, for raping women, and I will not fucking become what I fucking despise,” he seethes through his gritted teeth.

He’s a good man, a terrifying, dangerous man with a good heart. I knew that the moment I saw him in the basement. If he wasn’t, he would have lunged for me, hurt me in any way he could to escape. I keep my eyes on him and place my palm on his chest, right above his heart. Gazing into his eyes, I can feel his steady soothing rhythm.

“I know you are a good man, and I know that you would never hurt me or any other woman or child, or even a man that didn’t deserve it. This isn’t and wouldn’t be the same situation. This is protecting you. It’s protecting me. If my father found out or even suspected I let you out, let you go free...” I pause, shaking my head. Glancing away, I swallow, fighting back the fear of what he would do. “I, I can’t even begin to tell you what he would do. This is the only way. I would rather take a hit from you, a small moment of pain, knowing that you got out of here, and that you are safe. You stay, you die, and that will cause me a lifetime of pain,” I confess. He looks down on me and I can see the torment in his decision.

Slowly, he reaches over and places his hand on mine. “You are an angel trapped in hell. You could escape this and come with me,” he states softly. My lips part as a shuddery breath escapes me at his words. I want to say yes and go with him, of course I do. To be free of my father, my family and this life, I would take his hand now and run, but I can’t. To do so would be stupid. It would be dangerous; for him, for me, for everyone.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

“You can. My club can keep you safe. We can protect you,” he says, trying to convince me.

I shake my head. “He will come for you, for your club, your family, and kill anyone that gets in his way. It’s not even that he cares about me, it’s the principle. The same way he came for one of you, for my brother. Maybe one day when he’s dead and I am free, I can come and find you and you and me can… I don’t know, go for a drink? Or maybe you could take me for a ride on your bike.” I smile, trying to make light of a tense situation.

“What will you do to make sure that your father doesn’t come looking for me?” he asks. It’s the one question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. I move to step back, but he keeps my hand firmly on his chest. “Your father will not take kindly to me hitting his daughter, his now only child, breaking the deal and escaping. He will still hunt for me, and he will come for my family,” he states.

I was hoping me brushing it off earlier would be enough for him, that he would just be happy to take the offer of freedom, but I should have known better.

I give him a small smile. “I will distract him. A small sacrifice for your life,” I state, purposely keeping my answer vague, not just for him but for my own sanity, because if I thought about it, he would see my fear, my reluctance, and he wouldn’t allow me to help him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but my cell rings. I move across the room, seeing my father’s name across the screen. I click answer and put him on speaker, so Scar can hear him too.

“Morning, Daddy,” I answer in a sickly sweet voice, keeping my eyes fixed on Scar’s.

“We are on our way home,” he states sharply.

“Oh?” I breathe, my eyes going wide as I look at Scar. “Is everything okay?” I ask.

He sighs. “Layton got word of something, and we need to move our asset. We will be there within the hour.”

“Okay Daddy, I will make sure there are food and refreshments ready for your return,” I assure him, like the good obedient daughter I am.

“Good girl,” he praises. I know he has me on speaker, just another show for anyone that is listening.

“Goodbye Daddy, drive safe,” I say before disconnecting. Gazing at Scar, I knew that we were now out of time. “I need to clear up and then you need to knock me the fuck out,” I demand.