Scar

by A. M. Brooks

Trent

  Morning comes much too quickly. The copious amounts of alcohol I drank after Scarlet left last night, still wreaking havoc on my system. The blood thundering in my ears is giving me a headache. My mouth feels scratchy. In hind sight, it was not a good idea to go buy a new bottle of Jack, after shattering my other one, but I never did make the best decisions when it came to Scarlet. Just thinking her name makes the piercing pain behind my eyeballs worsen. It sucked to see her. Having to listen to her today is going to be like dying all over again.

  I take a quick shower and throw on my official clothes for the office: suit, tie, button-up shirt, the whole get-up. It’s a far cry from what I’m normally found in, when I’m on a job or running Scar. After years of leading this double life, you’d think I’d be sick of it, but I’m not. Working with Jay and the task force is my day job. A role I was groomed to take and make my living off of. But I prefer to be Trent Nichols, biker, underground racer. There is very little these two versions of myself have in common, and I like it that way.

  By the time I drive to the building where we hold these briefings, I realize I’m the last one here. Wincing in the sunlight, I get out and stretch, trying to ignore the way my stomach protests the movement. The Red Bull and slice of pizza I picked up at the convenience store have done nothing to stop the hangover. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and walk toward the alarmed door, and press my badge against it to get in.

  The whole floor is buzzing. Clara, our secretary, is running back and forth from the copier to the computer, and her assistant is talking animatedly on the phone. At the other end of the hall, I can see that blinds on the glass walls are up and everyone on our task force is lined up in the background to listen. I brush past two members as I squeeze into the room. Jay and Scarlet are already standing at the table. They both look up when I step into the room, eyes watching me carefully while I find a seat at the opposite end of the table as them, and sit down. Jay’s gaze narrows when he sees what I’m doing.

  I avoid looking directly at Scarlet until I have to, yet I can still see her in my peripheral. Today she looks a far cry from the woman who strutted onto my turf last night. Gone is the leather miniskirt and jacket, band t-shirt and combat boots. This version of her today looks like the cartel queen she is, wearing high-waisted suit pants and a cropped black blouse with white pinstripes, matched with a sexy pair of black heels. Her hair is no longer wild and windblown, but smoothed back and pulled into a low ponytail. Gone also is the fresh face. Today, her eyes are rimmed in dark eyeliner and her lips are painted red. I can feel her stare on the side of my face and I have to fight to keep looking at the sheet I’ve been given and the mounted screen in front of me with all of our case details.

  “Are we ready or what?” I ask, swinging my gaze back to Jay, my voice sounding bored.

  “Are you ready?” Jay deflects, his brow rising. I can feel rage simmering up my neck and suddenly my tie feels too tight.

  “Your circus,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders. A few guys in the room shuffle their feet and clear their throats.

  Jay and I going at each other is not new. He may be my superior and my boss, but he knows I speak my mind. I’ve never hid my feelings from him on any case, or not challenged his opinion. It’s rare that I’m always completely right, but I have had moments where my idea has changed a whole case. He knows it. I know it. The team knows it. Usually we handle our conflict before we get to the briefing room, today is the exception. Scarlet being here and not behind bars is another.

  “Jesus fucking wept,” Jay mutters under his breath, before turning and clicking a remote at the screen behind him.

  My throat spasms, air catching in my chest while I take in the image. Blown up on the screen is the outside entrance of the Track, my hometown arena in Araminta. The place where I was arrested the first time for being at a drug ring bust. The first time I met Jay. And where, evidently, I gained the attention of Raul Alverez. I glance quickly at Jay before my eyes dart back to the screen.

  “I’ll let you take it from here, Ms. Reyes.” Jay nods to her. Scarlet stands, her hands slipping down over her clothes as if smoothing out any wrinkles. I feel it when she glances as me, before focusing her attention to the screen.

