Chapter 2 #2
Ten days ago, Scarlett’s ex and a member of the Arrowhead Warriors Motorcycle Club had pushed his way into Presley’s house, where she’d been staying with her sister. Jeremiah had held them hostage at gunpoint, demanding money.
Jeremiah had confessed to the women that he’d been stealing drugs from his club and reselling them.
He’d also admitted that he’d pinned the theft on Scarlett to avoid punishment and certain death from his brothers.
But he’d hoped that by getting money to repay the club, the betrayal would be overlooked.
So he’d driven the three hours to Clifton Forge in search of Presley. She didn’t have the one hundred thousand dollars he’d been looking for but Jeremiah had hoped to get the money from Presley’s boyfriend, Shaw Valance. After all, Shaw was one of Hollywood’s most highly paid actors.
Jeremiah had been a foolish bastard. Even if he’d managed to get the cash, no matter how much money he took to the Warriors, they wouldn’t have let it go.
When Jeremiah had finally clued in to the reality of the situation, the coward had taken his own life.
He’d trapped Scarlett and left her behind to pay for his mistakes.
Behind me, Scarlett cleared her throat. She’d changed into another pair of sweats.
The navy hoodie and matching pants were articles I’d snagged from the station.
The police department crest was embroidered in stark white above her breast. The set was a women’s small but it sagged from her body in bunches.
I hadn’t thought to check if the things I’d sent actually fit.
When I’d first set Scarlett up here, I’d had a female officer make a hasty trip to the store, picking up the necessities.
Soap. Toothbrush. Deodorant. Bedding for the bedroom and towels for the bath.
I’d told her to take two sets of sweats from the station’s supply closet and make sure to pick up Scarlett some socks and underwear.
Each shift change was scheduled around meal time and my team was supposed to have been bringing Scarlett food, but had anyone actually made sure she ate? Scarlett looked to have lost five pounds she hadn’t needed to lose.
A knock came at the door before it opened and Chuck stepped in with two plastic grocery bags on his arm. “Hey, Chief.”
“Thanks.” I went to the door and put my fingers to my teeth and whistled, stopping Nathan before he could get into the patrol car and disappear.
“Hold up,” I hollered at him, then took the bags from Chuck.
“I’ve got tonight’s shift. You can report to the station and grab a patrol car for the night. Watch out for the drunks.”
“You got it.” Chuck nodded, then lifted a hand to Scarlett. “Ma’am.”
He left the house, hurrying across the now shoveled driveway to catch up to Nathan, and I closed the door, bringing the food to the living room.
“Have a seat.” I gestured to the recliners, a pair that I’d had in my old house before I’d moved and upgraded furniture.
After I’d bought this place, it had become a storage unit of sorts.
I kept my raft here so it wasn’t crowding my garage at home, and any spare furniture in case my future renter wanted something partially furnished.
These chairs weren’t much but they were better than nothing, even if one of them had a protruding spring that poked into my spine.
I took the uncomfortable chair, gesturing to its mate.
Scarlett perched on its edge as I hauled out the to-go container, popping the top.
The smell of fried chicken filled the room, chasing away the lingering scent of pizza Nathan must have brought over earlier. I handed it to her along with the package of Hawaiian rolls and her drink.
“Thanks.” She set the meal on her knees but didn’t eat.
“Don’t mind me.” I nodded at the food. “Go ahead.”
She didn’t hesitate. She tore into the chicken and rolls, eating with hurried bites and chasing them with gulps of chocolate milk. When was the last time she’d eaten? She’d been famished.
And when was the last time she’d slept? The circles under her eyes were bottomless and black. Her skin looked pale and her cheekbones hollow. Scarlett’s eyes should have been a vibrant, blinding blue, like her sister’s. But they had no shine. No spark.
Either she’d lost it in this house. Or she’d lost it a long time ago.
I waited, observing as she ate, and when she was done, I took the empty container from her and stuffed it back in the plastic sack.
Scarlett curled into a tight ball in the chair’s seat, pulling her knees to her chest. Her hands disappeared into the hems of her sleeves. Her shoes were knotted to her feet, even though they had to be wet from her trek to the store.
Most people would look at Scarlett Marks and think she was broken. Maybe there were a few cracked and scraped pieces, but this woman was not broken. She was lost. Tired. Alone. But not broken.
“Time to talk,” I said.
Her eyes flicked to mine. “No, thanks.”
“I wasn’t asking. I need to know what’s going on. The truth.”
