by Bella J.
That’s one point for James Baxter—knowing when to shut up.
When she walked into the gym, she was impressed. There was every gym apparatus one could think of.
Treadmills, bench presses, a squat station, barbells, dumb bells, leg extension machines. Name it, and this gym had it.
“Impressive.” Scarlet looked around and spotted the thing she was looking for. The punching bag. Exactly what she needed. If she could just find a picture of Hunter’s face, it would be perfect.
James followed her as she walked around. “In our line of work, the team needs to keep in shape.”
“Well, you certainly have everything you need to keep in shape right here.” Scarlet dragged her hand across the barbells stacked against the wall.
“Yes. Well. Gym clothes are in the locker room. You’ll find whatever you need in there.”
Scarlet picked up a dumb bell and held it in her hand. “Thanks.”
James glanced at the door, and then back at her. “Take it easy in here, would you?”
“Not a chance.” Scarlet shot him a wicked grin and turned around, walking toward the locker room.
Since it was obviously mostly men staying in this house, there wasn’t a lot of women’s clothing for her to choose from. But she managed to get some black leggings and a very bright lime green crop top. Not exactly her color, but at least it fit.
Walking back into the gym, she noticed the iPod docking station and pressed play. The sound of Evanescence started to blast through the speakers, and Scarlet turned up the volume. As she stepped up, she placed her hands on either side of the red punching bag, leaning her forehead against it.
She took a deep breath in…and out, closing her eyes and allowing a picture of his face to flash through her mind. That evil smile, those dark, malevolent eyes, and the way her skin would burn from his fatal touch. The revolting smell of his breath skidding across the skin of her neck, filling her nostrils, causing her to want to hurl as his wicked voice promised her more pain, more punishment. Scarlet allowed it all to consume her, to flow through her veins like a toxin. Why? Because she was about to let it all out.
Taking a step back, she opened her eyes and threw her first punch, sending the bag swinging in the other direction.
Another punch, and another, all the while she could feel her pain boiling in the pit of her stomach. Every ounce of pain she felt while Brent tortured her body, the hate she felt when he ruined her soul, and the grief that consumed her while he broke the woman inside her—she utilized all those emotions as she beat the punching bag like it was the devil himself.
Scarlet pushed her body to the point where sweat started to run down her back, down the sides of her face—just like her tears used to do while Brent had her bent forward, ripping all her hopes and dreams from her.
She just kept on punching and kicking, wishing it was him, wishing she could destroy him the same way he did her.
And then there was her father. James Baxter. The man who claimed that leaving her, letting her grow up without a dad, was the right thing to do. For who? For those hundred and something girls he saved? What about her? What about Scarlet? She was his own flesh and blood, his little girl. Yet he chose all those other girls over her and her mother—the woman he claimed to have loved with all his heart. What kind of man did that? What kind of man used any type of justification to ease his own fucking conscience?
More punching, more kicking. Sweat was now trickling down the back of her calves, and she wiped away the hair sticking to her face.
There was also Hunter Keaton—the man who kept on pushing her. Pushing her to trust him, to finally surrender her control to him. The man who managed to make her let go. The man who had the power to own her body, mind, and soul with just one single touch. He gave her what no one ever should have. He gave her what she knew she never should have accepted—hope. Being with him, feeling him, it made her think—for just a little while—that maybe there was hope for her to love and trust a man after all, something she thought would never happen. His touch that set her body alight; his kiss that made her insides burn to ash; and the way he would claim her by moving inside her, pushing her body over the edge over and over and over again. He managed to make her let go of her demons as he worshipped her body, letting her finally feel something good. She was so close to letting the walls come down all around her. So close to letting go of her pain.
My God.
She was so close to giving him her heart. And now? Now she had her sister’s ghost hovering over her, while Hunter, too, now blamed her for Willow’s death. Everything was so fucked-up. To think that Scarlet actually allowed herself to see a future with someone who accepted her with all her wounds and scars.
More punches, more kicks—sweat started to stream down her face, between her breasts.
Flashes of Willow and Hunter—together—started to plague her mind. Did he fuck Willow the way he fucked her? Did Hunter imagine she was Willow every time he moved inside her?
Fuck!
Scarlet was jealous of a fucking ghost. Jealous of how Hunter touched Willow, how he loved her so much that her death fucked him up for life. Made him live by rules in order to protect himself from ever feeling that amount of pain again.
God. When he said Blue while he fucked Scarlet in the bathroom, it made her think of Willow in a way she never had before. Hate. That was what she felt. She hated her dead sister because not only was her heart now consumed with toxic rage, it was also a lethal mixture of rage, regret…and jealousy.
“Scarlet?”
She turned and saw Hunter looking at her. “I thought you left.”
“I wanted to.”
“You should have.”
“But I didn’t.”
She turned back and punched the bag some more. “What do you want, Ace?”
He stepped closer. “Is it my face this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it my face you’re seeing?”
“Maybe.” She didn’t stop punching.
Hunter grabbed the bag and stilled it, forcing her to stop.
