Scar

by A. M. Brooks

  We float back toward shore, and Trent manages to get my suit back on. My legs wobble when we reach the sand. I stand shaking, while Trent hands me my t-shirt and he throws on his own clothes again. “We should get back.” He smiles, and my heart flutters in my chest. I know we need to but another part of me yearns to stay here in this moment forever. Trent bends down and scoops me up bridal style, carrying me back over to the bike. He slings his leg over and situates me over his lap. His hands cradle my face and he kisses me once, sweetly. “I think you’ve ruined me.”

  My cheeks flush and I duck my head. If I keep this up, I’m the one going to be ruined. He might be falling for me, but I’m pretty sure I just gave him a part of my soul in that ocean today. I need to figure a way out of this job if I’m going to have any chance at keeping us both alive.

  Scarlet

  The crowd cheering above me, lets me know the race is over. Hearing Trent’s name chanted through the layers of concrete separating us, causes my heart to skip a beat. Thank God he won! I should be up there cheering. I want him to look in the crowd and find me, so I can celebrate the moment with him. In the past four months, I kept my promise to Trent. I used the time I was finding myself to travel across the Midwest, hitting races in South Dakota, Ohio, Illinois, and even Michigan. Trent was racking up wins, and AfterHours was hailing him the “Man to Beat.” His career was hitting an all-time high, and I was running out of time.

  With my father standing across from me in the underground parking garage, I had to force down the friendly, supportive, motocross loving girlfriend and pull out the weapons expert, killing machine I was supposed to be. I couldn’t let him smell the fear I was currently wearing like this season’s perfume. Raul Alverez didn’t accept defeat, and he definitely wouldn’t stand for a woman, his daughter or not, to step out of line.

  “What do you have for me?” he asks again, and I internally flinch, knowing he hates having to ask something more than once.

  “I sent you the phone,” I remind him, pushing down the guilt bubbling up my chest. This is the third phone I’d sent him, and every time, I’m waiting to be caught by Trent. I don’t know how many more times he can be convinced he misplaced or lost his own phone.

  “The phone, the phone,” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at the gold watch adorning his wrist. “There is nothing on the phones!” he spits out.

  “I communicate every step of the way,” I point out, “I tell you his race schedule, how much he won from that race, and who his sponsors are.”

  “All of that doesn’t do me any good, Mija,” My father’s voice turns cold, a detached look crossing his features, despite him calling me daughter.

  “Tell me what you’re looking for then,” I bargain, my hands settling on my waist. He’s silent, his eyes roaming all over me, looking for what he thinks are changes and flaws in his favorite weapon. I try not to fidget while he looks at my shorts and navy blue t-shirt that reads: Love it, Live it, Ride it, with a matching flannel over it. I’m a far cry from the girl he let travel to Florida four months ago.

  The blacked-out car my father always travels in comes peeling around the corner before stopping next to us. I feel my body start to relax when I see Castillo step out, thinking he’s here to pick my father up. Only, he opens the back door and my father holds out his hand, “Come.”

  I step forward, forcing myself to move one foot in front of the other and not panic. The roar of the crowd above us gets louder, and my body suddenly feels cold. I lift my brow and glance between them. “I’m supposed to be up there. If I leave now, he’ll know something is up.”

  Father’s head tilts to the side, contemplating. “Text him. You’ll think of something.”

  It’s on my tongue to bite back that Trent doesn’t have a phone again, but I force down my words. I take my phone out and pull up Dean’s contact number.

  Not feeling well. Can you tell him I went back to the house? I’ll meet up later.

  I hit send and pocket the phone again before sliding into the back seat. My father climbs in next to me. Castillo closes the door and rounds to the front before getting back in. We drive out of the parking garage, and I notice the attendant pretends he doesn’t see our car. I want to scoff but I manage to hold it in. I need to figure out the score right now. Since Mexico, I’ve been playing a different game than my father, a game where I get my freedom and hopefully save Trent along the way.