  “As many of you know, my father moved his business to Araminta in 2010. For years, he ran money and drugs through the track unknown by the spectators, the racers and some of the city council. When this operation was busted that was when I became a vital part in my father’s plan for vengeance, as well as his idea to rebuild and rebrand. Smaller ventures such as this were no longer an option. His ego was damaged. Which is how we got to this.” She clicks the remote again and three pictures dart across the screen. One of the La Flor hotel in Las Vegas, Rosa, an upscale restaurant in New York City, and last, a picture of a group of men carrying rifles, wearing masks and standing in front of a mansion sitting on top of a cliff.

  “The Los Moños?” One of the guys in the room asks and Scarlet nods her head.

  “We just reached a deal with Los Moños’ leader, Julio Bandera. AKA Ghost, the Silencer, and my personal favorite, the Crazy Moño. It is through this deal my father had planned to take over the largest supply chain of the southern states from the border,” she explains, while clicking the button to pop up another picture that shows a map of where the southern part of the United States and the border of Mexico meet.

  A body shifts behind me, and Scarlet’s eyes jump to them. “Yes?”

  “What will happen with the deal now that Alverez is dead?” I turn and see that my buddy, Theo, asked the question.

  “I will continue on with the deal,” Scarlet says, clicking the button once more and bringing up an image of a shipping yard and crates. “Raul may have tied his name to the deal, but I am the one who came to the arrangement with Julio. We have an understanding that this plan would continue with or without my father. Julio knew about the transaction that was occurring in Vegas and had warned my father not to do it. It is no surprise to Julio that my father is dead.”

  “I do not mean to be disrespectful,” I hear Kallie speak up from the back, “But how did you come into the position to make the business decisions? Usually when we see these situations, a man such as Bandera would be moving on to the next richest person in line.”

  I swing my gaze to Scarlet and give her the full effect of my eyes running over her. Daring her to explain to the room full of people, cops, and friends, how she came into power. Who she had to screw over to get there and ultimately who had to die in order for her to secure that relationship with Bandera. Her eyes drop to mine, and for a second, I see vulnerability staring back at me. Her eyes close and when she opens them again, she turns to Jay and nods.

  He motions for Clara who walks in with a video recorder and heart rate monitor. It takes me a minute to grasp what’s happening and when I do, a small hole of doubt punches its way through the armor guarding my heart. To fully prosecute Scarlet, I need a deposition and statement from her. A statement on video is more powerful that written. Scarlet clicks the button and the screen returns to the image of the Araminta track, before sitting down and allowing Jay to hook her up to the machines and turn the video cameras on. He sits down next to me and nods at her before pushing record.

  “You asked a great question,” Scarlet turns to Kallie, giving her a small smile before facing back to the camera. “Raul Alverez’s empire is built on the same ideologies and principles that you’ve heard many times in your line of work. Rule heavy. Snitches are made examples of. Insolence is punishable by death, and lastly, we’re a family. It’s blood in and blood out. Fathers hand down their empires to sons. In my case, my father didn’t have a son, only me. I made my first kill when I was fifteen. The man I killed had apparently come to my father and requested to buy me. I don’t know if the money was too little or way more than he expected, but it was then that my life changed. He saw a way to benefit from having a daughter that was more than just a business marriage. I was brought to an
empty building and handed a gun and told to kill the man on the floor in front of me. He was married, he wore a ring, so I can only imagine what he wanted to buy me for. I ended up killing him. It became a game of kill or be killed and I had no doubt in my mind my father would not have hesitated to put a bullet in me that night, had I not passed his sick version of a test.”

  She shudders from the memory while I find myself tempted to lean forward in my seat, eating up the words that answer so many of the questions I have been holding onto for years.

  “After that night I entered training,” she scoffs a little, “I killed again and again, learning different weapons and techniques. My father was determined to make me the most feared woman in his empire. A murderous doll. A weapon he could control. I was taught to lure in men with my looks then kill them. Always under the duress that it was them or my dog. Later on, it became them or my cousin, who is my best friend. And eventually their lives or mine. For three years, this continued while he built me up to his standard. He had unfinished business, a grudge.”

