Scar

by A. M. Brooks

  He clicks his tongue before sauntering over to me, his fingers dip in his breast pocket and pluck out a white card. “Detective McCall,” he says, while the blood drains from my face. His head tilts to the side, studying me. “You’re younger than I expected.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I manage to respond, keeping my voice even.

  He grunts. “Sure, kid. Look, I’m extending this olive branch now. I know you know me. And I sure as fuck am becoming aware of the little rep you’re building over the border. Here’s my advice. Run. Run now and get out of Alverez’s grasp before he kills you.”

  I shrug, “Who?”

  Detective McCall eyes me warily, probably not getting paid enough to handle bratty teenagers with a chip on their shoulders. Add that together with a little brokenness and voila, here I am. “Right. Well try to reach out before you’re looking down the barrel of a gun or digging your own ditch, Princess. Just because he made you his own personal weapon doesn’t mean someone else can’t help you find peace.”

  I have no idea how long I stand there watching the good detective’s retreating back. Long enough for self-loathing to kick in. For my world to shatter and break. When it’s always just been me to save, the decisions were easy. I didn’t question my kills. I absolutely did not get emotional or attached. This time, it is a decision between my heart and my family. How do I live without either? I flip the card around in my fingers before throwing it to the ground. Fuck this game.

  Trent

  “Is your head in the game today, man?” Sam asks, his eyes assessing everything about me. My gaze stays focused on the practice bikes racing across the track, while I roll my neck.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” I grit out, eyeing up the number one racer for our rival team, Dirt Grinders. Bro’s been picking up numbers along the south and is only ranked a couple points below me.

  “You just seem preoccupied lately,” Sam answers truthfully. One thing I always appreciate about my boys is that they aren’t afraid to call each other out on their bullshit, especially if it affects AfterHours.

  “It’s all good,” I lie through my teeth, before tapping his shoulder with my fist and making my way to the locker room. It’s three hours until race time and I need to figure some shit out.

  Three months have passed since the series in Detroit, and Scarlet has become a different person. She’s closed-off during the day, and barely acknowledges when I’m around. She’s short when talking with me about how she spends her days and refuses to discuss the future anymore. When we met almost eight months ago, she had a plan. Yes, I derailed it slightly by asking her to come with me, but I haven’t stopped her from checking out colleges when we’re in cities she has wanted to see. I haven’t requested any funds from her, so I know the stash she saved for college, specifically, should still be there. I even offered to bring Evita out to visit, and she shut me down, hard and fast.

  I would be concerned she was bored or regretting her decision to stay, except every night she climbs me like an animal. The chemistry hasn’t died. By day, it’s like living with a stranger and at night, we can’t keep our hands off each other. I didn’t even make it to the lockers to shower after the race last night. Scarlet met me in the tunnel and I ended up bending her over my bike in the trailer, my hand clamped over her mouth to hold her screams in. It was intense and every time we fuck now, it feels like she’s pulling down a barrier only to build up another one, higher, the next day.

  Scarlet won’t say if it’s her family or her dad. All I can think about it when she flew home right before Colorado. She denies it has anything to do with that. The only other time I can think of that doesn’t sit right was her disappearing act in Detroit, right before everything became off. She said she didn’t feel good, but I can’t help thinking there’s more. My gut usually isn’t wrong about these things and every nerve ending is standing on edge whenever I see her.

  I’m the only one in the locker room, so I take a hot shower, letting the water run over my muscles and force myself to relax. I get out and change, before sitting and shoving in my AirPods. I eat the lunch I packed earlier and fixate on all the ways I need to improve tonight, so that dickhead from Dirt Grinders doesn’t eclipse me in points. New York is a huge battleground that I need to win.

  She isn’t here. I raced my best time and hit the Scorpion trick I’d been working on for the past couple of weeks. I grabbed the winning rose, intent on handing it off to Scarlet, only to find out she never even made it. Against AfterHours’ insistence, I bypassed the interview and headed straight for the locker room. I didn’t need to hear from Dean, Sam or Elias to know they thought I’d lost my mind. All I cared about is why she didn’t show. I needed to see her, ask her, and figure our shit out.

