29. Scarlet
29
SCARLET
Two Weeks Later
I ’m a terrible person.
I have to be, or else why would I sigh in relief at the sound of the front door opening and closing?
“I’ll be sure to pick up some Pepto,” Ren told me, kissing my forehead before he left. Naturally, it was nice to feel that.
He’s the love of my life—that hasn’t changed, no matter how strange and awkward things have been between us since Reno.
Just the thought of it is enough to make my already sour stomach feel even worse. That’s how bad it’s been lately. I’m walking around with a stomachache half the time, all from my nerves being on edge. Curling up in a tight ball, I close my eyes and breathe slowly in hopes of staving off a fresh wave of nausea.
Reno was supposed to be the end of things. When everything turned around, and we could finally build some semblance of a life together. I’ve already turned my back on everything and everyone else, and I still stand by that decision. He’s all that matters. He always has been.
We were supposed to move forward. He kept promising, didn’t he? That everything would be okay for us once he finally settled this vendetta against the cult’s founders.
And I believed him because I had to. Because I love him.
I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple.
Two weeks later, and things are just as bad for him as ever.
Maybe even worse—and I know why.
River.
The thought of him makes me growl into my pillow. This is all his fault. He’s the one who got Ren started on this in the first place, stirring up the past and feeding his rage. And he’s the one who’s been absolutely impossible to deal with ever since he found out Rebecca and William and the others are still alive and breathing.
Why he can’t get off his ass and take care of this himself is beyond me.
I have my theories, though, and one of them involves setting Ren up to take the fall. River doesn’t want to be the one with his ass on the line, risking arrest, or much worse, should the cult leaders decide to take matters into their own hands. It’s much safer to urge Ren, to berate him and insult him, to tell him he has no balls and no commitment.
Not that I’ve heard it for myself, but from what I’ve heard Ren shouting in reply, I can imagine. At one point, he did tell his brother to do it his own damn self if he had such little confidence, which I’m sure had River backpedaling.
But not for long.
I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout, and I’m getting sick of it. If I had that jerk in front of me now, more than a few words would be exchanged.
I don’t think he’d enjoy the outcome.
There’s a reason Dad used to call me a spitfire. Why he more than once sighed in defeat and mourned the man who believed himself up to the challenge of taming me. I’d make River wish he could crawl into a hole and stay there once I finished with him. After everything he’s done to make Ren’s life miserable? He deserves it and so much worse.
The very thought of him makes my stomach churn again. I don’t think deep breathing will help me this time—bile begins rising in my throat, and it’s all I can do to stumble to the bathroom and drop to my knees in front of the toilet before my stomach begins heaving in earnest.
I hate him for this. For making our lives miserable. For turning Ren into someone I hardly recognize sometimes.
For forcing Ren to plan another trip to Reno.
The idea of it leaves me leaning over the bowl again, emptying all the foul bile in my stomach until nothing’s left but to heave painfully with no result. After a minute or so of shaky breathing, it seems like the worst has passed, so I flush the toilet before standing on trembling legs and turning on the water in the sink.
I’ve been like this for the past week, maybe ten days now. It started not long after we returned, and Ren announced we’d be going back soon. The idea of sneaking into that bleak, foreboding place twisted me up, and I’ve been that way ever since.
Who could blame me? It wasn’t enough for us to almost get killed or at least caught? To watch Ren blow a guy’s brains out? I’d never seen anything like that before and hope I never do again.
The blood and brains on the tile…
I need to stop thinking about it. It’s bad enough I’m sick every morning, throwing my guts up. Hopefully, Ren will find something to help me with it. He offered to grab ginger ale and saltines while he was out, too. Even though I only ever feel this way early in the day, and it normally passes before lunch, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
My tooth brushing slows, and I lift my head, eyes wide in the reflection, face pale.
Only in the morning, only for the past ten days or so.
When was the last time I got my period? Before coming here, back at my parents’ house. It’s been more than a month since Ren took me.
I told him he couldn’t come inside me because I’m not on birth control.
