The Sins that Ruin (Obsidian Knights Secret Society #3)

28. Scarlett

TWENTY-EIGHT

I don’t trust him.

My hands shake where I press them against the door, teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Panic has launched an all-out assault on me, but it doesn’t swallow up the rage percolating in my chest.

How can I? He’s a dirty, filthy liar.

But I believe him about his name. Malone West. I hate myself for saying it in my head like I love the words. Hate myself for liking how they fit him.

Whoever spoke knows him as JM.

So does everyone whom I’ve met.

The man’s saying something to him now, but I can’t really hear as the voice dropped down low. I don’t recognize whoever it is, but I’m shaking, and there’s a buzz of white noise in my ears and shit, where’s Amelia?

Or Dad?

And why didn’t Uncle Grant call me? Is that why he never picked up when I called?

My hand trembles harder as I put it over my mouth.

“I don’t have any fucking idea who you are,” Malone says, in that cold and deadly voice. “But you’ve got balls to take my fiancée’s cousin. I want to know why. Because if you even fucking touch her, I’ll kill you and every fucking member of your family.”

Whoever the man is gives a nervous laugh. It comes out a little high and stops abruptly.

“Man, I’m just the messenger.” The voice gets louder, but I don’t dare to peek.

A messenger? From whom? One of those sick men Malone’s paraded me around in front of?

Heart thumping, I look around in the dark space. There’s a piece of wood in here with the garbage, and I hope like hell there aren’t rats crawling around the trash bin as I fish it out.

“Who do you fucking work for?”

“Where are the bank account details and the list?”

The voice is close to the door, but it’s projecting away from where he hid me.

“You fucking think someone’s handing over their account details? What the fuck is this? Amateur hour? If there’s a ransom, contact me at the club.”

“When—”

“Not you, asshole. Your fucking boss. I only deal with people on my level.”

The guy falls silent. Then he says, “I just sent a text. You’ll get a call, but we have the girl, and she’d not going to last long if you don’t deliver.”

“Fuck you and your fucking threats. And ‘we’? I thought you were the messenger, prick.” Malone’s voice gets softer, like he’s moving farther away. “The girl will be untouched, and you think about your usage of the word ‘we’ when it comes to me raining fucking hellfire on whoever’s done this. I’d just stick with the messenger if I were you. And if you’ve fucking touched Amelia Hanlon, I’ll feed you your dick and balls, freshly sliced and diced.”

“Maybe I’ve already had that sweet piece.”

My vision wavers and anger surges through me. It’s white and hotter than the sun, and I can’t stop myself. I don’t even think about it. My body charges the door like it’s got a mind of its own.

A scream breaks free of my lips, and I swing the wood like a baseball bat, bashing the sick asshole in the head. The man goes down hard, and as he struggles to get up, I slam him in the side of the head again. I raise the wood to crack it against him a third time when Malone grabs my weapon and sends it clattering to the ground.

He drags me out of the room, and when we reach the next room of the warehouse, there’s a roar of pain from inside the area with the mattresses, and Malone flings the backpack to me and takes my hand.

“Run!”

My side hurts, pulling sharp and hot like I’ve torn open stitches. The asshole Malone barely seems to break a sweat as we hit the pavement hard.

The black car waits on the next street, motor purring. He throws open the back door and shoves me in before he follows.

He doesn’t say anything to me as he sends out text messages on his phone. I bite my tongue. Literally. Fingers tapping on the door as I wait for him to finish.

When he does, I glare at him. “Explain.”

“Just giving an update about what went down.” And he flashes the JM smile that I want to knock right off his gorgeous face.

“Malone.” I snap his name out at him.

He sighs. “I don’t know who the fuck that was. And until you decided to go completely berserk on him—which was one of the hottest fucking things I’ve seen, apart from you naked and tied up—I was working on getting information out of him.”

I sidestep the whole naked and roped thing. “I still don’t technically trust you,” I say, “but you’re right that if I’m going to get my cousin back, I need you to help me. And you owe me. I still want explanations. I need to know who you are and what you’re up to and?—”

“Scarlett, c’mon, I know you trust me a little.” His gaze shifts over me. “And I told you all you need to know.”

“I need to know everything.”

“You can’t.”

His phone lights up and he answers. “Smith? Talk.”

Who the fuck is Smith? He’s watching me while he listens.

“So we didn’t get a good look?” Whoever it is answers and I can just hear the tones of a male voice from his phone, but that’s it.

I need something—anything. Right now, finding a way to believe and trust he’s truly on my side is hard. I know he’s my best bet. Grabbing my phone from my bag, I frown when I see there aren’t any missed calls. Not from Uncle Grant and not from Dad.

Then I remember the message from the foreman… Amelia being taken means Grant’s head isn’t in the work game. I mean, he hasn’t even contacted me after I left that message.

“Hold on.” Malone lowers the phone. “What’s wrong, Scarlett?”

Hell, am I that transparent? I’m so attracted to this man, and he’s right about the tangle of trust in me, but he misses the bigger picture, the complexity. I trust him with my body, with our sex games, and I know that’s rooted in something I can’t get close to.

But the rest of it?

I don’t know.

I want to be able to trust him. What if whether I trust him or don’t is the deciding factor in Amelia’s fate? If I trust him and he betrays us? Betrays her?

Or if I don’t and that loses her forever?

“I need to send my uncle a message.”

“About?”

“The foreman called me earlier, okay? There’s a problem, a delay with shipment number DDa4, I think?”

