Page 30 of Savage Rule

“And?” She lifts one shoulder.

And? That day, when she ran away from her sister and headed to their abandoned house, it was Scarlet she called. But she wasn’t the only one that showed up. I did too. I went in to rescue her from the bad guys, only to end up with Maisie throwing herself on me, her skinny arms wrapped tightly around my neck, screaming, “Scarlet, run!”

I’ve let it go. She’s a kid, after all. Our morals are all fucked up at that age. Actually, some of us never seem to get our morals straight.

“You’re friends with her, aren’t you?” Stupid question I know the answer to, but want her to say it.

Her pencil stops for a millisecond over the eye of the character she’s drawing, so fast had I not been paying close attention to all of her movements, I wouldn’t have noticed it. But she doesn’t reply to my question.

I take a peek at what she’s working on. “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks.” She sniffs and huffs. “You’re probably going to get in trouble for not being in the meeting.”

“They’re just going over stuff I already know about. Which means I can hang with you a little longer.”

“Yay me.” Rolling her eyes, she sets her sketchbook on the coffee table and gets up. “I have to use the bathroom.”

I’m not sure what still has her so pissed off with me, but it’s clear by the murder in her eyes as she flicks a glance my way, she hates my guts.

I rub my chin as I watch her walk away. Does she know that the alliance intersected her texts to Scarlet? Better yet, does she know I was sent after her in the French Quarter?

It takes her a few minutes to return, long enough that I help myself to the sketchbook. She’s good. I would have given anything to be able to draw like this when I was a kid.

From what I can tell, they’re comic book heroes. Each one has a title above it. I freeze when I get to one of a woman dressed in all black, with blond hair and emerald eyes. It seems to have been originally titled Rage. But that name was scratched out and beneath it, a new one was added. Scarlet.

“Hey!” She snatches it out of my hand. “That’s personal.”

Shit. I didn’t even hear her come back.

“You drew Scarlet,” I say, pointing at the picture.

“No. I drew Rage.”

“It says Scarlet.”

“Yeah, well.” She shuts the book and begins to walk away.

“I need you to get me in touch with her.”

She whirls back to me. “What?”

“I know about your messages on that burner phone. Arran brought them to the alliance.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger, she takes a few steps closer. I have to admit, for a fifteen-year-old, she’s pretty damn scary. It takes a lot for me not to get off the coffee table and back up several feet.

“Yeah, I figured, so I destroyed it. You people had no right to invade my privacy.”

“You people?” I say, offended.

“The alliance.” She rolls her eyes again. Typical teen.

“Tell me where she is.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I broke the phone and threw it in the trash.”

“But you wouldn’t have done that unless you knew how to reach her,” I toss back.

“Like I’m going to tell the alliance anything. No way in hell I’ll ever give her up to?—”