24. Scarlet
24
SCARLET
A bloodcurdling scream rings through the night.
It stops me short.
Freezes the blood in my veins, locks my joints, and tenses every muscle in my body. My heart squeezes inside my chest until I’m certain it has stopped beating altogether.
All of that from a scream.
Because it’s the sort of scream that transcends pain and makes a person crumple in fear. So much fear. It tears through me on the tail end of the scream, that fear, and all of a sudden, my bladder feels heavy.
There’s no question where it came from. Straight ahead of me.
Inside the house.
The sound echoes in my head, sheer terror and inexpressible pain. It almost didn’t sound human, but I’ve never heard an animal sound that way.
Like a cat having its skin flayed while it’s still alive.
I need to get out of here. I need to turn back and go to the Jeep. Now. Before Ren discovers I left. I was supposed to stay put, and now I’m here, and I really, really wish I wasn’t. Still, the question lingers in my mind.
What is he doing in there?
Because, somehow, I know that scream wasn’t Ren’s. I’m absolutely sure of it. It feels like an eternity, but might not be more than a few seconds, before my body catches up to the horror show in my head and begins moving. I fall back a few steps, staring at the house while dread takes root in my stomach.
Certainty and dread.
Another sound rings out as loud and sharp as a gunshot.
The cracking of a stick under my heel.
It makes me cringe, and my heart stops again. I raise my hands to my mouth and press them against my lips.
Shit, he had to hear that.
And somebody did.
Without warning, the front door swings open to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered figure. He stands still as a hulking statue, only his heaving shoulders proof of him being flesh and not carved stone. The light fixture above his head casts his face in an eerie shadow, but I don’t need to make out the chiseled features to know who’s standing in front of me. I’d know his face anywhere, but it isn’t his face that grabs my attention and holds it.
I’m imagining this.
I fell asleep back there, waiting, and this is only a dream. A nightmare. I’m imagining the scent of leaves and dirt and rotting things. None of it’s real. It can’t be, but it is, and every cell in my body trembles, and my brain urges me to go back to the Jeep. To turn and run before the beast can get me.
I can’t drag my gaze from his hand. Blood drips from Ren’s fists, splattering on the floor by his feet.
He lowers his head, dark hair falling forward. His shoulders still heave, and even from a short distance, I can hear his labored breathing.
The blood .
His hands are coated in it like he dipped them in a bucket filled to the brim.
“You were supposed to stay in the Jeep.” He doesn’t even sound like himself, though I know it’s him.
My Ren, only he isn’t right now.
He’s about the furthest thing imaginable.
Drip… drip… drip…
I can’t take my eyes off it. The sound of each drop plinking against the floor is so much louder than it ought to be.
What has he done?
“Scarlet,” he barks, drawing my attention. “Go back to the Jeep. Right fucking now.” The rage in his voice causes it to shake slightly. I begin backing away, finally forcing myself to turn around, so I no longer have to see the blood-covered hands that caressed my body only hours ago.
My feet threaten to get tangled in each other as I stumble frantically toward the glowing light from the Jeep, arms outstretched like I’m reaching for it. Like that will help get me there faster.
It doesn’t matter. I have to get there. I’ll be safe once I’m inside.
Yet the instant my fingers close around the door handle, my stomach gives a sudden lurch, and a rush of vomit pours from my mouth, splattering across the ground at my feet.
Like the blood splattering on the floor.
Oh god . That memory makes my stomach lurch again.
A fresh wave of bitter, acidic nastiness hits the ground, and when I lift my head, I can hardly keep the world from spinning around me. I’m hanging on to the door for dear life, touching my cheek to the cool metal. Anything to ground myself again. To drag me back to the present.
Slowly, the nausea passes, and I can breathe without a hitching, wheezing sound in my chest.
There’s no pretending I didn’t see it. Hear it. I can’t erase it from my memory, no matter how I wish I could. Why did I get out of the car? Why didn’t I stay here?
The piercing scream replays in my mind. Ren was the cause of that scream, the blood on his hands further evidence. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn’t help. Nothing will.
“So the pampered mafia princess tosses her cookies at the sight of blood.”
Fuck.
I didn’t hear him coming, deafened by the pounding of my heart and the scream echoing in my memory. I’m afraid to look at him. I’m afraid not to.
Raising my head might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
At least, until I force myself to look at him, terrified at the possibility of what I’ll find.
The first thing I notice is his washed hands. Strange how that’s the first thing to come to mind when my gaze passes over the fists hanging at his sides.
He lifts an eyebrow over eyes as hard as flint.
