10 Scarlett #3
“The biometric system is linked to all of us,” he explains, pressing his thumb against the scanner until the lock clicks open again. “Now yours too.”
I stare at the glowing keypad for a second longer than necessary.
The reality of it settles heavily in my chest.
When everything is secured again, we finally head back toward the house because my tutor should be arriving any minute.
The cool air hits my flushed skin as we step through the back door into the kitchen.
It’s strange to think this is my life now.
Training with weapons, living in a locked compound with armed men and waiting for tutors instead of going to school.
I don’t even know what normal is supposed to look like anymore.
Not that my life was ever truly normal to begin with, but this?
This feels like being trapped in the middle of someone else’s war.
I want it to be over already. I want to stop looking over my shoulder every time I leave a room.
I want a normal high school experience with football games and parties and prom and graduation.
At the rate things are going, I don’t even know if I’ll make it to graduation.
The thought leaves a bitter ache in my chest.
I move toward the fridge before I can spiral any further, grabbing two bottles of water and a large bowl filled with freshly cut fruit and head into the dining room where my books are at.
One thing I didn’t expect while living with three dangerously overprotective men?
The ridiculous amount of food. You’d think a house full of rough military-trained psychopaths would survive entirely on beer, takeout, and protein bars.
Instead, the kitchen always looks like something out of a health magazine.
Fresh fruit already chopped, vegetables prepped, breakfast cooked every morning, dinner almost always homemade.
Roman is basically our personal chef. I think I heard Declan mention once that Roman used to cook with their mom when he was younger.
Apparently, he was the only brother who actually enjoyed it.
There’s something calming about the way Roman moves through the kitchen like cooking is the one thing that still connects him to something softer than the life they live now.
The sound of a knock at the front door cuts through the house.
I glance up from the dining room table where my notebooks are spread out, my stomach tightening instantly.
Great. The tutor. Before I can even stand, Declan stalks past the doorway toward the front entrance.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean slightly in my chair just enough to see the foyer.
The woman standing outside freezes. Honestly?
I can’t blame her. Declan is completely shirtless, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, every inch of tattooed muscle on display.
But it’s the weapons that make the scene even more terrifying.
A handgun is strapped securely against his side, another knife clipped near his waistband, with at least two more blades visible along the harness crossing his chest and back.
The woman blinks rapidly behind black-framed square glasses, clearly trying to process what she’s seeing.
She’s pretty in a quiet way. Early thirties maybe.
Short wavy brown hair brushes just below her jaw, and a light spray of freckles dusts across her nose.
She clutches her tote bag tighter against her side as her eyes flick between Declan’s weapons and the massive house behind him.
“I…” She hesitates awkwardly. “I think I may have the wrong address.” Declan stares at her blankly.
“Nope.” That’s it. Just nope. The poor woman looks even more alarmed. Thankfully, footsteps sound behind him a second later. Asher appears beside Declan wearing a fitted black Henley and dark jeans, looking significantly less terrifying. Though not by much.
“Well,” Asher says smoothly, stepping forward with an apologetic smile, “that depends. Are you here for Scarlett?”
Relief floods her face instantly. “Yes. Scarlett Vale? I’m Hannah. The tutor.”
“You’re in the right place.” Asher shoots Declan a look. “Ignore him. He lacks social skills.” Declan grunts.
Asher reaches behind him, grabs a discarded black T-shirt from the console table, and throws it directly at Declan’s chest.
“Put some fucking clothes on, and loose some of the weapons.” Declan catches it one-handed without taking his eyes off Hannah.
“She knocked on the door. Not my fault.”
“You answered it looking like an armed kidnapping suspect.”
“I am armed. Hannah’s eyes widen slightly.
I press my lips together, fighting a smile. Asher sighs like this is a completely normal Tuesday before turning back to her.
“Come on in. Scarlett’s waiting in the dining room, and don’t mind him he doesn’t know how to be normal.”
Hannah steps cautiously inside, still eyeing Declan like she’s unsure whether she should run or call the police.
Declan finally pulls the shirt over his head, removes some of the knives, placing them on the kitchen bar, but the gun remains strapped to his side.
Which somehow doesn’t make the situation less intimidating.
Asher leads her toward me, resting one hand briefly on the back of my chair as she approaches.
“Scarlett,” he says, “this is Hannah.”
Hannah gives me a slightly nervous smile. “Hi.”
I smile back, trying to save her from the insanity of this house.
“Trust me,” I tell her quietly, “your reaction was valid they are a little unhinged.”