  I took my personal bike back to the house we were renting, after sending Dean a quick text for everyone to give us some space in case we needed to hash some shit out. The place is dark when I get back and let myself in. “Scar!” I yell up the stairs where the loft is. She doesn’t answer. I jog down to the basement where our stuff is set up. Her suitcase is still on the floor, open and clothes are laid out across the arms of the couch. The bathroom door is open wide and the light is still on. “Scarlet?” I look behind the door at the tub, but it’s empty. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I hit dial again and it rings several times before hitting her voicemail.

  Irritated and worried, I run back up the stairs and grab the keys off the table. I yank open the front door, hell-bent on driving around the city until I find her. I’m so pissed I even think of ways to get her phone, without her knowing, and install some kind of tacking device on it. With one foot out onto the porch, we almost collide right into each other. My hands automatically reach out to catch her when she wobbles back.

  “Shit, you scared me,” she mumbles, righting herself.

  My eyes rake over her, taking in the tired and agonized look on her face and the messy bun. It’s fall now, and the temps have dropped drastically here on the East coast, yet Scarlet is running around in only leggings and one of my sweatshirts.

  “Where were you?” I ask, looking over her shoulder. She wasn’t dropped off, so she must have been walking.

  Her eyes narrow. “I needed some time to myself. I have a lot going on.” Scarlet brushes past me and into the house.

  I follow on her heels. “What do you have going on? Maybe if you shared, I could help.”

  “I don’t want your help. There’s nothing you can do.” She keeps walking toward the stairs. My hand reaches out and grabs her arm, turning her to face me.

  “I want to help. You’re obviously upset.”

  “Or maybe I just needed some time by myself to breathe!” Her voice rises and so does my brow.

  “You can have all the time you want to breathe, but at least let me know when, so I don’t worry that you’re lost somewhere or, god forbid, that something happens when you aren’t with me.”

  She scoffs. “Nothing is going to happen me. I can kill a man using my thumb and index fingers.”

  “I have nothing to say to that.” I shrug, a little taken back.

  “Can I go to bed now?” She huffs and starts to turn around.

  “Scar,” I call her name and she stops. “I was worried, okay? I get you need some time or space, but I had no idea. I couldn’t find you.”

  “I didn’t go far. I shouldn’t have to tell you my every move, Trent. I’m an adult. I just needed to get away from all of this, so I could think.”

  “Away from what? Me? What do you need to think about? I hardly even see you or talk to you now as it is. You go out of your way to avoid me or ignore me before I leave for training or races. I don’t even know what is going on with you.” My hands run through my hair, tugging, and I step back. My eyes burn and I want to cringe at the way I’m begging her to talk to me.

  Her head turns to the side and I see her throat working. Her arms are folded defensively, but it doesn’t stop her chest from rising and falling
rapidly.

  “Scar…”

  She huffs and stomps her way downstairs. I follow behind her, my jaw dropping when she starts shoving her things in her suitcase.

  “What are you doing?”

  Scarlet ignores me, moving around the room, grabbing everything that’s hers, and some that isn’t. “Scar?”

  “I’m leaving,” she hisses, eyes wide, tears threatening to spill. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what? Hey, talk to me, we can figure this out. I can help you.”

  “No!” she pulls away, “No, you can’t. Stop thinking you’re Superman and can fix everything all the time. You have no idea the pressure….” Her voice trails off. Tears fall freely down her face and she wipes them away with her sleeve.

  “So tell me and I can at least help shoulder what you’re feeling.”

  Her head shakes side to side. “Just stop, Trent.”

  I’m frozen in place when she starts moving toward the stairs. My heart drops when I hear her slipping her shoes on by the door. My chest squeezes until I can’t breathe or think when the door closes behind her.