  Her eyes find mine again. I suck in a breath, knowing where this is going and unsure I want to hear this. Nothing she is going to say is news to me, and yet, I can feel my rib cage tighten, and the muscles in my forearms ripple from the effort to not throw the table over and tell everyone to get the fuck out.

  Her eyes darken, the brown turning to almost black, while her face becomes lax. I can see her mind drift away, back to where it all started. Worse than that, I can feel her heart calling out for mine to join it. To remember. To see things from her perspective. I know how the story ends. Nothing she says can change my mind. Nothing can erase the years of pain that followed her entering my life. Nothing.

  Then…

  Scarlet

  “Woo! Nice shot!”

  My head whips around right as Evita, my favorite cousin, steps out of her red Mustang, waving at me. I frown, as I watch her get closer and closer, noticing the designer shorts and billowy boho shirt. She looks way different than normal. I glance around her and notice no one else is with her, another oddity. Evita is never alone. My cousin is the princess of her family, and her father goes to great lengths to ensure his daughter is protected and pure until he can make a marriage pact with another powerful family. I’ve never seen her in anything except a dress and definitely nothing ever in jean material. I flip the safety on my military grade rifle and hold it at my side.

  “What are you doing?” I question, taking her hug and wrapping my arms around her. Evita is supermodel gorgeous with long curly black hair and hazel eyes. Her lips are painted a rose petal pink that stands out against her tanned skin. My head hits her shoulder, while her arm wraps around mine. I envy her legs that go on for miles, making her gracefully taller than my five foot, four inches.

  “What do you mean?” She leans back and pecks my cheek lightly.

  My gaze swings past her again, mystified that her usual entourage of security isn’t tailing her. “That,” I say pointing to the emptiness, “This,” I pull at her shirt, as it slides off her shoulder. “Your dad would have a heart attack if he saw you in this or the naked skin on your shoulder.”

  “I know!” She claps her hands in glee. “Isn’t it exciting?”

  “Evi,” I say exasperated, before reaching for my water bottle.

  “My mom had a talk with your dad.” She shrugs and a mischievous smile plays on her lips. “I told her how your limited social circle may hinder you from doing the job and things would probably go better if I was there too.”

  My eyebrow quirks. I’m not sure how to take what she just said. “I’ve lured in all my targets without any issues.”

  “Yes,” she shifts on her feet, “men who are like our fathers, power hungry and will go after a young girl. You have absolutely no experience with guys your own age. Except that one encounter with your bodyguard.”

  I stiffen at the mention of Jerrett, while my body works to suppress the shudder under my skin. Jerrett had been my friend, my training partner, for a year here in Mexico. One night he was thrown into my room, bloody and bruised, and looking as if his life was over.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, sitting up in bed and flicking on the lamp at my bedside, before pulling my sheet up to my chin. Mexico is hot and the building barely has air conditioning. At night, I choose to sleep in just my underwear and a camisole.

  Jerrett gets to his feet, and even in the dim lighting, I can see the agony written in his facial features. “Lettie…”My name sounds so forlorn on his tongue that I sit up straighter.

  “Jer?” I say his name, suddenly concerned for my friend. “What’s going on? Is this a training exercise?”

  His head shakes, the black tresses hanging over his face. He walks over to my bed and sits on the edge. Our eyes meet and he places a finger over his lips, signaling me to be quiet. I clamp my lips shut and nod at him, completely trusting him, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else. “I have to do something, Lettie. Your father…Mr. Alverez demands it happens now.”

  My brows pinch together, not understanding. Jerrett’s hands grip the edge of his shirt, before pulling it off over his head. His bare chest is completely exposed, and I can see the angry red welts covering his sides. Seeing him almost naked is not new to me. Over the course of the year, Jerrett and I have sparred outside on the hottest of days and he usually doesn’t wear a shirt. He also taught me how to uncuff myself underwater and we both wore swimsuits for that.