That hasn’t stopped him.
Am I pregnant?
My hand trembles. The toothbrush drops into the sink, but I’m only vaguely aware of that in light of the shock waves rippling through my brain. I cup my boobs, staring at them in the mirror. They’re a little tender.
I’m not making this up in my head.
I might be pregnant. I’m almost sure of it, in fact. Why else would I have all these symptoms? Now I wish I had gone with Ren so I could get a test. I wish I could call him to ask for one. Now that the possibility is there, I want to know for sure right away.
A baby. Our baby. The start of our family.
Tears fill my eyes while my hands slide down to rest over my belly. I can’t wait to tell him. I know he wants a family as much as I do.
This could be what it takes to shake him out of this insane cult fixation.
Hope blooms in my heart at the idea.
Yes, this baby could be just what we need, what he needs to adjust his priorities. He’ll now have more than just me to protect and love. He’ll have our child, and nothing in the world means more than that.
After all, he’s still the same person he always was at heart. Family means everything to him. That hasn’t changed any more than our love for each other has changed. He’s going to be so happy.
And New Haven will lose its luster. I’m sure of it. There won’t be any more taking chances, no more obsessing. No more of these late-night fights with River that sometimes wake me up.
And we can get him some help to deal with his outbursts. The baby will convince him he needs to get himself under control and learn to live with whatever it is that left him so easily unbalanced.
We can make the life we deserve.
I haven’t felt this hopeful in a long time, smiling and even laughing in glee as I wash my face before returning to the bedroom to get changed. I can’t wait for him to get back. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.
A baby. Our baby. Will it be a boy or a girl? How far along am I? The question makes me pause in the process of pulling on a pair of leggings to count back. Six weeks, I guess? Maybe seven? I’ll need to get to a doctor sooner or later. I wonder if there are any in town.
There has to be, right?
So many questions, but this is different than the constant worries and questions plaguing me for weeks. These are happy questions, full of possibilities and promise.
“We’re going to be so happy, little baby,” I promise, almost overcome with emotion at the thought of holding the baby Ren and I created together.
Like a living symbol of our love.
As if on cue, the Jeep’s engine rumbles outside. The sound leaves me almost jumping out of my skin with anticipation. This is it. This is what we need, what he needs. I just know it. I almost consider running out to deliver the news but force myself to wait the entire extra minute or so before he unlocks the door.
I pull in a breath, prepared to greet him as I leave the bedroom.
But then I see his face.
His narrowed eyes. The tight line of his clenched jaw. The hunch of his shoulders, his heavy tread as he crosses the room after slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls and windows.
Shit. What happened this time?
There isn’t much in the world that could sweep away my joy, but this does it. Like magic, I find myself shrinking back, wanting to stay out of the way. The less I bother him when he’s like this, the better for both of us.
Right now, though, I doubt he even notices me. “Motherfucker.” He slams a bag onto the kitchen table but doesn’t bother unloading it, instead stomping his way to the cabinet where the glasses are kept. He snatches one from the shelf and fills it in the sink—then smashes the glass against the porcelain without bothering to take a drink.
I barely manage to stifle a shriek, backing into the bedroom and not stopping until my legs hit the bed frame. “Piece of shit… telling me what to do… thinking he knows the first fucking thing about me…”
Of course. River. It’s always about that damn River. I guess he must’ve called Ren while he was out, or maybe it was the other way around. Something tells me Ren knows the mention of his brother sets my teeth on edge, so he might’ve waited until he was alone to make the call.
Look where it got us.
“Fucking asshole.” I flinch when the refrigerator door slams, and again when one of the kitchen chairs hits the floor and, from the sound of it, breaks.
“I do all this fucking work, and he has the nerve to act like it’s all on me.”
I hate you, River. So much so a rush of warmth washes over me and leaves me trembling, not with fear but with rage.
There I was, ready to make the happiest announcement of my life, and instead, I’m afraid to leave the room. He couldn’t have destroyed things any more thoroughly if he’d deliberately set out to do it.
