Chapter 6

SCARLET

6

Sickness swam in my gut, but I forced myself to ignore the churning.

I gripped the hair dryer like it was my last lifeline, hating the fear that rippled over me as the door was flung open.

Of course they had a damn key, but I was ready.

Whoever came through that door had made the mistake of underestimating me, stepping into the bathroom with that smug look plastered on his too-pretty face.

I swung with more force than finesse as those dark brown eyes caught mine for just a split moment, confusion searing across his features only a fraction of a second before the hair dryer collided with his skull. The cord and plug skittered across the floor as he stumbled to the side, and I readied myself to strike him again.

"What the fuck!"

I didn't relent, smashing the dryer into his face once more, not faltering when I saw red trickle down from his temple. Blood—a sight that had stopped bothering me far too long ago. But then his arm shot out, faster than I could react, and suddenly my back was pressed against the cool wall, the air knocked out of me and my weapon torn from my grip. He didn't release me as he pressed me against the wall with his body, tossing the hair dryer to the floor. The sound of clattering on the dark tiles made me flinch, and this only seemed to excite him more as he arched a brow, a twisted smile splitting his face. He reminded me far too much of Cristian, although his face was more angular, and I tried to ignore the oddly intoxicating cologne I could smell on him.

"Got some fight in you, huh?" His breath was hot against my cheek, his dark eyes glinting like glass.

"Get off me," I spat, but it came out less intimidating and more like a wheeze.

He brought his hand up to his face, swiping at the blood and then bringing his hand up beside my face, those dark eyes moving to the smear on his fingers. For a moment, he just looked at it, his expression unreadable. Then, before I could guess his next move, he wiped it onto my lips with a deliberate stroke, delving his finger between them despite my attempts to turn my cheek.

"War paint," he said, that wretched smile playing on his lips.

"Psycho," I shot back, tasting iron despite my attempts to not let the blood into my mouth. It was unsanitary and far too risky. This freak could be carrying God-knows-what in his blood, and I bared my teeth. Then again, I'd already bitten his brother.

I lurched against him, attempting to free myself, but he just chuckled and pressed himself against me harder.

His excitement now jammed into my lower stomach had me gritting my teeth.

"What happened?" Someone called out, a voice that didn't belong to Cristian. It was gruffer and deeper, belonging to someone who I pictured was more than capable of snapping me two.

"She whacked me with the hair dryer, I'll be fine," Julian responded, those dark eyes locked onto mine. They were pits of twisted joy, dragging me into their depths in an attempt to drown me.

"Cristian said you had claws, little kitty."

My heart thrashed against my ribcage, skipping several beats as he began feeling me up. Although it became clear he was searching for something. I tried to move away, but he only pinned me harder against the wall.

He found what he was looking for as he yanked my phone from my back pocket, and I watched with dismay as he tossed it out into the hall.

"Fuck you," I snarled, and he barked out a horrid laugh.

"I'd like that, pyro." He arched a brow before dipping his head, and I grimaced, my skin crawling as he dragged his tongue up my cheek. I couldn't move despite my best efforts, and I just thrashed my head as he pulled back and cocked his own.

His lips curled into a grotesque promise, a snarl dressed as a smile. "I'm going to fuck you," he stated, a blend of threat and promise. "And you're going to like it."

The words slithered over me like a serpent, making my blood curdle.

"Like hell I will," I growled, the taste of blood and fury thick on my tongue. "You'll be raping me."

"Rape?" He chuckled darkly, and the sound of it skittered up my spine. "Such a harsh word for what we both know is inevitable."

"Only in your dreams," I retorted.

His gaze drilled into me, unyielding, as if he could command me into submission with sheer willpower. But he couldn't. Not me. I was chaos incarnate, a term coined by Noms years ago, I was broken but never beaten. I refused to stay down no matter what life threw at me, and I wasn't about to become a goddamn plaything for him and his crazy brother.

"I think you'll find yourself dreaming of me soon enough," he said, his hand moving to my throat. His brow twitched as he took in the bruises littering my skin, but then he wrapped his own hand around my neck.

Fear coiled in my gut, but I refused to show it, years of having to toughen myself and hide my pain and terror making themselves known.

"Are you afraid, little pyro?" he whispered as he leaned forward, his lips brushing mine.

I took what chance I had, intent to wound him like he planned for me.

I snapped forward, my teeth gnashing together. He wasn't fast enough as he attempted to yank back, and I caught the edge of his lip. I bit down with all my might as he hissed, his grip tightening like a vice, threatening to shatter my defiance. But I wouldn't let him as I held on.

Blood snuck between my teeth, the metallic taste tarnishing my mouth as my airway was constricted. The pain was immeasurable on my already bruised throat.

But if I was going to die here, I was sure as shit going to leave a mark.

