Scarlet stared at the plate in front of her. It was a choice between chicken and mashed potatoes, or chicken salad. She glanced at the plates of the men around her. Or both.
Just thinking about opening her mouth and trying to swallow the tiniest bit of food had her stomach churning.
Whiskey. That was what she needed—and a lot of it too.
“You need to eat.”
Scarlet glanced up at James. He was looking at her like she was glass, and the tiniest little nudge would cause her to crack. She hated it. She wasn’t a little porcelain doll that would break when handled a little roughly.
She pushed the plate away. “I’m really not hungry.”
“You need to keep your strength up.”
“I think it’s a little too late for you to start acting like a caring dad, don’t you?”
He stared at her for a breath longer, and then concentrated on the plate of food in front of him.
Riggs wasn’t eating either, and she caught him staring at her a few times too. Why would he attack Hunter? Why would he feel the need to beat the shit out of Hunter? And what did he whisper to Hunter before he stormed off?
So many questions, so little answers.
Hunter hadn’t returned yet. She figured he’d probably left by now. Made sense if he did. Ever since he got involved in her shit, his life had just gone from bad to worse. Scarlet was willing to bet that if someone had told him a few weeks ago his life was about to make a turn for the worse, he would have straight out laughed.
Fuck. She couldn’t sit there anymore. She needed to get up and do something before her mind took her to places she really didn’t want it to go.
“I don’t suppose this place has something like a gym?”
James wiped his mouth with a napkin. “As a matter of fact, we do. I’ll show you.”
He got up from his seat, and Scarlet rolled her eyes, not in the mood to spend even two minutes alone with him. He would probably want to use the chance to bond with her. Fuck that. Bonding with your daughter time passed twenty-four years ago.
The chair screeched across the floor as she stood up. Riggs glanced at her from under his lashes, and again she wondered what his deal was.
While they headed down yet another hall, making it seem like the damn house was just one giant maze decorated with nothing but a few carpets and paintings, seriously lacking some personal touches, Scarlet tried her best not to even breathe too loudly. She worried James would take the opportunity to talk, which she didn’t want to do—especially with him.
To her surprise, they reached the gym without him attempting to stir up some conversation with her.
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 screaming 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.