“Well? Aren’t you glad you disobeyed?” I can’t speak, my tongue weighing a million pounds. “Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason to keep your ass inside the car? That maybe you might discover something you didn’t want to discover?”
Before I can answer—not that there’s an answer to be offered—he takes my arm and all but shoves me inside, then slams the door hard enough to rattle my bones. He’s muttering nastily to himself as he walks around to the driver’s side, then slams the door after shoving himself into his seat.
“Are you happy? Aren’t you glad you came?” He barks out a cruel laugh as he turns the Jeep around. “It’s a shame you didn’t come in sooner. If you thought a little blood was worth puking over.”
“Stop it.” I must be imagining this.
It can’t be real. He’s being so cruel, so hateful. This isn’t like him.
“Or what?” he taunts. “I thought I warned you once before about telling me what to do.”
“This isn’t like you.” I shake my head, adamant, staring out the window at the trees rushing past. They might look beautiful under different circumstances, but now they’re creepy. The shadows they cast hide too many secrets.
“What isn’t like me?” He’s snide, almost laughing at me. I don’t know what’s worse—the sound of it or the way resentment flares white hot, searing my insides with rage. I never would’ve imagined resenting him.
But it isn’t Ren I resent. It’s whatever has taken hold of him. This obsession of his. What it’s doing to him. He’s all twisted up by this cult stuff. Revenge appears to be the only thing he cares about.
“You were never mean before.” When all he does is snort, it seems very important to make myself clear. I need him to understand what I’m saying. I have to get through to him somehow.
“How do you know? I might’ve been mean all this time. I could’ve been a real bastard, and you just never saw it.”
“Maybe so.”
All my pain threatens to come rushing out, and I don’t know if I have it in me to hold it back. The dam has too many cracks.
Eventually, it’s going to burst. “But you’ve never been like this with me. I could always count on your kindness and your compassion. You’ve always shown me light and love.”
“Ever think how exhausting that is?” he jeers, the words like ice picks in my eardrums. “Putting on a mask, having to wear it for years?”
“You’re only saying that.”
“Yeah. Tell yourself whatever you need to hear to make it easier to sleep at night.” Why is he doing this?
“This can’t all be because I got out and followed you. I only did that because I was scared.”
“Wow.” His voice is flat, grave. “Good thing nothing scary happened after that, huh?”
“Don’t do this,” I beg in a heartbroken whisper. “Please, don’t.”
His silence speaks volumes. I never understood before now that silence can feel different depending on the energy behind it.
Companionable silence, for instance, is nice. It feels comfortable, easy, peaceful. Then there’s uncomfortable, awkward silence. It’s unpleasant but not anything awful.
Then there’s the silence unfolding between us now.
It’s dark. Seething. It holds secrets, and I hate it.
I wish it didn’t feel so much like some of that anger might be directed at me. He was the one who wanted me with him, right? He made a huge deal about how critical it is to have me at his side. Now, he’s acting like he wishes he hadn’t brought me along. I guess it was one thing to want me with him before he had to do whatever it is he did. I don’t want to think about it.
You have to. You can’t pretend this isn’t happening.
There’s Dad’s voice again, even sterner than before. I know it’s the truth—there’s no burying my head in the sand. The stakes are too high for me to sit here and pretend I don’t know damn well what happened out there.
“You killed somebody, didn’t you?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him admit it. I’m not going to dance around the truth.
“What gave you that idea?” he asks in a light, almost sweet voice.
“Could you give me a straight answer?” I snap.
His heavy foot on the gas pedal makes us pick up speed until I whimper in fear. “You want a straight answer? Here’s one—I cut the bastard’s balls off while he was still conscious. He screamed loud enough to make my ears ring, then bled out all over the floor and my hands.”
He turns his gaze from the road long enough to flash me a bright smile that chills my blood. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Please, slow down,” I beg when he takes a curve fast enough to make the wheels squeal. He only laughs, adding a new level of horror to this nightmare, sending my already panicked thoughts into a frenzy.
It’s not knowing what he did. I knew it had to be terrible, anyway.
It’s the glee in his voice.
“Don’t act like you don’t know your precious father has done things like that,” he taunts while I reel in horror and try not to react at the way we fly through the dark. “Or that you don’t know your brother is capable of it. I only committed the kind of act that’s in your blood. Maybe that’s why you were so desperate to sneak around behind their backs with the wrong man when you knew they’d be pissed.”
That’s the problem. I always suspected the sort of things my father orders people to do when the situation calls for it. I’m not stupid. It’s one of those things that goes without saying. There has been a lot of that in my family.
Open secrets. Knowing glances. Tessa is the only one who doesn’t get it.
