Scar (Black Hearts MC #8)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ELSIE

These past 9 days have dragged by. I swear, I should receive an award for my acting skills. After walking back in after the phone call with Scar, I told Layton that the dress I’d originally chosen had been accidentally resold, due to the sales assistant not marking it properly. I then told him they were getting in all the dresses that were similar from other stores for me to try on. Layton had kicked off and said I should go elsewhere, but I told him that the store was knocking 20 percent off the price for the inconvenience, as well as free adjustments. He’d then shut up and nodded for me to go.

I had wanted to message Scar so many times, just to talk to him. However, I refrained, not wanting to risk being found out. One more night and I would see him. It was hard to hide my smile when I thought about it. Walking into the kitchen, my eyes landed on Mother who was sat at the kitchen island nursing a bloody Mary. It’s midday, so that’s probably her fourth drink today. She flicks her gaze to me but then glances back down at her magazine.

“I am going to come with you tomorrow,” she states.

My hand tenses on the fridge door. Turning around to face her, I plaster a mask of indifference on my face. “I thought you were busy?” I ask as I place my yogurt on the counter. I can feel her poisonous eyes on me, watching my every move.

“I do, but shouldn’t a mother be there when her daughter chooses her wedding dress? Plus, I don’t like the way they have handled the situation. Clearly you aren’t being firm enough, and they need reminding who your father is.” She tuts.

I keep my focus on getting a spoon for my yogurt, ignoring my thumping heartbeat in my chest. Hesitantly, I take it out and sit down. “If you want to, that would be great. It would be nice to have your opinion.” I shrug as I place a spoonful of yogurt in my mouth. Looking her in the eye, I hold her gaze. If I show even the slightest bit of weakness of anything, she will know I’m lying, and she will make it her mission to come just to ruin it for me.

She picks up her drink and takes a sip. “Excellent, if we go in the morning, I can leave from there and still make my plans,” she beams.

Shit, shit, shit! I scream internally while smiling and nodding tightly.

“Great, I will call them and reschedule for the early morning.” I nod as I pull my phone from my pocket and hit call. As I press it to my ear, I pray that one of the ol’ ladies answers. Just in case my mother snatches my phone from my grasp.

“Hello, Chic Couture,” a soft voice answers.

I clear my throat. “Um, hello. I was due to come in tomorrow to find a new dress. I am unable to make the original appointment, but I will be coming in first thing with my mother as she wants to see the dresses, too. Will this be a problem?” I ask.

Mumbling echoes in the background before she replied. “It sounds like there is a slight echo and you’re breaking up. Are you on a car phone?” the soft voice asks, and I realise this is a way of them asking if they are on speaker.

“No, it must be my signal.” I stand and move over to the kitchen window. “Is that better?” I ask, hoping that mother is believing this whole charade.

Scar’s deep voice comes on the line, and I have to fight everything in my body to stop from reacting. “Angel, are you hurt?” he asks.

“No, you won’t need to provide breakfast for us,” I say as in a way of an answer.

“Good, go with your mother. We will sort the bridal shop, don’t worry. You free to come back in the afternoon?” he asks.

“Oh yes, I’m sure I could do that,” I answer, smiling. I look over to my mother who is watching me like a hawk.

“Okay, good. Don’t worry, I will take care of everything,” Scar replies.

“That would be great, thank you. I know we would love to enjoy a glass of champagne.” I grin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too, Angel,” he growls and disconnects.

I take a breath and smile before turning around to face my mother.

“All sorted. They even offered to provide us breakfast, but I didn’t want to bloat while trying on dresses. However, I thought it would be nice for us to have a glass of champagne,” I state as I go back to my yogurt.

Mother nods and gives me a tight smile. “Yes, that would be nice, and you are right. Maybe wear your shape-wear tomorrow, because you don’t want that chubby stomach of yours poking out and ruining the look of the dresses,” she jibes, her eyes flickering down. “Are they a specialist store for bigger brides?” she asks.

I don’t blanch at her insults. I’m used to them by now. It’s not that they hurt, they do. Her words will always sting, but I’m just too excited and anxious for tomorrow.

“No, it’s not.” I smile tightly before I move to put my yogurt pot in the bin and spoon in the dishwasher. “I’m going to sort some more wedding stuff out,” I say over my shoulder as I walk out, desperately needing some space from her.

The next morning, I’m half expecting my mother to sleep in, as she rarely gets up before 10 am, but not today. She’s right on time as she walks down the grand staircase, dressed in her designer pant suit. Make-up and hair is done to perfection, as always, and her designer handbag is hanging off her arm. She comes to a stop next to me.

“Are you driving?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes, Layton gave me the keys to the Mercedes,” I answer.

“Well, come on then. Let’s go.” She tuts as she saunters out of the house.

I make a silent prayer that all will go smoothly, because if I get caught, she will make my life a living hell.

The drive over was silent except for the radio. When I started singing along, she reminded me how talentless I was and that I should stop singing, just in case the local authorities thought someone was being murdered. Deep inside, I wanted to sing more, sing louder just to piss her off, but I kept my lips tightly shut and concentrated on getting us there in one piece, all while resisting the urge to drive 100 miles an hour into the nearest tree.

