Page 4 of Saving Scarlett

I could make it look like an accident or even a home robbery, and I wasn’t there to question why he wanted her dead. There was no reason for him to tell me half of the shit that came tumbling out of his mouth. In my line of work, I tried to stay away from all that. I didn’t care why someone ordered a hit or whether the target was a modern-day saint. My job was simple: take out the target and make money. Period. Whether his wife was the devil or the sweetest woman on the planet, I didn’t give a shit. What he really needed was a therapist to talk to, even his barber would do, someone he could ramble to for a few hours to make him feel important. I had better things to do.

The underground club we sat in was a shady place in downtown New Orleans, but I’d chosen it specifically because I knew no one inside would speak a word of our meeting. Even though I didn’t own the club, and the owner didn’t even know my real name, he was indebted to me for a big job I’d done for him in the past. As far as the other patrons, most of them were so strung out that they wouldn’t even remember being there themselves by the time they woke up in the morning, if they woke up at all.

As the clock ticked, I looked at my phone, pretending to get a message so he would get the hint that he needed to stop talking. “All I need to know is a general timeline and where to find her. I have to go, so if that’s all…”

I pushed back in my chair, standing to leave, when he slid a slip of paper across the table. “This is my address. I’ll be out of town next week at a business conference. She should be home alone then.”

Thinking he was done speaking, finally, I turned to walk away when he grabbed my wrist.

I came very close to knocking him unconscious for touching me, but I clenched my jaw and turned back to look at him. “Don’t ever put your hands on me,” I growled, pulling out of his grip. “Not if you want to keep them.”

Knowing what was good for him, he backed away, holding his hands up in supplication. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to add the code to our security system so you can get inside the house.”

Annoyance still boiling in my blood, I handed the paper back to him, scanning the club again as he scribbled some digits onto it. We’d been in there for way too long. I never let my meetings go on for that long, and I should have shut him down twenty minutes earlier, but I was amusing myself with how talking about his wife turned his face the color of a firetruck.

The moment he held the paper back out to me, I yanked it out of his hand, and walked away. Slipping the paper into my pocket, I walked out of the bar and back into the alley.

As I strolled toward my downtown apartment, I couldn’t help but chuckle. How big of an idiot was he to give the security code to get into his home to a known killer? It was then that I decided that I would definitely pay them a visit—before he left for his trip. Since I had the keys to the castle, I may as well have a little bit of fun.

Chapter 3

The Survivor

The closer I got to home, the tighter my chest became, threatening to squeeze out the air in my lungs. Although I knew it was stupid to return home, and that some would blame me for the bruises on my skin barely camouflaged by expensive makeup, leaving Joshua wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Everything I had was tied to my husband’s business. Our home. Our money. My business. Everything. Even if I were willing to throw it all away, the threats–and his connections–kept me at home. They made it impossible for me to escape him. Since my husband was more concerned about his public image than he was about me, he would not be willing to face the embarrassment of me leaving him. I was trapped in a life I didn’t want and powerless to change it. The feeling that I had no control over my life and was completely powerless over it was overwhelming for me, but I didn’t know what else to do.

Bane, the man who’d talked to me about the adventures of Treasure Island that morning, had never come to the register for his coffee. He must have slipped out when I returned behind the counter to fix it for him. It occupied my thoughts for the rest of the day. I couldn’t fathom why he left a perfectly tasty, free cup of coffee on the counter. Even though I was married, I couldn’t get him out of my mind, and it was troubling. His eyes had captivated me and held me in place until I didn’t know which direction I was going. The fact that I would probably never see him again was for the best but fantasizing about him wasn’t a bad thing. In a life overshadowed with darkness, the thought of the handsome stranger could bring in a little light.

The interstate traffic crawled along at a glacial place as I made my way through downtown, my mind keeping me occupied the entire time. The New Orleans freeways had been undergoing road construction for at least two decades, and I could see no end in sight. Even though I had left shortly after my store closed, the time of day didn’t matter. There was always traffic.

Blowing out a breath, I pressed the key fob button to open the gate into my neighborhood, hoping my husband wasn’t home. In the event he wasn’t there, I could only speculate where he was, but anywhere was better than at home with me. I wasn’t certain he had a mistress, but I wasn’t naive either. A huge part of me hoped he had someone else. I hoped one day he would leave me for her, so I could move on with my life. Perhaps one day I would be able to build a family and experience true love. Until then, my secret IUD would remain in place. In no way would I bring a child into a loveless marriage. If I did, I would never be able to escape.

The night sky was dark when I pulled into the driveway, the lights of the city blotting out the stars. It was like as a visual representation of my life, the light in me nearly snuffed out by the constant barrage of suffering.

While the engine was still running, I sat in my car for a moment, not opening the garage door right away. If my husband was home, he would demand to know why I hadn’t returned home the night before, and no excuse would suffice. He would accuse me of cheating, as he always did, and then we would fight all night long. Despite my better judgment, I had never cheated. I had never given myself the chance to feel pleasure without pain, but that didn’t matter. He was a narcissist, a master of gaslighting, and I couldn’t even remember how or when exactly he became that way. It was impossible for me to pinpoint the moment when my love had turned into a monster. He hadn’t always been like that, but perhaps I had been so blinded by the good times that I had ignored all the warning signs. In any case, it didn’t matter anymore. There was a lot I wished I could do over, but time only moved in one direction.

Swallowing down the fear that bubbled in my throat, I pressed the button to open my garage door. The moment I noticed my husband standing where I usually parked, with a glass of whiskey in his hand, my heart sank. His expression gave no indication of his mood, so I could not tell whether he was angry. Blood roared in my ears as my heart beat violently, my fight-or-flight instincts telling me to turn around and drive away. Still, I smiled at him—faked the happiest smile I could—as I slowly inched my vehicle into my space when he moved out of the way.

As soon as I shifted the car into park, he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me out of the car. One arm still ensnared in the seatbelt, I hit the concrete floor with a heavy thud. My hip and back exploded with pain just as the liquor glass hit the ground beside me, covering me with tiny glass shards. I cried out, tears burning the backs of my eyes, but he didn’t give me a chance to process what was happening before he yanked me up by my shoulders and threw me up against the side of my car.

“Where the hell were you last night, Scarlett?” His voice was filled with vitriol, and the smell of whiskey on his breath nearly made me vomit. I tried to slow my breathing even as my body screamed in pain, but I knew he could see the fear in my eyes. I was nothing more than prey, a scared animal trapped in a cage.

“Josh, please calm down. While doing inventory at the bookstore, I fell asleep. It was—“

Surging forward, he grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. “When I come home, I expect a hot meal waiting for me. Do you understand?”

I nodded, blinking back tears as I slid out of his grip and scurried into the house. Keeping my eyes downcast, I pulled leftovers out of the freezer, busying my hands preparing dinner. The kitchen was spotless, not a dish out of place. I had learned the hard way that a messy house only fueled Joshua’s anger.

As I finished plating his food and set his plate on the table, my hands trembled. I stood motionless, watching him eat. My appetite was nonexistent.

After only a few bites, he slammed his fork down. “This chicken is dry. Can’t you do anything right?”

Before I could respond, he grabbed the plate and flung it at me. I barely had time to duck as it shattered against the wall, shards of porcelain raining down around me as he rose from his chair.

“Useless bitch.”

I scrambled backwards across the floor as he advanced, my back hitting the wall as he towered over me, his face contorted in rage. Curling into a ball, my arms did their best to shield my head when the first blow fell.

Over and over, his boot connected with my ribs, his fists punching me as I cried out in pain and pleaded for him to stop. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stepped back, breathing heavily.

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