Chapter 16

Sixteen

EMORY

What an amateur.

It seems my little Rogue isn't as crafty as I thought.

Of course I put her location services on and shared it with myself before she climbed—rather aggressively—out of my car and escaped into hers.

Little Miss Independent has made four trips to her boxcar from her apartment, and each time, she tries to rearrange her belongings to make them fit. It isn't working, and we'll be late for our appointment at this rate.

I sigh with annoyance and open my door, letting the breezy Chicago wind rush into my car. As soon as my foot hits the cracked pavement, I feel eyes on me.

This is the type of neighborhood that my agent warned me about.

Dilapidated buildings. A few homeless loitering around. Children without shoes running down the street, chasing a ball that desperately needs to be blown up. Vehicles that are somehow in worse condition than Scottie's parked along the side of the road. It's not as bad as the homeless camp I followed Scottie to the other day, but it's a close second.

As soon as I enter the apartment complex, a stench of mildew hits me in the face. It's Grandma Lottie's basement all over again. When Taytum and I were younger, I'd convince her to play hide and seek down there. Except, I'd never come and find her.

Ford was always the one that went back for her.

I jog up the stairs, knowing Scottie has to be on one of the upper floors with how red-faced and sweaty she is each time she heads for her car. A few stray cockroaches scurry away, avoiding my large feet. I stand at the top of the stairwell on the second floor. I listen intently for someone huffing and puffing, but I hear a few curse words instead.

" God dammit."

I stuff a chuckle down my throat and roll my lips.

"I need to exercise more."

As if swinging around on a pole isn't exercise?

" Ow. Shit!"

Before I can stop myself, I turn toward Scottie's adorable cursing. I head for the echo of something crashing and find her on the dirty floor, holding her ankle in a tight grip. Her eyes widen, and she quickly tries to scramble to her feet.

"Wh—what are you doing here?" she stutters, trying to brush her sweaty hair away from her face.

I roll my eyes and head straight for her.

She's kind of a mess, and I can't decide if I feel bad for her or if I'm amused by her.

Maybe a bit of both.

Instead of answering her, I bend down and scoop her into my arms. Naturally, she protests and slaps my chest. Ignoring her again, I carry her through the open apartment door, and it takes everything in me not to let my jaw fall.

This is where she lives?

Fuck, no wonder she needs money.

There are cracks in the walls, mismatched kitchen chairs at a small table, one measly tattered couch, and don't even get me started on the "bed."

I stop in my tracks when I see a random pot on her mattress.

"You do know that's not a stove, right?"

She huffs. "Put me down."

I set her on the kitchen counter. It's not big, but neither is she, so she fits just fine.

"Let me see it," I demand.

Scottie's soft lips purse, and to no surprise, she keeps her legs dangling and refuses to show me her ankle. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought it was obvious." I gesture to her chaotic state. "You clearly need help moving into my house, and what kind of husband would I be if I didn't show up?"

Scottie shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe the fake one that you are…"

A deep laugh leaves me. "There's nothing fake about it. Papers are signed."

That seems to shut her up. She breaks our eye contact and looks off to the side, as if she's rethinking our scheme. I take it as an opportunity to slip her shoe off and look at her injured ankle.

Blue-painted toes stare back at me. I ignore the softness of her leg as I grip her by the calf and examine the red spot forming on the outside of her ankle. "Do you have ice?" I look around while still keeping her leg in my hand. I eye the small refrigerator.

"I'm fine." Scottie tries to pull her leg away, but I tighten my fingers and stop her. The kitchen is such a small space that I can reach over and open the freezer while keeping her trapped.

It's completely empty.

No ice.

No frozen pizzas.

Nothing.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She's looking in the complete other direction. Her plump bottom lip is trapped between her teeth as she nibbles on the flesh like it's her only source of food.

With a bad feeling in my gut, I shut the freezer and open the fridge.

Jesus.

There's one near-empty package of cheese slices, some off-brand hazelnut coffee creamer, a few oranges, and…a half-eaten biscotti? It's worse than a poor college student trying to save money.

This is just…sad.

I slowly shut the refrigerator and quickly run my gaze down her slim frame. It's clear to me that she doesn't eat out much—not to mention, she obviously doesn't have the finances for it. My curiosity piques even further, but I stuff the little tidbit of information in the back of my mind and get on with it.

"Well," I sigh, "I guess we can ice it at my place after we get married." Which I guess is her place too.

Scottie catches my eye, and it only takes looking into her baby blues for a split second to know she has a wealth of fuckery trapped somewhere behind them. I suddenly want to know everything there is to know about her. Where is her family? Why does she live in a shithole? How did a girl like her end up working at the Cat House?

Slowly, I drop her leg and let it dangle beside the other one. My heart thumps harder than it should when I take a step closer. My hands suddenly have a mind of their own as they creep up her legs and move to land on her hips.

Her sweet gasp catches me by surprise, and I clench my teeth. It's hard to focus, and I never have a hard time focusing. A hot swallow works down my throat when I lift her up and slowly place her feet on the floor. My hands linger for a second too long, and I hate that she notices.

I step away quickly and run my hand through my hair.

"What else do you need?" My question is gruff, and it confuses her.

I stare at the furrowed lines along her forehead and follow her line of sight. "Just my photography stuff."

"Photography stuff? You're a photographer?"

She laughs sarcastically, and for some reason, it bothers me.

"Not officially." Suddenly, she looks embarrassed. Pink tints the apples of her cheeks before she half-limps over to a black camera lying on top of her makeshift bedside table that I'm pretty sure is just an old cardboard box turned upside down.

I wait and watch as she scoops it up and places it in a case. There are a few other odds and ends that she grabs, and then she sighs. She glances at me over her shoulder. The setting sun shines through the one window in her little apartment, and the glow casts her in the softest light, making her look less like the woman who tried to blackmail me and more like someone who is seemingly…innocent.

She hobbles down to her knees. There's a rustling of papers before she stands back up and is holding a thick pile of photos in her hands.

"Okay, I'm ready."

I raise an eyebrow and stalk over to her. She moves out of the way when I bend down to grab the pitiful—yet innovative—bedside table and flip it right side up. I open the flaps and dump the cockroach onto the floor, watching it run and hide.

"There."

Scottie slowly drops the photos and some envelopes into the box, and although I know I shouldn't, I take a look.

The photographs are mostly old and faded. One catches my attention, and I can't seem to stop staring at it. It's a man wearing a Chicago Blue Devils T-shirt, and I think it's the same one she wore to the game she came to. It's not nearly as worn in the photo as it is now, though. He's standing in the stands of the arena, and a little girl is on his shoulders with blonde pigtails and a huge smile.

I think it's Scottie and her dad.

Feeling like I've intruded on something I shouldn't, and shockingly feeling a little bad about it, I shut the cardboard box.

When I look back at my new wife, I'm not surprised to see that she's nervously nibbling on her lip. I try to fall back into my usual unapproachable, aloof self and ignore it. Scottie and her nervous habit of nibbling on her lip will not thaw my cold exterior.

"Well, let's go. We're gonna have to stop at City Hall before we go home," I announce.

Wanting to harden the soft spot I start to feel for her, I decide to take a dig at her place.

"Do you want to take your pet?"

Confusion crosses her face. "What pet?"

I gesture to the corner of the room where the cockroach ran to. "Your cockroach?"

Her eyes burn with anger, and I smirk the entire time I follow her as she limps out of the shithole apartment.