  We drive outside the city of Detroit and into a rural area, mostly covered by forests. The car ride has been silent, and my eyes eat up any information that could be useful. I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket several times and I fight the urge to grab it. Castillo suddenly makes a turn onto a dirt driveway, a sign out front reads Private Property. Gravel and rock bounce against the tires for a couple miles before a large concrete and brick building comes into view. At least twenty cars are parked off to the side in a grassy clearing, and a few men linger outside the main door that looks more like the opening of a garage.

  “You brought me to a party?” I turn to my father, whose eyes are trained on the men out front.

  “Let’s go.” He motions for me, once Castillo is there to open the door. Father steps from the car as if arriving on the red carpet. His fingers button his coat, hands smoothing down the front. I step out next and heads turn my way. I fight to ignore the blatant stares and follow behind my father, right up to the door. Once we’re closer, I’m able to tell that these men aren’t party guests. They’re decked out with weapons and hold the air of security.

  We’re admitted in without question. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but all I find is a hallway. We travel into a complicated maze of more hallways, before reaching a set of stairs leading down. Now I can hear the cheering, the yelling and worse, the feminine screams of fear. Unease ripples across my arms. My foot falters at the first step, before Father’s large hand cups my shoulder and propels me forward. With him on one side and Castillo on the other, I’m led down the stairs to a double set of dark red doors. Castillo reaches out and raps his knuckles in a set rhythm. We wait a few seconds before the door is opened by a gentleman in a tux and we’re ushered inside.

  The air is tinged with the coppery smell of blood, so thick I can taste it in the back of my throat every time I inhale. Blood, sex, and the pungent smell of piss and sweat. I want to yell and scream at every person in the room until my voice is hoarse. My fingers itch for 9mm that is locked away at home, to blast the lights out of every fucking person standing here, thinking the obscene acts happening behind the plexi glass windows are okay. I’m disgusted, horrified, and angered at him for bringing me here. I keep my eyes focused on anything, anything else in the large, stifling building. I take note of the faces of the men cheering, the men groping themselves over their suit pants, even the men who are standing off to the side drinking from glass tumblers and acting as if this is a sporting event. Bile rises behind my tongue and I swallow over and over to keep it down. My skin feels clammy. I make a vow here and now, someday I’ll find out who these men are and I will make their lives hell.

  If Father is aware of my internal struggle, he doesn’t comment. With his hand on my shoulder, I’m not left with many options on where to go. He steers me through the crowd to a roped-off loft above the horrors of the cages. An entourage of security stands there, while a small group of three men recline on plush-covered loungers.

  “Ah, Raul,” one of the men say, calling to my father and standing to shake his hand. “Raz,” Father answers.

  My gaze meets the man’s next and I’m horrified to see how young he is, and worse, that he’s attractive. His rich mahogany hair is tucked behind his ears, diamond studs decorating both lobes. His face is angular with thick brows and clean-shaven, olive skin. “This is my daughter, Scarlet,” Father tells the man, and I’m ushered forward. The man extends his hand and I’m reluctant to take it, fearing where it’s been and even more so knowing it’s responsible for the depravity going on below us.


  “I’m delighted to meet you,” the man’s golden eyes flick from my father to me, “I’ve heard all about you and your skills.”

  “I’ve never heard of you,” I retort, my hand squeezing his before letting go.

  He smirks, and I swear the air shifts around him into something dark and predatory, “We’ll have to rectify that, won’t we? If we are ever going to do business together in the future.” He nods at my father, skipping his eyes over me this time.

  I lift my chin, brow raised, and bite my tongue for now. Obviously, he knows the work I do and, somehow, Father has a relationship with him, but it’s not a business relationship yet.

  “Are you staying, Raul? We can bring more drinks over,” the man says, before sitting again and gesturing for my father to join him.

  Father smiles before shaking his head. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I have to bring Scarlet back to her job,” his mouth tightens into a straight line, “I just wanted her to meet a possible marriage candidate for her lovely cousin.”