I get out of the car and my mother waits for me to walk around the car and open her door for her. I do it and she walks off into the bridal shop, leaving me scurrying behind her heels. Once in, the assistants smile and walk up to us with a tray balancing two glasses of champagne on them. We each take one and my eyes dart around everywhere, wondering where he could be, and also will the assistants give anything away.

“Welcome back, Elsie. We have some dresses ready for you to try on. Mother of the bride, would you like to take a seat and enjoy our complimentary champagne and hors d’oeuvres.” She beams and Mother nods, her face stern as she happily sits there, drinking her champagne.

The other assistant walks me through to the back where the changing rooms are. She pulls back the curtain, revealing dresses hung up for me to try. “If you get changed, and please give me a shout when you are ready for help fastening them.” She smiles and closes the curtain behind me.

A disappointed sigh escapes me. I thought for sure Scar would be back here waiting for me. After removing my clothes, I grab the first dress when suddenly a hand covers my mouth. A screech escapes my throat, but it soon dies when I see who it is in the reflection. I instantly relax, a smile spreading across my face that it’s him. As I spin around, I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. His arms hold me close, hugging me back just as tightly. I slowly release my hold and lean back, feeling the warmth of his large hands across my back.

Looking up at him, I smile. “I’m so happy to see you,” I whisper.

He returns my warm smile. “I’m so happy to be seeing so much of you.” He winks. My eyes go wide and it’s then that I realise I’m stood in just my underwear. The dress I was about to try on is in a pile on the floor. I gasp and step out of his hold, quickly bending down to pick it up. However, before I can even step into it, he takes hold of my elbow, stopping me.

I look into the mirror at his reflection, wondering what he could want. Then I see where his eyes are pinned; the bruises on my hips and thighs. He looks away from the reflection in the mirror, then stares down at my breasts. He turns me to face him, and any other time I would be flustered and enjoy having him looking at my breasts, but not the way he’s looking at them now.

With dark fury swimming in his eyes, he trails his index finger along the flesh, over to the swell of my breast, up to just above the cup of my bra. I shudder and my skin prickles into goosebumps.

“He do this?” he asks, his voice low and threatening. I look away, and I can feel it when he sees the bruising along my back. He gently turns me around, his fingers ever so delicately tracing over the marks. “Elsie, you need to tell me what the fuck is going on. The bruises, the finger marks on your intimate areas, then there are these,” he rasps, his voice breaking not from emotion, but from trying to contain the rage I know he is feeling. It is the same one I feel, and I see it in his eyes that he is struggling to hold back his emotions. “Elsie,” he growls my name in warning. I flinch. “Fuck.” He bends down and grabs my clothes before he attempts to start dressing me.

“What are you doing?” I whisper hiss.

“There ain’t no fucking way I am sending you back there. You can come to the club, and we will protect you,” he rushes out. I place my hands on his forearms, stopping him. He pauses, the seething rage pouring from his eyes.

“If,” I pause. “If I thought for one second I could run away to your club and they would never find me, and I would be free, I would. They will find me. My father will stop at nothing. Not all the marks you see are from Layton,” I confess.

He grits his jaw so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped. “Not helping me calm down,” he growls.

“The lashings, they are from him. My father,” I admit. “I’ve survived this my entire life, and I can and will continue to survive it, knowing that I can still see you. You take me now, that little bit of happiness will be gone, because he will not rest until I’m back, and then you’ll be dead,” I tell him truthfully.

“Everything okay, ma’am? Your mother is waiting,” the sales assistant asks.

Shit. “Yes, be right out,” I answer. “Stay hidden. Please don’t go,” I whisper. As I turn around, I once again remove my clothes and step into the dress, slowly pulling it up my body. The curtain flickers behind me and he’s gone. I just hope he hasn’t left the shop.

I call the assistant to help me fasten up the back of the dress, then she helps me into a pair of shoes and adds a veil. I walk out and stand on the raised platform in front of my mother, awaiting her verdict.

She sips her champagne, and it’s then that I notice the bottle next to her is now half empty. “You took your time,” she mutters. “What took so long? Did it take the two of them to squeeze you into that dress?” She smirks.

I clench my fists at my sides. It doesn’t matter that the dress is in fact a little big, and it doesn’t matter that I thought I looked okay. Glancing down, I know that it’s not the type of dress I would ever pick, not that I care what I look like to marry Layton, but the shape of this dress flattered me.

“I will try another dress.” I smile at the assistant and her mouth hangs open in shock at the vile words that came from my own mother’s mouth.

“You do that. Who knows, they may have something that makes you look less like you’re about to eat an entire cake,” Mother snorts.

My back stiffens and I keep my head facing forward, my gaze fixed on the dressing room. I don’t dare look at the sympathy or shock that I know will be in the assistant’s eyes. She undoes the back of the dress and lets out a little gasp when Scar steps in and practically shoves her out of the way.

I spin around. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Let me kill her?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “No!” I snap.

“I will make it quick. Hell, I can even make it look like another gang did it to get back at your father,” he suggests.

My lips twitch as I fight back a smile. “You can’t,” I whisper.

His eyes go soft. “Fine. I’m not leaving, and we are also not done with our earlier conversation. I will get you out,” he says determinedly before stepping back out of the curtains. I drop the dress and shake my head, smiling to myself.

I pause when Scar sticks his head back through the curtains. “Scar!” I hiss.

“Just so you know, you look beautiful in any of them. You will always look beautiful,” he compliments, giving me a wink before disappearing again.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper to myself.