Page 14 of Saving Scarlett

Bane’s chuckle turned into a bark of laughter, sending a flush to my cheeks. “Glamping?”

“Yes. Glamorous camping. It’s a real thing. It’s like camping. We’re in the forest and eating grilled burgers. We’ll play board games in front of a fire and drink moonshine, but we have real beds and a roof over our heads instead of sleeping in a tent. Glamping.”

Shaking his head, he continued to chuckle as he took a bite of his food, the firelight flickering in his eyes.

When he’d first taken me from my home and told me he’d been sent to kill me, I would have never thought he would be sitting across from me, eating a burger and laughing with me, but I wasn’t complaining. I knew it wasn’t going to last forever, and that the shoe would eventually drop, but until it did, I intended to just try to enjoy the respite. After years of pain, I deserved it.

Sitting across the table from Bane, my eyes lingered on the tattoos covering his muscular frame. Intricate, cryptic designs that hinted at hidden depths beneath his stoic exterior. I wondered what stories lurked in the ink etched into his skin.

Glancing up, he caught my stare. Although the flush across my cheeks deepened, I didn’t look away. What I was doing was dangerous, but no more dangerous than living with an abusive sociopath.

“Do they hurt…the tattoos?”

His lips quirked up and he shrugged. “Sometimes. The pain reminds me I’m alive.” He set his drink down and dipped his chin toward the bruises on my wrist. “And you?”

I tensed, pulling my sleeves down when old memories threatened to surface. Sensing my discomfort, he took my hand. His rough, calloused fingers entwined with mine. The contact anchored me, allowing the dark visions to recede.

“Another time. When you’re ready, you can tell me about it.”

Nodding, I squeezed his hand in silent gratitude. In the short time we’d known each other, Bane had proven himself a man of few words but profound empathy. He never pushed or pried, letting me set the pace of our blossoming connection.

I studied our entwined fingers, struck by the dichotomy. His hands could end lives in an instant, yet they cradled mine with exquisite tenderness, like a wild beast gently tamed.

“One day, you’ll have to tell me about your tattoos.” Letting go of his hand, I traced the intricate patterns of one of the designs on his arm, the swirls and shapes like nothing I’d ever seen before. They depicted scenes of violence and redemption, damnation and salvation. Each image told a story, but only he knew the full narrative etched into his flesh.

Although I kept expecting him to pull his arm away from me, he didn’t, allowing me to run my fingers from one to another.

For a moment, I was completely entranced by this lethal man with a poet’s soul. And though no more words passed between us while we finished dinner, and he never did tell me the story behind his tattoos, I’d never felt so deeply understood.

After dinner, Bane and I decided we would take showers and then watch a movie. I finished my shower first and returned to the living room, adding more wood to the fire and sitting on the sofa as I waited for him. The warm glow of the fireplace cast dancing shadows across the cabin walls, the events of the past few days replaying in my mind like a disturbing slideshow I couldn’t turn off. I sat on the sofa, hugging my knees to my chest as I stared into the flickering flames.

Bane entered the room holding the first aid kit, sitting down beside me without a word. Lost in my own head, I tensed when he opened the kit and took my arm in his hand. His touch was gentle, caring, as he cleaned the gashes on my wrists with antiseptic wipes. I studied his face—the focused look in his piercing blue eyes, the furrow between his brows—and something stirred inside me. A man who kills for a living shouldn’t be capable of such tenderness.

“This might sting a bit.”

Biting my lip, I nodded, holding my breath until the stinging subsided as he spread ointment over my wounds. Once he was done, he wrapped my injuries with gauze, his fingers lingering for a moment after he secured the bandage. Our eyes met, the connection turning my cheeks warm. As a married woman, I knew it was wrong to feel anything for Bane, but I couldn’t deny the spark that lingered just below the surface of my skin. I had no intention of acting on it, but it was there, nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

Giving a slight nod, he moved to tend to the bruises on my face. I closed my eyes, unable to watch pity take shape on his features. His touch remained gentle, the brush of his fingers sending shivers skittering through my nerves like an electric charge that should never have been possible.

When he finished, he packed up the first aid kit and left the room to wash his hands. I stared after him, knowing I owed him more than I could ever repay, not just for rescuing me, but for treating me with a kindness I hadn’t known in a long time. For the first time since Joshua’s betrayal, I felt the faintest flicker of hope.

Chapter 14

The Savior

What surprised me the most as Scarlett and I prepared and ate dinner together was how willing she was to remain at the cottage with me for a while. I knew it was for the best. If we left her husband to stew, he would eventually show his hand. People like him couldn’t handle not being in control. With his wife missing, and his financial accounts locked, he would eventually break. That would be when we would see him at his worst.

Finishing up our meal, we brought our plates to the kitchen. Scarlett insisted on cleaning up, as did I, so we settled on her washing the dishes, and me drying them and putting them away. It would have been comical to be behaving like an old married couple with this woman, if only she didn’t have the ability to get my cock hard. I may have been the bad guy, but she was trouble.

“What game do you want to play?” she asked, excitement dancing in her dark eyes

I shrugged, leaning over to put the clean skillet back into the cabinet. “We could also watch a movie instead. I’ve got a few on Blu-ray. I’m pretty beat.”

She shrugged, but I could tell she wasn’t opposed to the idea. “What kind of movies do you have? I could maybe be swayed—as long as we play games one of these nights. I haven’t had a game night in a long time.”

Nodding, I tried to remember what videos I’d left at the cottage as I dried our plates. “I know I have a few horror flicks. I think I have The Shining and maybe some slasher movies.”

---