Page 91 of Taming Scarlet

“Christ,” I hissed.

“What?”

“He didn’t fucking retire. Not that young. He had to be fired. Probably failed a psych exam or was a creep on a case. Did you even call his precinct to check?”

The way Marcus’s gaze slid out the window gave me all the answers I needed.

A former cop meant that this wasn’t just some nobody with an obsession. This was a guy who was likely armed and trained in at least some hand-to-hand combat.

Not as much as I got, of course. But enough to be a problem. Especially when we interrupted his plans to complete some sick fantasy with Scarlet.

We were about at the hour mark.

And hour that fuckhead had her.

A lot of bad shit could happen in that timeframe.

I prayed she was keeping her wits about her, was trying to placate this guy instead of pissing him off, was maybe even trying to engage him in conversation to bide herself time.

She had to know I was coming for her.

That I would move heaven and fucking Earth to bring her home.

“Come the fuck on,” I growled when we hit the third light in a row.

“How could he drag an unconscious woman into his apartment?” Marcus asked. “Assuming that’s what the drugs did.”

“Normally, I would like to think that someone would stop him or say something or call the cops. But I think with the current drug epidemic, people would simply assume the woman is too high to walk. And New Yorkers just… notoriously mind their own business. It’s possible. Or, who the fuck knows, maybe this place has a back entrance or some shit like that where he wouldn’t be as seen.”

“Do you… carry a weapon?” Marcus asked.

“I won’t need it,” I said, hearing the threat in my voice as I envisioned grabbing this fuck by the back of his neck, and slamming his face into the wall until it flattened for daring to put his hands on Scarlet.

The drive felt impossibly long, but it was likely only fifteen minutes before we were pulling up to an apartment building beside what looked to be a closed down old bar.

“Where are you going?” Marcus asked when he went toward the apartment building, but my instincts had me going toward the abandoned bar instead.

No one to see.

To hear.

To know what he wanted to do to Scarlet.

“Go and check the apartment,” I invited. “I’m going in here,” I said, stepping in front of the door.

Reaching out, I carefully turned the knob, but it didn’t budge.

Taking a deep breath, I took a step back, then rammed my full weight against the door, feeling it crack and swing forward, letting me into the dark space.

I had to go get my girl.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Scarlet

Consciousness came slowly, my mind sticky as molasses, making each thought struggle to fully materialize.

There was a headache hammering behind my eyes, and my body felt heavy, immovable.

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