“Did you hear that?”

Malone has his phone held out, and he must have hit the speaker because the male voice answers loud and clear. “Yeah.”

“Has Grant or Dale turned up at the dock?” he asks.

The guy Smith answers. “No. Malone, whoever took Amelia Hanlon’s probably a hire. And they left through the back, where we don’t have a feed. I’m doubting they left on fucking foot.”

I suck in a breath. “Uncle Grant complained a few years ago about how someone had broken into the building. There’s CCTV cameras in that alley, just in case someone tries to do it again.”

“I’ll get on that,” Smith says. “Grant Hanlon only wants to speak to you, Malone.”

Malone’s eyes are still on me. “Tell him I’ll contact him when I get the chance, and to fucking hand over anything, and I mean anything, that might be relevant, no matter how small. Amelia’s friends, teachers, people who’ve been in contact that he doesn’t know.”

“I know how to do my fucking job. I’m on it.” Smith’s voice says pretty clearly that he’s not a subordinate to Malone.

Maybe an equal, or someone with a position above him. But I can tell by the tone they’re also friends.

I bite my lip. “The shipment… why?—?”

He holds up a hand to stop me from talking. And I do, grudgingly. “I met with the so-called messenger who took the girl. There was a whole setup in Brooklyn.” He rattles off the address. “Send someone to go over it. See if there’s anything.” He pauses. “They left the girl’s backpack.”

Smith answers him. “We can jump on this. Blow the whole thing open.”

“We need subtle right now. I don’t think they’ll touch her. They want something. They tried to scare Scarlett, but they were hoping to scare her father.”

“Scare?”

“Yup.” He outlines what was said to me, what I told him.

“Yeah, they fucking want something. Now we just need to work out who the fuck they are,” says Smith.

“The messenger Scarlett hit over the head?—”

“Fuck, Malone, you took her?”

“No, Smith. I fucking followed her. She went off on her own. Didn’t you, Scarlett?”

“Screw you,” I say.

And Malone smiles, making my stomach warm and wobbly.

“I like her,” says this Smith.

“Hands off.”

“I’m not a piece of property. You’re still an ass, and I still don’t know if I trust you.”

The smile grows, even as those green eyes remain serious. “She went on her own, Smith. She’s lucky I saw on the feed she went to fucking Sugar Hill and I got there in time to follow her. But yeah, the messenger wasn’t overly shocked to see me. They’re going to go through me.”

“We have to find the client list. I can pressure Hanlon.”

“I’ll talk to him. Maybe this’ll light the fire we need. See what you can do about the office on the dock.” He nods at me. “Red, is there a chance anything’s in there?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really involved in the day-to-day. But it’s really just an office to keep an eye on everything. So many people pass through. Maybe the foreman will know what files are kept there.”

“Maybe.” Malone looks at his phone. “We can check it out. See what’s what. Sounds like just a holdover for paperwork of what comes in and out on a given day or week. Nothing sensitive.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Smith says.

“Thanks.” Malone ends the call and stuffs the phone in his pocket. “It’s not enough to just say you’ll trust me for now. It’s a big ask. I lied. I lit a fire under your family so I could find certain information.”

“To steal from them.”

“I’m looking for information,” he says, sidestepping what I said. “Not anything to hurt them. And now? It just might keep your cousin from harm. If I can find it with your help.”

Ice spreads through me. “Do… do you really think we can get her back?”

Those words are easier to say without the words ‘alive’ or ‘unharmed’ after the last one.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I do. Look, I’m not a gunrunner, I’m not looking to become the most feared in New York’s underground. But I’ve spent a while building that. Laying pieces in place so anyone looking into James Malone will find a history to be scared of. It’s what I do.”

“You sound like a spy.”

“Scarlett?”

“Yes?” Oh God, he’s going to tell me he’s CIA or some kind of Black Ops, isn’t he? Are there independent spies for hire? Jesus, how the hell did I let myself get caught up with this guy?

“We’re here.”

We get in the door of his apartment, one that might not even be his. What am I even saying? The more I learn about this man, the more this place seems soulless and empty. It doesn’t fit at all.

The watch in pieces?

That’s him.

I felt that when I looked at it. Had the same aura that the broken-down elements of baking has for me. Passion. I can’t even explain it.

Questions swirl and?—

My back hits the wall and he’s suddenly there, pressed against me, one thigh sliding between mine, his gaze hot, green fire, and it’s hungry.

“Red,” he whispers, smoothing my hair back, mouth dipping down but not quite touching mine. It moves, so close, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.

But those eyes burn into me, searing my soul, my stomach a mess of explosive flutters.

And I have a horrible feeling that when the day comes that he walks out of my life and disappears with whatever it is he’s really after, he’ll take a part of me with him. And that’s going to leave something exposed. Something that’ll always want him. Right or wrong. Good or bad. Sensible or not.

“Red,” he says again, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lied. I just didn’t expect you and me to be something…”

“Don’t.”

“It’s the truth.” This time, his lips touch mine and it’s sparks and whispers of tingling sensations, a pull from deep within that cries for more… more I already know he doesn’t have.

I stare up at him. “I want to trust you, I know I have to, but… I need something… Something more.”

I’m wavering with the trust because it pushes at me, and I don’t know if I can trust myself, especially when all I can think of is his mouth and his hands on me.

He strokes his thumb over my lips. “You’re right, I should give you more.”

And then… then he kisses me.

It’s perfect.

But at the same time, in my heart, it feels like goodbye.