She glared at him. “Walk away, Hunter.”
“No.”
“Walk the fuck away.” The anger that suddenly possessed her was about to erupt like a volcano that had been holding on to the fire inside it for years.
“Do it.” Hunter stepped right up, coming within inches from her.
“Do what?”
“Hit me.”
She gave a step back, her fists already balling at her sides. “Fuck you.”
“Do it. I know you want to.”
“You have no idea what I want to do right now.”
His green eyes bore into hers as he stepped forward while she kept stepping back.
“I was watching you, Scar. I watched you punch and kick that bag like it was the devil himself.” Hunter continued forward, towering over her like his sole pleasure in life was intimidating her. “The only question is, which devil was it? Him…or me?”
Scarlet’s back hit the wall, and she felt her heart ache as he stepped up to her, trapping her between his body and the concrete.
“You’re angry at me, just admit it.” Hunter slanted his head to the side, his lip cut and bruised from the fight he had with Riggs. She didn’t answer him. She was afraid the wrong words might come out of her mouth, words that would prove he had hurt her more than she would ever want him to know.
He stepped back, giving her some space to breathe. “Fine.” He held his hands up in the air, shrugging. “All I know is that if I was being fucked by someone and that person said my dead sister’s name, I’d be fucking pissed.”
There was no way to even think what the hell came over her. But the next thing she knew, she had launched herself at him and punched him right across the face, screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Fuck you, you asshole!”
Hunter’s face jerked to the side, blood gushing out of his nose, but it just wasn’t enough. She kept on sc
reaming while slamming her other fist in his face.
“You son of a bitch!” Another punch and Hunter stammered backward, blood streaming over his lips, down his chin.
It still wasn’t enough. She punched him again, and he fell to his knees. He didn’t attempt to block her once. He took every punch, every ounce of pain she wanted to give him.
Tears started to stream down her face, but she kept on punching him. She couldn’t stop. And he didn’t stop her either. “You fucking asshole. You hurt me. You fucking hurt me.”
He fell forward on his hands, but he didn’t fall over. Hunter kept his face up, like he was offering it to her as a goddamn sacrifice.
“I told you to leave me. I told you I didn’t need your goddamn help, but you wouldn’t fucking listen,” she screamed. “You should have walked away from me when I told you to, but you goddamn didn’t.”
“Scarlet,” he whispered, his entire face covered in blood. It still wasn’t fucking enough. More punches, and she kept on crying, screaming while she punished the man who gave her hope.
She wasn’t done. She wasn’t close to being done. Her fists pounded away at his face while images of Brent, Willow, Hunter, James—all of them blurred her vision to nothing but bright, blood red. Finally, all her anger had taken control of her. Her insides were a fucking mania of everything black, dead, and destructive.
“I’m sorry, Scarlet,” Hunter said, out of breath, blood oozing out of his mouth. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Fuck you! Fuck you, Hunter! You don’t get to say sorry.”
He hung his head down for a few seconds. “I’m…so…sorry.”
She could see his arms shaking while he kept himself upright. He was on the verge of collapsing, but he slowly lifted his head, turning his face up toward her.
He wanted more. He wanted her to keep on going, to keep on punching him—to make him bleed.
“Hunter…” She breathed out when the red fog started to slowly clear from her mind. Faster and faster her heart beat, her blood turning colder by the second as she started to slowly catch her breath. What the fuck was happening to her?
She sucked in a breath. “I’m done. I’m so done.”
Hunter spat out blood, pushed himself up, and stammered back to his feet.
When he managed to stand up straight, wiping the blood on his face with the back of his sleeve, she moved closer.
Keeping her gaze locked on Hunter’s, she gave two more steps closer. “You know what the worst part is about all of this?”
Hunter looked away, down to the floor, but she kept her eyes fixed on his bloody face.
“You made me hate her. Because of you, I now hate my dead sister.”
His gaze found hers, and Scarlet relished the look on his face, a look of pain, a look of defeat. She allowed herself to wallow in the pain he was feeling. She soaked it all up, letting it feed her anger.
She cocked her head to the side. “I will never forgive you for that. Never.”
“Scarlet, I’m so—”
She turned around and walked away. All she wanted to do was get away. She needed to get away from it all. Brent, Riggs, James, Hunter…Willow.
All of it.
Chapter 9
Hunter flinched as the nurse stitched up the cut above his eye. Good thing they had a nurse on the premises, or Hunter would probably still be bleeding all over the gym mat.
“Feel better?”
Hunter glanced up and saw James leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
He turned back to the nurse. “Oh, I feel just perfect. Can’t you tell?”
James snorted. “Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“Your plan.”
Hunter flinched again as the needle pierced his flesh. “What plan?”
“Your plan to let Scarlet punish you because you can’t do it yourself.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Baxter.”
James walked closer. “That’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it? Hoping that if she beats you up, it will lessen the guilt—the pain.”
The nurse placed a bandage over the cut, and Hunter got off the gurney. “I was giving her what she wanted, what she needed.”
