Page 14 of Scar

“Get her out of here.”

He doesn’t loosen his grip on me. Not even when the woman starts to surge forward in attack. He sets me to his side and watches as the soldiers hold her back.

“This is what you’ve forsaken me for?” she screams. “This scrawny little thing?”

I should be offended, but I’m not. The woman is sex on wheels, and even I can admit that. And Scar’s not forsaking anyone; whatever has happened between them has nothing to do with me. I’m sure of that. And the only forsaking going on here is me…forsaking my freedom, my life, my name.

When the woman finally leaves, after realizing she won’t be getting a reaction out of Scar, he sets me down on my feet and I turn slowly, about to rip him a new one. There was no need forme to be locked in his arms for any amount of time, no matter the situation.

I swing around to face him, ready to launch my attack, but I’m met with the vision of Scar standing in nothing but dress pants hanging low off his toned, muscular hips. No shirt. No top. Nothing. The only attire he dons on his upper body are the endless ropes of ink sliding up his chest from beneath the hem of his pants. I don’t know how low the tattoos go, but I catch my breath, mesmerized by every intricate detail of the art covering his skin. Vines cover every inch of his flesh, climbing upward gradually and then meandering across his shoulders and down his arms. Even underneath all the ink, the toned perfection of his body cannot be understated. It cannot be missed. My fake husband is hot. And he’s smirking at me like he knows it and he’s happy he’s caught me staring.

In three weeks of marriage to this monster, he has not so much as made a move towards me other than to irritate the fuck out of me. For the most part, he’s left me alone. He’s stopped insisting that I join him for meals. He’s away from the house most of the time. And he doesn’t seem to care what I do so long as I stay put and don’t get in his way. Aggravating is an apt way to describe him. Annoying is another. But right here and right now, in this moment in time, I’m not ashamed to admit that my fake husband is a hot and tempting demon.

CHAPTER 13 – SCAR

After she eye-fucks me, Allegra gives me a cold look and shoves past my shoulder as she stomps into the house. I shamelessly watch her every move as she makes her way to my office. Raising an eyebrow, I trail after her and find her gripping my desk with white knuckles and narrowed eyes.

She's seething.

Furious.

Not that she has any right to be. To me, she's just another pawn on my chessboard - easily moved and discarded at my whim. But judging by the intense glare she gives me as I enter my own office, she clearly thinks otherwise.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she watches me in stony silence, her eyes boring into me with intensity.

I take a seat and lean back in my chair, projecting a calm facade that hides the tension brewing within me. Locking eyes with her fiery gaze, I prepare for whatever verbal attack is coming my way.

“Are you planning on keeping me locked up here while you entertain your whores? How disrespectful,” she screeches.

A surge of heat washes over me at her words, but I maintain a stoic expression. “I made it clear from the beginning that I wouldn't touch you,” I remind her, arching an eyebrow mockingly and concealing the storm raging inside.

Her cheeks turn a deep shade of red - a clear indication that I've struck a nerve. Seeing her squirm under my gaze bringsa twisted satisfaction; each flinch is proof that I'm getting under her skin.

She scoffs and folds her arms defiantly across her chest, a thin layer of sweat coating her skin from her morning jog.

“This isn't aboutyoutouchingme!” she hisses.

“Then what is it about?”

“You want to fuck around, don’t do it under my nose!”

“And why not?”

“We're married,” she says with a burst of anger, her eyes blazing with fury. I stand up slowly from behind the desk, making sure to draw her gaze towards my bare chest. I lean against the edge of my desk, propping one long leg up as I regard her casually.

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Allegra.”

Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, the fire in her eyes burning as she struggles to find the right words in frustration. I smirk as I watch her struggle. She finally speaks, stumbling over her own anger as she accuses me of having the freedom to do as I please while denying her the same privileges. My eyebrow raises in amusement, but she remains steadfast, convinced that if I can have affairs then so can she. As if we are equals in this twisted game. But she is nothing more than a pawn in my plans, a means to an end. And soon enough, the Marone bloodline will come to an end with her. Just like I always intended.

“You want to be my whore, wifey?” I snicker. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I stick my dick inside her.

I didn’t think it was possible, but she turns even redder. Her rage intensifies. Her fists at her sides tighten and release with barely contained tension.

“I wouldn’t sleep with you if the fate of the world depended on it,” she hisses. “But if you're allowed to fuck around, I don’t see why…”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupt sharply, lifting a finger to demand her silence. “Don’t you dare fucking say it.”

She says the words I don’t want to hear. She wants to have the same freedoms I do, to fuck around and do as she pleases. She thinks we are equals in this twisted relationship, but it's laughable. She is nothing but my shackled prisoner, my forced partner through a blood oath that will ultimately lead to the end of her family's bloodline. And I can't wait to bring about her downfall.

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