97. Scarlett
Scarlett
“ Y ou let them walk right up to our door.” My voice didn’t shake. It burned.
Rhett sat slumped against the railing, shirt bloodied, shoulder wrapped, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. “We didn’t let shit happen, Scar.”
“Then explain the bullet that nearly took your arm off.”
Kane held up his hands. “Hey—chill. Everyone’s still breathing.”
“Barely,” I snapped.
Trace opened his mouth, and I spun on him. “Don’t.”
He shut it.
I turned to Zeke. “You said this place was secure. You told me we were safe.”
“There’s always risk.” Zeke said, each word clipped like it cost him something. “You knew that.”
“No,” I said. “I knew there was danger. I didn’t know they could walk through our fucking front door.”
Alden stepped forward. “Scarlett, we handled it.”
“You handled it?” I gestured to Rhett, bleeding. “This is you handling it?”
Rhett lifted his good arm. “I’m fine, baby. Don’t lose your fire over me.”
“Too late,” I hissed. “I’m already fucking burning.”
Everyone went quiet.
The room stank of gunpowder and blood. The jungle buzzed behind us, too loud, too alive.
I paced, heart slamming against my ribs. “They had the mark. The veiled eye. You saw it.”
Zeke nodded.
“They knew exactly where to hit. What route to take. What window to break.”
Trace stepped forward again, voice low. “We think someone tipped them.”
I laughed. Harsh. “Of course someone did. Because you keep bringing me into this like I’m something to protect. Something to keep quiet. But they’re coming for me anyway.”
No one spoke.
“Next time,” I said, voice steel, “you don’t shield me. You show me how to end it.”
Rhett grinned, through the pain. “There’s our girl.”
I stared at him. At all of them. I wanted to crawl into his arms and cry. I wanted to scream until the wind answered back.
But wanting wasn’t surviving. And I was done surviving on borrowed strength.
“I’m not your girl,” I said.
Then turned and walked away before they saw the tears burning behind the fire.