Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Scarlett, if this bloke did something, then ye have my word, I will sort him out. But this isn’t the way. Not here, and not now.”
“No,” she says. “It’s my call. My shot. I get to be the one to do it. You aren’t going to ride in here with your goddamn Irish brotherhood and take my glory.”
Her hand is shaking even as she speaks, and I know Scarlett thinks she can handle anything. I also know she’s done a lot of fucked up shite. I watched her carve up the butcher when she had the chance and there was no hesitation on her part.
But she isn’t a killer.
Scarlett has never killed before. And I have no intentions of letting her start now.
“Once ye do this, there’s no going back,” I tell her. “I’ll take him back to Boston. We’ll sort him out there. Anything ye want, Scarlett. I just need ye to be honest.”
“Her name isn’t Scarlett,” Ethan spits as he yanks away from her shoe. “What a load of bull. If either of you lays another hand on me, my father…”
Scarlett kicks him in the mouth and two of his teeth fly onto the cement as I lurch forward and grab her from behind. I’m struggling for the loaded gun in her hand, and she’s not letting go, and I don’t want to fucking hurt her… and fucking Ethan is making too much bloody noise.
She has the hammer cocked already, and when she pulls the trigger, there’s nothing I can do. But it’s a snub nose revolver, and she didn’t count on the recoil and it’s obvious she’s never fired it before. It isn’t even bloody close to Ethan, but it’s still too loud and everyone in a three-block radius will have heard it.
If they didn’t, now they will hear Ethan carrying on like a simpering child.
Jesus fecking Christ.
My hands are tied and there isn’t time for any other option. I reach down and yank the knife from Scarlett’s thigh and I plunge it into his fucking throat, slashing through the artery.
Scarlett is watching in shock as his blood pools onto the concrete below so I turn her away and do what needs to be done. I take his wallet and his watch to make it look like a robbery, and then I stand up and retrieve the gun from Scarlett’s now limp hand. Her eyes are closed, and she’s trembling.
She doesn’t speak or argue when I grab her with my free hand and zip up my jacket with the other.
I drag her down the block and directly into the parking garage of the hotel and deposit her into the passenger seat, buckling her in before I walk to the other side.
The drive back to Boston is long and quiet. I stop off at Slainte and give Conor a ring, instructing him to come out and grab the hotel key from me. It looks like Reaper will be making a trip to New York tonight.
When we get back to my house, I lock Scarlett in from the inside and drag her into the bathroom with me. She’s not shaking anymore, but she’s still not speaking either. I plant her arse on the counter again and tear off my blood-soaked shirt.
Before I can get to the shower, she stops me, reaching down into my jeans pocket and retrieving Charlotte’s card, tearing it into pieces.
“Ah, Jesus,” I bitch. “That’s what ye want to bloody argue about right now? After everything that’s just happened?”
She doesn’t reply. Instead, she reaches up to smear some of Ethan’s blood across my chest with her fingers.
And for the briefest of moments, there is peace in her eyes.
“What did he do to ye?” I ask.
“I get it now,” she answers.
“Get what?”
“Jealousy,” she says. “That must be what this is. This feeling. I don’t like it.”
“Christ, Scarlett.”
I drag her body against mine and kiss her. I kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. She’s the absolute worst thing for me and I can’t help it. I want her anyway.
“I want you to fuck me,” she says, and it’s real this time. “While you’re covered in his blood.”
Fourteen
Scarlett
I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again- F. Scott Fitzgerald
Rory’s hands move to the zipper on the back of my dress, and only once he has it pulled down do I push him away.
“I need to be in charge.”
Rory doesn’t miss the high pitch of my voice.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he tells me. “Whatever ye want.”
“Take off your clothes,” I say. “And sit down in that chair.”
He still doesn’t trust me and he’s still wondering if he should just ditch me already and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust me either.
But he does as I ask.
He unbuttons his jeans and they drop to the floor. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and his body is hard like a beast and he has a v-cut the way that models do and a perfectly flat abdomen and it makes sense that so many women want him.