What am I supposed to do? For the first time since this began, I wish my brother was here. Q knows Ren’s ups and downs better than I do.
Yes, it’s been years since they’ve seen each other, and Ren wasn’t like this before, but still. He’s bound to know some trick to calm him when he’s pissed off and getting worse by the second.
I wish I could call him. If only to hear his voice. It might give me a bit more courage.
Ren slams a cabinet door, and I jump, teeth gritted. Something has to cool his rage before he tears the entire cabin apart. I stiffen my spine—he needs me, and I can’t let him down. I can’t afford to be a coward now.
Still, the best I can do is tiptoe back into the living room. He’s standing at the counter, his back to me, hands gripping the edge.
His back and shoulders heave dangerously, his head hanging low.
“What happened?” I whisper, arms wrapped around my trembling body.
At first, he only breathes heavier than before. Louder. “Everything’s fucked, that’s what,” he finally growls. The sound of it makes every hair on my body stand on end. Whatever happened must’ve been brutal.
“It doesn’t have to be. We can make it right. I know we can.”
My heart sinks when he snorts. “You would say that. It’s easy to when you don’t have the first fucking clue.”
I don’t have a clue? As if I haven’t been in the thick of things with him for weeks. As if I haven’t suffered right along with him, hurting because he’s in pain, running for my life from a bunch of nutjobs with a collection of guns that almost made me pee my pants.
He’s so far away from me. It wouldn’t feel right to announce the baby now, with all this stress and animosity in the air and a broken chair on the floor. I need to bring him back around first.
Only one thing comes to mind, something that always does the trick. That brings us back together.
“I was going to take a shower,” I murmur, watching him closely to gauge his reaction. “Do you want to join me? It might relax you.”
He keeps me waiting longer than usual—who am I kidding? I usually don’t have to wait at all. Normally, he’d already be in the bathroom with a trail of clothes strewn behind him. Since when is he not jumping at the offer?
“Yeah.” It’s a deep grunt. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
My heart’s not really in it right now, not with him the way he is, but it’s a means to an end. And it isn’t like I don’t look forward to any chance of being close to him. If it means shaking him out of what he’s suffering through, all the better. The shower’s running warm by the time he joins me, watching as I step into the tub and pull the curtain closed.
Please, let this work .
I want so much to tell him about the baby. I want him to be happy. By the time he opens the curtain, I’m under the showerhead, running my fingers through my hair as water runs over it.
The familiar look of lust comes over his face, making his nostrils flare and his lips curve in a pleased little grin. “No wonder he’s so obsessed with you,” he murmurs almost too quietly for me to hear—and even then, I couldn’t have heard him right with the water running over my head.
“Come on in before we run out of hot water.” I hold out a hand, and he takes it, stepping into the big tub and drawing the curtain closed. Instead of trading places with me so he can wet himself down, he runs his hands over my sides and draws me closer, my wet body against his dry chest.
“You look good enough to eat.” His hands slide over my skin, almost rough, possessively. That energy is still bubbling in him, I guess.
He’s feeling demanding, full of anger and frustration, and I don’t know what else. He would never tell me, would he? Unless we’re talking about us, or our relationship, he’s not much on discussing his feelings.
“You can eat me once I’m nice and clean for you.” I offer a suggestive wink, reaching around him to grab a washcloth.
The closing of his hand around my wrist brings me up short, my eyes going wide while he looms over me. “I have a better idea.”
Ren is looking at me, but it doesn’t appear as if he sees me.
My heart skips a beat. “What did you have in mind?”
He lowers my arm before wrapping my hand around his erect dick.
“Does this give you a clue?” My touch makes him groan before he closes his eyes and allows his head to fall back a little.
Good. Let this override everything else. Let him focus on the way he feels and how I make him feel. It will snap him out of his rage.
I stroke him slowly, teasingly, the warm spray running between our bodies. Even my conflicted feelings and the disappointment of not feeling free to blurt out my happy news aren’t enough to keep my body from responding to his excitement. To what I’m capable of doing to him.