  My heart sinks as he says the words, my eyes flash, and my mouth is suddenly dry. If I wasn’t suspecting I’d be drugged for ordering a drink here, I’d order one to down. He can’t be serious.

  “Of course,” Raz nods, his finger stroking across his chin while he eyes me from my Chuck covered feet to the crown of my head. “It’s my pleasure to meet my possible future cousin-in-law.”

  I want to vomit all over his expensive suit and pretentious friends. Over my dead body will Evita marry this man. I steel my spine and keep my lips locked in a sinister smile. My eyes flick over the cages again. There is no way even half of the women are of legal age and there are various levels of dubious consent from what I can tell. My stomach knots. It’s taking everything inside me right now not to reach over and grab the pistol holstered at this man’s side and blow his brains all over the space. It would mean war. And I can’t afford to jeopardize the professional image I’ve built myself.

  “We’ll leave you to your fun then, gentlemen,” Father says, his voice laced with humor when he says it. The other two share knowing grins while Raz peers at me through a puff of his cigarette smoke. I hold his gaze, challenging him. He’ll never get Evita and his days running this type of skin ring are numbered. I grin wolfishly before following Father and Castillo back down to the main floor.

  I hold my breath until we make it back outside, sucking a large lungful of clean air into my chest. A thin layer of sweat covers my skin, and I’m thankful that I’m covered. We wait in silence for the car. I’m too lost in my own thoughts to pay attention to my father, who hasn’t taken his beady eyes off of me. This time, I’m more than willing to climb in the car, waiting for it to get as far from this hellish place as it can. I sweep my hand over my hair, and bring it all to one side, giving my neck a flash of air.

  “When you stray too far, Mija, sometimes you need a reminder of where you should be,” Father’s low and steady voice fills the back seat. I don’t speak yet. “If I don’t start seeing results or I keep having to track you down, I’ll make sure to help Raz make a good impression on my sister and brother in-law. He is a very rich man, after all.”

  “She has nothing to do with this. At the end of summer, she went home. Evita did her part,” I tell him, keeping the pleading out of my voice. “I will take care of Nichols. I just need to find where his weak spot is. Everything about him is under a tight lock.”

  “I know you can be more creative than that.” Father’s eyes slide over me.

  In the dark, he can’t see the flush rising up my neck. Of course he would suggest I sell my body for a little information. I don’t even bother to insinuate that I’ve already slept with Trent. I’ve let him fuck me five ways from Sunday, but he doesn’t know that.

  “I’ll manage,” I respond, keeping my eyes trained out the window.

  “I know you will, Scarlet. You know what will happen to Evita if you don’t. I can’t imagine the damage a man like Raz carries around if that is what he and his friends find entertaining on a Saturday night,” he muses, “And celebrating his newfound bachelorhood of all things. It’s a shame that fiancée of his went missing.”

  My eyes flutter closed before snapping back open. I won’t be weak. My mind screams at me to do anything I need to, if it means saving Evita.

  I walk into the sheik, upscale bar two hours later, at first taken aback that this was the choice for the night, before remembering why. After the race, Trent’s high school friend, Shay, was meeting up with us. She was in town visiting family and had reached out, knowing Trent would be here as well.

  I spot them right away, sitting at a back table. Trent glances down at his new phone on the table, while the girl across from him talks animatedly with her hands. He looks amazing in a black button-down, his hair messy, like he’s been running his finger through it for hours. Guilt tugs low in my stomach when I notice the way his brow is furrowed, lips set in a grim line. I’m responsible for that look.

  The minute my father dropped me off in front of the arena and sped away, the first thing I did was puke my insides up all over the sidewalk. Definitely did not earn cool assassin points that way. The only consolation was that I somehow managed to hold it in the entire time I had been in that building.

  The next thing I did was pull the phone from my back pocket to find a string of missed texts and two calls from Dean’s phone.

  I’ll tell him.