  The sound of the door latching finally sets me in motion. Anger and fear are battling in my system. I only know I can’t let her go. My feet pound against the ground until I catch up with her halfway down the block, trying to hail a taxi.

  “Scar!” I call her name and she turns, keeping her hand in the air.

  My arms pump, propelling me forward until I reach her. I don’t hesitate, I don’t think, I just cup my hands around her face and lean down until my lips touch hers. I can taste the salty tears on her chilled lips, her nose feels cold where it touches the edge of my cheek. I use my tongue to swipe her sadness away, catching her sobs and shoving all of my feelings back into her. Her fingers feel like ice when they touch the bare skin on my arms, and I shiver, stepping closer into her body, trying to force my body heat into her.

  When I finally pull back, her eyes are soft and rimmed red, her mouth is set in a pouty line, but her lips are red and she’s breathing hard. Red dots cover her cheeks from crying. Fuck, she’s beautiful. “I love you.” Her eyes widen. “You’re right, I have no idea what you’re going through. I just love you. You can trust me. I want this with you. We can make it work, Scar.”

  Her head falls, a sob escaping her mouth. I wrap an arm around the back of her neck and pull her into me. She comes willingly, her arms wrapping around my middle, while her body shakes. Fuck me, it’s cold outside, I can see my breath in the air, but I stand there and hold her until she stops crying anyways. I love her. I hadn’t really planned on telling her this way, but it’s true nonetheless. I’m so in deep for this girl, I would do anything.

  Scarlet pulls back, her hand reaching up to my face, she strokes along my jaw, her eyes fixated on my lips. “Take me back,” she murmurs softly, head tilting back to our rental home. I take one of her hands in mine, and with the other, I grab her suitcase. The second we make it in the door, she crashes her body into mine, arms wrapping around my neck, and I lift her until her legs circle my waist. Our lips fuse, raw, hungry and almost desperate.

  I manage to get us back to our room and lock the door before setting her on her feet. She reaches for my shirt, pushing it up and over my chest, until I can tug it off the rest of the way. Her hands reach for my track pants, yanking them down, so I can step out of them. She backs up and I follow, enjoying having to take my sweatshirt off her. Her knees hit the bed and she falls back. My fingers hook on the sides of her leggings and pull them down in one go. She scoots back and I follow, my lips touch any inch of skin that gets close to them on the way. Her body is chilled against my heated skin when I land on top of her, arms bracketing around her face. Her arms wrap around me, her nails digging into my shoulder blades.

  “I love you, too,” Scarlet whispers, her lips grazing across mine. Four little words and I lose all control. My mouth dives down to hers, urging her lips apart, while our tongues battle. I swipe a hand over her front, palming her tit before stopping to pinch her nipple. She gasps into my mouth and her torso arches off the bed. Feeling her against me drives me crazy and all I want is to be inside her, deep and hard. She must feel the same, our minds both lost in the daze and fog that’s enveloping us. She sits up, rolling me over, and straddles my lap. My hands are quick to rid us of all the other barriers between us. Scarlet lifts on her knees, and I line up my dick, before pulling her down my length. A small cry leaves her mouth, her head falls back, and a pink flush makes its way across her tan skin. I tilt my hips up, forcing her even further onto me, and grab her hair in my hand, pulling her gaze to mine. Scarlet’s eyes shine, her cheeks flush, and lips part while she rolls her hips against mine. My heart races, watching her move above me. The feeling is more electric than any trick on my bike or thrill of the crowd. I crave her. I need her. I want her to be mine in every way possible. It’s a chant in my head as I pump into her over and over, while my thumb comes up to play with her clit. It doesn’t take long before her legs tighten, and her pussy strangles my dick while she comes all over me. Her lips fall to mine, teeth clashing, while she screams her release into my mouth. I kiss her through it, not letting either of us up for air, before I let my own release go off inside her.