“And what she needed was to beat your face to a pulp?”
“She needed to let out some of that rage, and I needed to feel pain. So we helped each other.”
Hunter brushed past James, and just as he was about to walk out of the infirmary, James called after him. “You love her?”
Hunter froze, and closed his eyes. Love her? He wasn’t even sure if that was possible. He was too fucked-up to love anyone. Besides, it seemed that whenever he felt something for someone, that person always ended up hurt…or dead.
He glanced over his shoulder. “People like us are incapable of loving.” And then he walked off, feeling heavy and defeated. He didn’t have the strength for Baxter’s psychoanalysis. He was tired. His head was pounding and his face felt like it was about to fall off.
When he walked up the stairs and stopped in front of the bedroom door, he steeled himself, not knowing what awaited him on the other side. He didn’t know if she would be angry or sad. But knowing Scarlet even if she was sad, she wouldn’t show it—not to him. She would hide her pain behind the mask of anger she always wore so well, too afraid to show weakness. He turned the doorknob and opened the door. Scarlet was walking from the bathroom over to the bed, patting the bandages around her hands. When she paused and looked up at him, their eyes met and for a brief moment Hunter wished he had the right to walk to her and take her in his arms. While they stared at each other, the air around them suddenly laden with both pain and desire, he noticed her suck in a breath.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft, shaky. Every trace of the anger echoing through her voice as she yelled at him earlier was gone. Maybe his plan worked. Maybe by beating him she’d managed to let go just a little of her anger, of her pain.
He stepped further into the room. “I’m tired. I need some shuteye.”
“Here? There’s, like, ten other bedrooms you can stay in.”
“Like I told Riggs. Where you go, I go.” He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in the corner.
“Hunter, you don’t have to stay. You don’t—”
“I know. But like I told you before, I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
He walked to the bathroom door, and Scarlet turned to him.
“You don’t have to do this. You can leave. You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Scar.”
He let his head hang down, not wanting to look into her beautiful blue eyes that would make him regret everything even more, and walked into the bathroom before closing the door behind him.
After taking a long shower, washing all the traces of Scarlet’s wrath off his body, Hunter stepped out into the bedroom. One of the bedside lamps was still on, and Scarlet was lying on the bed, her back turned to him.
He glanced at the couch in front of the window and saw she had left him a blanket and pillow. It was only when he walked closer that he noticed his chain had been placed there as well.
The metal was cold when he picked it up, heavy. Seven years. It had been seven years since she died, and still she completely ruled his life. Her death would always just be a heartbeat away, haunting him until his last breath.
Glancing at Scarlet, he caught her staring at him, but she turned around when their eyes met—again, shutting him out. It was something she was good at, shutting people out—just like him.
With a sigh and a heavy heart, Hunter took the chain and placed it around his neck. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to let go. Her ghost would follow him wherever he went.
That night, while Hunter struggled to sleep, he stared up at the ceiling, listening to Scarlet’s soft sobs. His heart ached for her. His body yearned for her. She probably thought he was sleeping,
because she would never show weakness by crying while she knew he was listening. To show that she cared was not something she knew how to do.
More than anything he wanted to get into bed next to her, to hold her. He wished he could wipe the tears from her eyes, erase the hurt from her heart—but he couldn’t. Even though he would be trying to do the right thing, he would only make it worse. He always just made it worse. Scarlet was already fucked-up as it was, and Hunter had made it worse. He would never forgive himself for that, which was why he would only stick around until he was sure she was safe. She had been through enough, and he would be damned if he added anymore pain and torment to her life.
Hunter decided that the next morning he would corner Baxter, come up with a plan to sort this shit out as soon as possible. The sooner he left, removed himself from her life, the better. But he would not leave before he knew she was safe.
He owed her that.
Chapter 10
When Scarlet woke up the next morning, Hunter wasn’t there. She didn’t know when she fell asleep—or when she cried herself to sleep—but judging by the way her head was pounding and her eyes were burning, she didn’t sleep for long.
Once she got out of bed, she saw the clothes she had arrived in the day before, cleaned and placed on the chair.
Her body was aching everywhere as she tried to get dressed as slowly as possible. She didn’t know whether it was her workout with the punching bag or the workout she got from bashing Hunter’s face in.
What was he thinking? Provoking her like that? Holding his fucking face up high like he wanted more? And what the hell was she thinking, just letting go? Just letting all her emotions and all her fury possess her?
Yesterday it felt real fucking good punishing him, this morning it felt real fucking shitty.
It was obvious that Hunter wasn’t leaving until he fulfilled his promise to her by making sure she was safe. She just did not understand his motivation behind it. He owed her nothing. There was nothing keeping him there with her, so why did he have to be so damn stubborn? If he would just leave, she wouldn’t have to look into those emerald eyes of his and think about what could have been if his dead girlfriend wasn’t her sister, and if Scarlet wasn’t so fucked-up. Just thinking about it had her chest feeling like it would cave in at any second.