I wasn't going to let go, but when my vision started to blur on the edges, his hand on my throat threatening to finish me for good, my bite loosened. He was quick to free himself with a quick jerk of his head, although his grip didn't falter as I struggled for air.

My arms were pinned between our bodies, and I writhed, desperate to get some oxygen as he ran his tongue over his injured lip.

"Fuck," he hissed. His scowl was a harbinger of storms as he yanked me from the bathroom, his grip ironclad. My bare feet scraped and stumbled over the cold tiles, every jerk a crude reminder of my sudden plunge from fiery resistance to helpless prey. He hauled me into the living room, and my vision danced as I now clawed at his arm feebly.

"The bitch bit me," he barked, and I heard the sharp laugh of Cristian as my gaze rolled over the fuzzy room.

I spied Cristian alongside a man in a suit, who was watching me with an intensity that made my heart stutter.

The man holding me finally released me as he shoved me onto the floor, and I collapsed, drawing in ragged, painful breaths. Each gasp was like shards of glass in my throat, but I inhaled the pain, the escape of death not something I truly chased.

"Didn't you get the memo, little pyro?" he sneered as the horrid gray rug seemed to breathe beneath me, my vision still fuzzy. "We solved your problems; we made them go away. You owe us for that."

I steadied myself on all fours, willing my breathing to ease and my heart to slow. His words were like a knife to the gut, and fear laced my voice despite my best efforts. "What did you do to Tommy?"

I shuddered as someone dropped to their knees beside me, one hand capturing my chin and turning my face.

I stared into Cristian's wretched eyes, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Relax, kitten. He's swimming with the fishes," he said, mimicking a gangster from an old-time movie.

Laughter fell from his mouth, callous and biting, echoing off walls that seemed to close in with each chortle as my stomach plummeted. I swallowed the knot forming in my throat, the taste of panic stark against my tongue. Tommy couldn't be...

"You should be grateful, kitten. No jail time for you, just service to us. That was the agreement." His thumb brushed over my lips, and I felt the blood drying on them from the bite I'd delivered his brother.

The chill in the room had nothing on the ice flooding my veins. My heart thundered, a wild thing caged by ribs that suddenly felt too frail.

The agreement? What fucking agreement?

"Did you actually care for that prick, kitten? Such a shame," Cristian's voice cut through again, dripping with mock sympathy. A part of me wanted to launch at him, teeth bared, but I was frozen, his words swirling around me like shadows ready to claim me.

Had I sentenced Tommy to his grave?

"You signed up for this, pyro." My gaze moved to the brother who was now touching the wound on his head. "Our help?—"

"Help?" The word escaped me like a bullet. "I was drunk out of my mind."

"Is that true?"

Cristian rolled his eyes as I looked to the brother in the navy suit, his voice rich and deep. He was broader than the other two, although he harbored the same dark eyes. His were cold and calculating, studying me like I held many secrets he wished to unravel.

"So she had a few drinks when she agreed, she still agreed," Cristian said with a shrug as he released my face and rose.

"Cristian." The lone word carried enough weight that my teeth gritted, but Cristian was unbothered as he strode back to the kitchen.

"Who cares, Ty? She's fun. We could all use a little fun."

Ty. So that was the big one's name. I'd remember that. Now I just needed to figure out the name of the one I'd attacked, who was dabbing at his head with a kitchen cloth and nursing a mug of what I assumed was coffee. Was getting attacked a normal occurrence for him?

"Whether you like it or not, princess, you got our help. And our help comes at a price," Ty said as he moved around the kitchen island, his mug still in hand. His polished suit and giant frame screamed money and discipline. His hair wasn't blond like the other two, although he had similar features. Definitely brothers despite his dark brown crew cut hair.

He reminded me of someone military with how he held himself, a man few would ever oppose. His presence alone would make most men second-guess themselves.

Too bad I wasn't a man.

"I didn't want your help." My throat was on fire, slivers of ice inside with every word I'd uttered.

"That's irrelevant now. You got it, and you need to pay for it." Ty paused a few feet from me, staring me down like I was some wretched dog on the floor before him.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you get to wind up like Tommy." Mr. Hair Dryer head stated, and a cold shiver rippled over me.

"You're ours now, kitten," Cristian stated as he sipped his hot drink, those bare feet silent as he strode back over.

"Go fuck yourself," I managed to rasp out, the inflammation in my throat now making words near impossible.

His eyes narrowed, a predator sizing up its prey. "You'll break, Scar. Just like the rest of them. Whether you crumble or shatter, I guess we'll just see." He crouched down, out of reach, although there was little use in trying to attack him with Ty the fucking concrete wall right next him. "Many women would kill to be where you are. To be our pet."

The word 'pet' rang in my ears, the fight burning to life once more. He saw me as some animal he could break or tame, a mere plaything. But they had another thing coming if they thought I'd simply roll over or crumble. I belonged to no one, and I'd hang myself with their leash before I'd ever wear one willingly.