“You locked me in this place and all but tossed away the key. Which tells me you already know exactly what is happening.” Her eyes flashed and that bright blue I’d been searching for blazed for a split second. Maybe I’d missed the blue in the store earlier when I’d had her over my shoulder.
“Yes, I know what’s happening,” I said. “But I want to hear it from you anyway. Your words.”
“Jeremiah was stealing drugs from the Warriors. He got caught and told them it was me.”
Her statement was in line with what I already knew but I’d hoped for more details. Not that I’d get them. Scarlett had retreated behind her fortress, her chin raised and her gaze impassive.
Asking questions straight on wasn’t going to work so it was time to try a new tactic.
“Do you know Dash Slater?” I asked Scarlett.
She paused. “Sounds familiar.”
“He’s the man who carried you out of Presley’s house that night. He’s Presley’s boss at the garage.”
“So?”
“Dash used to be president of a motorcycle club in town. The Tin Kings. Heard of them?”
She blinked.
That’s a yes. The Tin Kings and the Warriors were known enemies.
Even though the Tin King Motorcycle Club had disbanded years ago, the animosity between members hadn’t disappeared.
Anyone who’d spent any time with the Warriors had likely heard the Tin King name.
And according to Presley, Scarlett had spent months with the Warriors, living with Jeremiah at their clubhouse in Ashton since last June.
“He thinks the Warriors will retaliate,” I said. “I tend to agree.”
Scarlett said nothing, though the worry line between her eyebrows lengthened.
“I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because your sister asked me to.”
She blinked and the look of surprise on her face, well . . . it took me by surprise. Why would Presley’s concern be a shock to Scarlett?
“She comes into the station every day. She stomps in, demands to know where you are, even though she knows I won’t tell her. Mostly, she wants to know you’re safe, and she’s counting on me to keep you that way.”
Scarlett’s gaze dropped to her knees.
“Let me. Let me keep you safe.”
“I don’t want to be trapped here.”
“Then tell me everything. All of it. I can’t help you if you’re hiding things from me.”
Her lips pursed together and when she lifted her gaze, it was ice.
“Talk to me,” I pleaded.
Nothing.
“You’ll do this? You’ll really fight me on this? I can’t keep you safe out there if I don’t understand the threat.” I threw my hand toward the door. “Where are you going to go? Huh? If you walk out that door, where are you going to go? To Presley? You’ll be bringing trouble straight to her door.”
“I would never endanger my sister on purpose.”
“Then you don’t have a choice. You must stay here. You must talk to me so I can help you.”
Scarlett shook her head as she pulled her legs closer to her chest. “No.”
Goddamn stubborn woman. “Scarlett—”
“Please don’t leave me here.” Her whisper was pained. Desperate.
“You have to stay somewhere. Until we learn more. Until I know what we’re dealing with.” Until you confide in me. “They call it witness protection for a reason.”
Though this was the small-town, temporary version.
Scarlett turned her gaze to the wall, giving me her profile. Shutting me out.
I didn’t have time for this. Was cooperating really so fucking difficult? I stood from the chair and went to the kitchen, taking a long inhale as I reeled in my temper.
Christ, it smelled in here. I walked to the garbage can and popped the lid, my nose scrunching at the stench inside.
Nathan must have brought over the pizza place’s infamous garlic deep dish.
I refused to let the guys bring it to the station because it stunk up the break room so badly.
Meal choice was another thing I’d address with Nathan tomorrow.
Slamming the lid back on the garbage, I yanked open the back door and set the entire thing outside. Then I closed the slider and scanned the kitchen.
The linoleum was cracked in a few places and worn thin in front of the sink.
My plan was to put hardwood flooring throughout the entire house and get rid of the vinyl flooring and worn, ragged carpet.
The refrigerator was yellow, the tinge of a sweat stain.
If it had once been white, I couldn’t tell.
The cabinets were faded and dull. One of the drawers was missing a pull.
There was a reason I’d gotten this house for a steal. It was a shithole. The ugliest house on the block.
No wonder Scarlett had run. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.
“Go pack your bag,” I said, returning to the living room.
“Huh?” Scarlett unfolded.
“Your bag. Go pack it.”
This was a stupid fucking idea I was sure to regret, but at the moment, I was fresh out of other options.
She hopped out of the chair, brushing past me on her way to the bedroom, her scent trailing behind her. The smell of wind and snow clung to her hair but there was a citrus sweetness underneath.
I liked that smell.
Which was a good thing.
Because it was coming to my house for a little while.