  “What…”

  He shakes his head at me, his eyes conveying a message. He leans over me when his knees hit my bed, the mattress sinking under our weight, my eyes widen. For the first time, it’s starting to dawn on me what’s happening. I open my mouth to scream, to yell, anything. His hand slams over my mouth, keeping the sound smothered beneath it. My hands fly to his shoulders, the nails scrapping against his chilled skin.

  “I have to Lettie.” His voice whispers next to my ear, “If it’s not me, it will be someone else. Your father doesn’t want his enemies to be able to bargain for your innocence. You’re a weapon to him only. Do you understand me?”

  Tears leak out of the corners of my eyes and slide down into my hairline. My body shudders in his hold and my heart breaks inside my chest. What kind of a monster does this to his own child? His flesh and blood? In that moment, I’m thankful for Jerrett’s hand covering my mouth. It keeps the sobs trapped inside my throat. Jerrett’s gaze meets mine and I want to die when I see the pity and remorse in his.

  “I won’t let him win,” Jerrett whispers against my cheek before his lips graze my skin. “Trust me. I promise to make it as easy and pleasurable for you as I can.”

  He leans back, my dark eyes catching his. I can see the truth and flecks of anger burning in the brown depths. My chest rises and falls as I let him strip the thin material of my camisole from my body. Eventually, I lie back down, nodding my head, giving him permission to keep going, knowing this could be worse. At least it’s Jerrett.

  Jerrett took my virginity that night at the demand of my father. A symbolic gesture was made that I wasn’t a pure, innocent, child worthy of ransom. I was a woman, a killer, and one of his many disciples. Jerrett had been true to his word; it wasn’t as horrible as it could have been. He did everything he could to make me comfortable and enjoy the experience as much as I could, instead of feeling as if I had been raped. Jerrett knew what he was doing when he chose to be gentle instead of forceful, and in the end, he did pay for it with his life. He was carried out to the courtyard the next morning, hands tied behind his back, while my father aimed a gun at his head and assassinated him as an example of not following orders. It still sickens me that my father planned for my virginity to be stripped away. It would have broken me if Jerrett hadn’t told me about my father’s plan. I’ll forever be thankful he had been gentle.

  I breathe in and out, pushing down the guilt I feel over Jerrett’s death, and turn back to my cousin. “So your dad agreed to this?” I find it really hard to b
elieve.

  She rolls her eyes. “You know my father will agree to anything Uncle says. All it took was a little doubt about your flirting abilities from his sister, and Uncle was on board. Now I get to spend the next three months with you, before having to return home and start looking at my marriage prospects.” She sticks out her tongue at the last part.

  “Well, at least you know if your future husband isn’t good to you, I can always kill him in his sleep.” I smirk at her. She smiles back, but it’s not genuine. The traces of happiness in her eyes have dimmed. “Evi—” I start to say before she cuts me off.

  “No moping! Let’s get to Florida and get this job done, so we can spend some quality beach time together.” She grabs my hand and starts leading me to the house. “I already have feelers out for tickets to the race and I’m putting out feelers for the clubs to see if any of them have VIP sections reserved. I heard it’s a three-day event.”

  I nod my head, having read some of the same information as well. I frown a little, though, realizing I didn’t even think about checking into clubs. My plan was a little more old school. I had just planned to tail him after the race. Begrudgingly, I can understand where Evita may be useful.

  “Go shower and change.” She pushes me toward the door, making me laugh.

  “What?” I point to the grass stains and dirt on my elbows. “Are you telling me this is not the look motocross guys go for?”

  Her nose wrinkles. “No. No guy. Ever.”

  I laugh at her expression, running up the stairs and grabbing a few things out of my closet before jumping in the shower. When I’m done, I quickly braid my hair, so it hangs down my back and throw all my makeup and hair products in a bag. I slip into a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a tank, before waltzing out of the bathroom.

  “You’re lucky I love you.” Evi blows wisps of hair out of her eyes, pointing to the large suitcase sitting upright by my door.