“Don’t just stroke it.” His eyes open long enough to meet mine—they’re still hard, just as hard as what I’m holding in my fist. “Put it in your mouth.”
He places his hands on my shoulders when I don’t move fast enough and forces me to my knees.
It isn’t easy, the tub being so slippery, but I can’t pretend there’s not something exciting about it. Being forced to give him pleasure.
Definitely not according to my own schedule, though. No, he practically shoves himself into my mouth before I have a chance to lick him the way he usually likes it. He’s not in the mood for that. He wants satisfaction, and he’s going to get it. Even if it means using me.
I’m not kidding myself. The touch of his hand on the back of my head, holding me in place so he can fuck my mouth, is enough to make me wet, my clit swelling in anticipation within the first few deep strokes that leave him hitting the back of my throat.
“Fuck… oh, yeah, that’s good… your tight little mouth…”
His dark, filthy words take my desire and warp it into something deeper, something I’m powerless against. The sheer thrill of being with him like this, of controlling his pleasure and making him forget everything but this. Us.
“You suck cock like you’re hungry for cum. Is that it?” He adds his other hand, gripping my head between them before pumping his hips faster. “You can’t wait to drink my jizz?”
“Mm-hmm,” I barely manage to get out, his rapid, unforgiving strokes making it hard to do anything but breathe.
Deeper, harder, so fast I have to fight for every shallow breath.
“Keep going, and you’ll get your wish. Cock-hungry slut. Is that who you are?” He chuckles darkly, pummeling my face, my mouth, my throat.
I can’t breathe. It hurts. Something is off. Ren doesn’t take pleasure in hurting me if I’m not also receiving pleasure.
Yet when I slap my palms against his thighs and ass, all he does is laugh. The sound is cruel, and I can barely stifle a dismayed groan. I might as well not be here. He’s using me, fully and completely, fucking a wet hole that might or might not be attached to a human being he loves.
Losing himself in the moment.
“So good… suck it, slut…” He begins moaning, his dick like a sledgehammer pummeling me faster and faster. “Such a warm mouth that will soon be filled with my cum. Are you ready, princess?”
Princess? I don’t even get a chance to comprehend what he’s said.
One more sharp thrust and the familiar taste of his cum floods my mouth. I’m grateful, opening my throat to take it all, relieved I’ll be able to catch my breath. He doesn’t normally come without getting me off first—at least once—but I’ll accept it so long as it means he’s back to his senses.
His hands loosen until they stroke my slick hair. His gentle touch sends relief through me, loosening my muscles and soothing me the way I wished to soothe him. “That was good. We’ll have to do that again soon.”
“Sure, we will,” I agree, standing again, then turning to face the water so I can rinse my mouth and face.
He runs his hands over my hips, and I lean back against him. The father of my baby. I can’t wait to tell him. I can’t wait for all of it.
“Feeling better?” I take the chance of whispering, my head resting on his chest.
“Hell yes.” The pressure of his fingers against my boobs makes me wince—they’re tender, more sensitive than usual. “We might need to take this to the bedroom. But later. I’ve got shit to take care of.”
The water’s still warm but feels chilly just the same. So much for that. No, he’s not throwing stuff around, but he’s still sharp.
Still far away, no matter how close our bodies may be.
At least he’s calm now. I have to take my wins where I can get them.
My brief hopefulness dissolves in the face of the mess he made in the kitchen. My heart sinks dismally at the sight once I’m out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. We can’t live this way anymore, with his mood swings and unpredictability. Not when there’s a baby coming.
I have to help him through this. There’s got to be a way.
He’s thinking something close to those lines when I join him in the bedroom, where he’s finished drying off. “We’re working on the plans for the next trip to New Haven,” he informs me, barely looking my way as he pulls clothes from the dresser. “We were talking it over earlier and?—”
“So that’s it.” My heart is so heavy as I remove my towel to dry my hair a little before getting dressed. I should’ve known they were moving forward with the plans. Only the thought of going back to New Haven would leave him that enraged.
“What else?” He snorts over his shoulder, shaking his head. “The job wasn’t finished.”
