Page 30 of Beautiful Chaos

My eyes slide to the flowers in the passenger seat, and the box in my pocket feels like lava against my thigh.

When Scarlett texts me, I can’t ignore her. But she’s never needed me this early in the day. It’s usually in the evening, after the sun has set, when her demons plague her. Something must have happened for her to need me right now. My stomach churns at what that something could be.

I ignore the suffocating pain in the center of my chest and the guilt that consumes me for ruining Cat’s birthday.

I quickly type a reply.

Me: I’m on my way.

I then send a message to Cat.

Me: Got caught up at Slate. I’ll be a couple of hours late getting home. I’m so sorry, baby.

Again, ignoring my guilt, I throw my phone into the center console and speed out of the parking lot. Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway of the old house. It’s strange to see it in the light. I haven’t paid much attention to the outside of the house in years. Just like the other older homes along the street, the lawn is well-kept.

After setting my wedding band in the console with my phone, I exit my vehicle. I take the steps two at a time and use the key I acquired years ago to open the front door. It comes as no surprise when I find the house quiet. It’s rare that I see Scarlett outside of the bedroom. Our time together is always spent in the room upstairs.

Instead of heading straight to Scarlett, I go for my customary drink. I don’t know if Scarlett orders my favorite whiskey on purpose or if it is just a coincidence. I throw back three shots before the harsh liquid calms my nerves.

Everything inside me screams for me to leave this dark place. I shouldn’t be here. I should be with Cat, celebrating her birthday. Instead, I’m here, adding to my list of sins.

Rinsing my glass, I set it and the bottle back inside the barren cabinet.

Scarlett waits for me on the bed, in her usual position. My cock immediately fills with blood, and my hands move to the buttons on my shirt.

Today, she’s wearing a blood-red bra and thong set, the bright color matching her name. Her black and red hair shines from the sunlight filtering in from the window. She wears the same thick leather bands on her wrists and rings on her fingers. She’s even more beautiful in the daylight.

She holds completely still in her submission position as I approach the bed. While I’ve rarely been here during the day, Scarlett acts the same as she does when I’m here at night.

I order her to come closer and she scoots on her knees to the end of the bed. Wrapping my fingers around her delicate throat, I tilt her face upward. Black streaks trail down her cheeks from her eyeliner and mascara, as if she has been crying. Her appearance has me loosening my grip on her neck.

“No!” she shouts, her hand flying to mine and holding it there, reapplying the pressure I had just released.

“Why have you been crying?” I ask, keeping my voice firm.

Her tear-filled eyes lock onto mine. “I need to feel the pain,” she whispers brokenly. “I need to be punished.”

I come closer to the bed and my knees knock against the edge. “Why? What happened?”

She shakes her head despite my tight grip around her neck. Her throat convulses against my palm. “I can’t talk about it. Please don’t ask me to.”

Gritting my teeth, and against my better judgment, I give her a tight nod. “Tell me what you need.”

The question barely leaves my lips when I spot something over her shoulder on the bed. A black-handled whip with long leather strands. I return my eyes to Scarlet and she looks at me with a dark sense of need.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice deepening.

Her tongue darts out and rubs against her red lips. “Yes. You have to, Hunter. It’s the only way to make them go away.”

Scarlett’s demons.

Sometimes they visit her as often as once or twice a week, and sometimes only once or twice a month. It seems like they’ve been present more lately, and that really concerns me.

To keep our sanity, denying her request isn’t an option for either of us. She’ll end up more of a mess than she already is, and seeing that isn’t something I can handle. These “punishments” help her release the pain she harbors inside her.

When I release her throat, her chest rises and falls rapidly. She flips around to her hands and knees in front of me without needing to be told.

After taking off my shirt, I drop it on the floor. Walking to the side of the bed, I grab the whip, the familiar touch of the handle is cool and smooth in my palm. This won’t be the first time I’ve used it on her, and it won’t be the last. When Scarlett’s thoughts become too dark, the whip is brought out.

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