  Our gazes collide, I breathe her in, and a small smile pulls at her lips. Scarlet is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She collapses against my chest. I can feel her heart hammering against my rib cage. My world shifted tonight. I feel like I found a vital piece of my soul, a piece I didn’t know I’d been looking for. I’m determined to fight whatever demons she’s running from. I’ll never let them touch her.

  Scarlet

  I glance at the picture on my phone one more time before chucking it across the room, and watching it bounce off the wall. My cousin was dancing with Raz at her grandmother’s birthday party last night. Tears spring to my eyes, my chest feels like a boulder is laying on top of me, and I’m pinned down. Hate and fear battle over my insides. He’s going back on his word, pushing me to take action. That disgusting snake of a man is in my cousin’s life because of my father, because of me.

  It’s been two months since Trent and I argued in New York, since I told him I loved him, and decided to take down my father, once and for all. My father is forcing my hand now. My time is running out, because he’s decided he’s done waiting. I don’t have any information to give him. Trent is too good. He’s not some criminal or junkie that I was led to believe. I can’t keep lying to him either, pretending to be some girl that I’m not. I haven’t been sleeping, I can’t eat or keep food down. Every second of every day, I’m waiting for my father to make good on his threats or worse, for Trent to discover who I am.

  The worst mistake I made was throwing out the card for the detective who stopped me in Detroit. I’m finally at my breaking point. I can’t let my cousin be married to that scum bag. They changed Evita’s phone number and blocked my number from calling her, a power trip by my father, or I would warn her. I have no friends back home to try and get a message to her. For the first time since I left, I realize how isolated I’ve been made by him, by myself, by the entourage I’d grown up around and just assumed they’d watch out for me. Out of pure survival instinct, I finally gave my father a solution.

  For the third time today, I feel my stomach contract painfully, before bile rises in the back of my throat. I rush to the bathroom and manage to make it to the toilet. I have nothing left in me, and every heaving motion only causes my brain to throb and my eyes to lose vision. When I’m done, I manage to crawl back into the bedroom and sprawl on the floor next to the discarded phone. Sobbing, I pick up the phone. The screen is cracked but still working.

  Father: Send me the address for where he’ll be. I like this plan, Mija.

  Father: It’s almost poetic he’ll be back there when we take from him.

  Father: Do not forget the side you’re on, Scarlet. I’d hate for Evita to end up dead too because of you.

  Four days. I only ha
ve four days left with Trent. We’re in Los Angeles for the finals of the season this week. After the last race on Friday, the plan is to head to Araminta for the wedding of two of his friends from high school. I finally created a plan that gives my father what he wants while also being the only way I know Trent can live. My sobs echo in the empty room. I can’t pretend any longer. I can’t do this for four more days. I love him. My heart is breaking in my chest. He’s going to hate me one day. I had to do it, though. I will be the monster in his story as long he stays alive. Loving him never meant happily ever after.

  I force myself to watch the footage being aired by the local news networks. I make myself stand and accept what I’ve done to protect my cousin and ultimately myself. I ruined his life to save another. I ran like a coward before he could suspect anything. I hid, while an anonymous tip was given to the Araminta PD, who got a warrant and searched the home Trent had been renting. I sanctioned for the pounds of weed, cocaine and pills that were stashed throughout the home and the guns that were buried in the back yard. Criminally, it is enough to arrest him and possibly charge him. I’m hoping against hope right now that someone, somewhere, will look at this and find that it was too clean, too set-up, and Trent will be free. AfterHours is already reportedly withdrawing his sponsorship and that is also on me.

  My eyes fall to the boxes on the bed and a shiver runs through me. One day I hope I can explain. One day I hope he’ll look at me the same as he did that day in the ocean, in my mother’s hometown. Eyes flashing, I walk over to the mirror and pull the bright, red lipstick from my clutch and apply it heavily to my lips. I glance down and take in the shimmering black top, cut with a deep V in the front, and the black leather pants, before I step into a pair of black heels.