“But we almost were—and you know they’re going to be looking out for you to come back.” And I’m carrying your child, or I’m pretty sure I am. We can’t risk this. Why won’t the words come out? I don’t know.
“So what? We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m just saying…” It’s a desperate move, but I have to at least try to get through to him. “Maybe a little help is in order. This is too much to take on your shoulders, all alone.”
“I’m not all alone, am I? I have you.”
Why does he sound so sarcastic? Like it’s a bad thing. I wish he didn’t leave me feeling so useless, but that’s the power he has over me. His opinion means that much.
“I’m not enough. I know it.” I pull on my clothes and sit on the bed while he combs his wet hair away from his forehead. He’s even scowling at his own reflection. How do I get through to him?
“What’s your suggestion?”
“Bringing in backup. There are so many of them, and only two of us. We’re hopelessly outnumbered—because you know they’ll have guards on Rebecca now. If they didn’t already. How do we get past them? Do you see what I mean?”
He lowers the comb to the dresser, pinning me in place with a cold glare in the mirror.
“What is your suggestion?” he asks again, speaking slowly, enunciating every word clearly.
This doesn’t bode well.
But I have to get it out. “We do have somebody in our corner with a small army at his disposal. Let me reach out to my dad. He’ll be on our side once he knows what you’re trying to do. Of all people, he’s aware of what they did back at Safe Haven. He’ll want to get rid of them just as much as you do.”
There. I said it.
And when he lifts his lip, snarling, I wish I hadn’t.
“Your family. That’s the answer?” His fists hit the dresser’s surface, and the mirror shakes, contorting his reflection for an instant. “After all this, you want to run to Daddy with your tail between your legs?”
“It’s not like that,” I whisper.
“And should I kiss the ring? Fall in line like another good little soldier?”
“Why are you saying this?”
He whirls on me, and oh my god, the loathing. It’s so thick I can almost taste it rolling off him as he lunges for me. “I fucking knew it.”
I sputter in surprise and fear when he hauls me to my feet. “Ren, it’s not like that.”
My words fall on deaf ears. “Running back to Daddy, afraid to be with me, lying about being on our side.”
“I didn’t lie!”
His hands grip my arms painfully before he shakes me hard. “I should’ve ended them when I had the chance, all of you. But no. He didn’t want to, the fucking coward.”
“What?”
“He fucked that up, and he fucked up in Reno. One pathetic failure after another.”
“Who?” I’m as lost as ever and more frightened with every word, every shake, every breath. His eyes widen, and his grip loosens.
“He would never help.”
Now it’s a whisper filled with pain and uncertainty. “My dad? Sure, he would. He’s always seen you as a son, you know that. And you were a brother to Q. That hasn’t changed.”
“Not after what I did.” There’s sorrow and uncertainty, and it hurts.
I don’t think he’s ever sounded this way when talking about the attack—I don’t think we’ve ever discussed it, actually, after he admitted he was the attacker. I’ve been afraid to bring it up for obvious reasons.
“Time has softened that, and you had your reasons.” Reasons I’m still unsure of, but… “I know you did. You wouldn’t hurt him unless you felt like there was a reason for it.”
But that happened before he left Corium, and all this time, I’ve been assuming he was injured after leaving. Which means he wasn’t injured or sick when he attacked my family. So why did he?—
He flings me away from him suddenly, and I bounce on the bed while he stalks from the room. “Fuck you, Scarlet. You’ve been a mistake from the beginning, just like I told him.”
“What are you talking about?”
My words fall on deaf ears since he doesn’t hesitate in slamming the door shut and locking it.
“Ren!” I jump from the bed and fling myself at the door, jiggling the knob to no avail. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
His voice is loud and strong on the other side of the door. “If you’re not with us, you have no place in my life.”
“You can’t mean that. You know I’m with you.”
He doesn’t say a word. He’s shut me out again.
I touch my forehead to the wood, tears coursing down my cheeks, my heart aching like it’s about to shatter.
Please, Ren, please come back to me.