But to see the blood and the crazed look on Ren’s face that turned him into a stranger?
He’s the one who made that man scream like an animal, and now I have the mental image to pair with the sound.
Was he smiling when he did it, the way he is now?
I’m supposed to share a bed with this man.
I shouldn’t have asked. The less I know, the better.
I suppose if my mother could learn to look the other way, I can too. It’s inevitable—I was always meant to marry a man from our world, and in my heart, it was always going to be Ren. There would be a time when I’d have to get used to ignoring what he does when we’re not together.
When I think about it that way, letting the idea sink into my bones, I find a little relief.
At first.
Because there’s one important difference. I’m sure of it.
Has Dad ever treated Mom like he hated her after he killed somebody? How much do I wish I could ask her, even though I know the answer? He’s never treated her as anything but a precious gift. If it meant hearing her voice and being in her gentle, loving presence again, though, I’d ask a hundred pointless questions.
I’ve never needed her more than I do now. Not just her, either. All of them. My family. I need them, and I have no idea how to reach them.
No more than I know how to reach the man beside me.
“Do whatever you have to do,” I whisper, trembling, sick to my stomach, and wishing like hell I had stayed put the way he told me to. “Just promise you won’t take it out on me afterward.”
I can barely hear his snort. “I never make promises I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.”
My god. What happened to him?
Who has he become?
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The question makes me stop short halfway across the living room on my way to the bedroom. If this were any other time, and if I wasn't so heartsick, I might get sarcastic. Where does it look like I'm going?
I know better.
Instead, I wave an arm toward the kitchen. “I put everything away. Now I'm going to bed. It's too late to eat.” And I couldn't swallow a bite with this lump in my throat, anyway.
“Who said it was time for bed?”
Fear skitters down my spine as he takes one step toward me, then another. He didn't help with the groceries when we got back, instead pacing around outside the kitchen window, muttering into his phone. Talking to River, no doubt.
The conversation did nothing to change his attitude. If anything, he’s worse than before.
I back away from him until I hit the wall near the bedroom door. “Sorry. Are you hungry? I can fix you something to eat.”
“I am hungry.” He says it with a smile, grim and knowing. “But not for canned soup.”
Never, ever in my life did I think a time would come when Ren would look at me the way he is now—hungry, needy—and I would do anything but melt and fall into his arms. I mean, this is all I ever wanted. For him to want me back. For us to be open and honest about our feelings instead of having to hide them from the rest of the world.
But for fuck's sake, he hasn't even showered. There’s still dried blood on his knuckles and under his nails. Nothing like what I saw in the woods, but too much of a reminder for me to be in the mood now.
My mouth is so dry I can barely speak. “What do you want?”
“You're telling me you don't know?” He stops a few feet away from me, cupping his obvious erection with one hand. “I want you to get on your knees and put this in your mouth. You’re going to suck me off.”
“I don't know...” I hedge, biting my lip. “I'm really exhausted. Maybe not tonight.”
His head snaps back almost like I hit him. He's that stunned. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Who told you there was a choice?”
No, this isn't happening. He is not doing this. It was one thing to tie me up and drive me crazy with that bullet since I didn't exactly ask for that, either.
But this is different. At least when he did that, he had my pleasure in mind, even if it wasn't my idea.
This is completely about him taking what he wants without regard for me. And he still sounds like he hates me. None of this is right.
“Because you know…” I shrink against the wall when he comes closer again, his heavy boots slapping the floor. “I could make you do what I want.”
“But you wouldn’t do that.” It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do yet, looking him in the eye when what I want is to run away. “You wouldn’t hurt me like that. You wouldn’t force me to do it if I don’t have it in me right now.”
I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. I’m not sure I believe what I’m saying anymore. Tonight, he’s shown me he’s capable of anything.
His eyes narrow into slits, and for one horrible moment, I know this is it. He’s going to force me, and he’s going to like it. My breath hitches, but I fight back the tears, silently daring him to make his move.
His shoulders lower, and he drops his hand from his bulge. “Fine. Go to bed, then,” he growls. “I have shit to do, anyway.”
I don’t wait around to see whether he means it. I slide along the wall and duck into the bedroom before closing the door. I actually close the door between us for the first time. I don’t want him in here while he’s in this mood.
Now the tears fall, hot and painful, while I fumble through getting into my nightgown and crawling into bed. My heart’s breaking by the time I curl up close to the wall, shuddering as I silence one sob after another with the pillow pressed to my face so he won’t hear.
To think, I once imagined Ren as my salvation.
As I surrender to the comfort of sleep, I have to wonder if he’ll end up being the death of me instead.