  It’s me, Scar, are you okay?

  Should I come to the house first?

  I can cancel with Shay if you aren’t feeling good.

  Scar, you aren’t here. Where the fuck are you? Are you okay?

  The last one had been minutes before I checked. I quickly caught an Uber and rushed into the rental before dashing up the stairs. I brushed my teeth and swiped my hair up into a bun, before taking the world’s shortest shower. I threw on a black shift dress and added some red lip stick before hustling back into town.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I head over to their table, keeping a smile plastered on my face. Trent sees me first and shoots to his feet. My eyes rake over every inch of him, noticing the ripped jeans and open button on his shirt. He’s so freaking sexy without even trying. My damn heart leaps in my chest to feel his arms around me. I barely make it to him when he’s striding to me, his hands cupping my face. “Are you okay?”

  My hands slide over his and I give him a soft smile. “I just didn’t feel good. I took a walk and lost track of time.”

  “I texted and called. I almost lost my shit, Scar.” He leans his forehead against mine, breathing me in.

  “I know, I forgot my phone. I’m sorry,” I say. I’m sorry for lying.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He straightens up and folds my hand in his, bringing me over to the table. “Scar, this is my good friend, Shay.”

  “Hi,” I say, holding out my hand to her shyly, her soft grip shakes my hand and she smiles with sincerity.

  “I’m so happy you could make it. Trent told me you weren’t feeling good.”

  “Yeah, I think it was not a good decision today to eat a Throttle Dog.” I fake a grimace.

  Shay’s head tilts back when she laughs. “No! Does not sound appealing at all.”

  I take a seat next to Trent, and his hand instantly lands on my knee, gripping my flesh, like he’s scared I’ll disappear. A server stops at our table and they order more drinks while I stick to water. I listen to Shay talk about college and how she knows Trent.

  “Idiot,” she laughs, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for weeks to plan this. I was scared I’d miss you again.”

  Trent chuckles. “I had to get another phone. I’m going to have to keep it on me at all times soon.”

  “This is phone, what, four?”

  Five. I think in my head and wish the floor would swallow me whole.

  Trent shrugs. “We travel a lot, it’s bound to happen.”

  “Yea, I guess,” Shay responds.

  I keep
out of the conversation. Knowing I’m the guilty party is enough to make me want to be sick again. I thought I could do this. I thought my plan was solid, while I worked to get out of it. When I hugged Evita goodbye, I told her I could do it. Now everything is unraveling. I haven’t felt this out of control since I was fifteen. Each job, every day I spend training, is so that I won’t be helpless. I died the day of my first kill. I rose from the dead and promised myself I would never be that vulnerable again. Here I am, though. Two people to save, and no clue on how I was going to make it work.

  My mind is so zoned-out that I don’t recognize the lull in the conversation right away. My gaze flicks up to find Shay looking at me. “Sorry,” I wince, “I’m still not feeling the greatest.”

  “It’s okay,” Trent turns to me, “Want me take you back?”

  “No!” I speak too loud, “no, I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I get there. I’m sorry, Shay. I was really looking forward to meeting you.”

  She gives me a half-smile, as if she can see through me. “I hope you feel better. We’ll do this again.” I nod stiffly at her words. Right now, I don’t know if I will ever see her again. Smiling tightly, I get up and manage to creep out of the building before I break down.

  The minute I get around the corner, the tears I’d been holding back all night, fuck, for the past three years, come pouring out of me. My chest heaves, and my vision blurs. My mind is so wrapped in my thoughts that I don’t even notice that a suited body has stepped in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble and try to walk around the man.

  “Scarlet Reyes,” he says my name, stopping me in my tracks. I turn to him, taking in his buzzed dark hair, piercing eyes and tall build. Somewhere in my memory, he looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. I don’t answer, just remain still. He isn’t a previous job; I’ve never seen him around my father’s men or the compound. I can’t place him, yet I get the feeling I know him from somewhere.