Page 29 of Scar

“What are you doing?” I whisper hiss.

“There ain’t no fucking way I am sending you back there. You can come to the club, and we will protect you,” he rushes out. I place my hands on his forearms, stopping him. He pauses, the seething rage pouring from his eyes.

“If,” I pause. “If I thought for one second I could run away to your club and they would never find me, and I would be free, I would. They will find me. My father will stop at nothing. Not all the marks you see are from Layton,” I confess.

He grits his jaw so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped. “Not helping me calm down,” he growls.

“The lashings, they are from him. My father,” I admit. “I’ve survived this my entire life, and I can and will continue to survive it, knowing that I can still see you. You take me now, that little bit of happiness will be gone, because he will not rest until I’m back, and then you’ll be dead,” I tell him truthfully.

“Everything okay, ma’am? Your mother is waiting,” the sales assistant asks.

Shit. “Yes, be right out,” I answer. “Stay hidden. Please don’t go,” I whisper. As I turn around, I once again remove my clothesand step into the dress, slowly pulling it up my body. The curtain flickers behind me and he’s gone. I just hope he hasn’t left the shop.

I call the assistant to help me fasten up the back of the dress, then she helps me into a pair of shoes and adds a veil. I walk out and stand on the raised platform in front of my mother, awaiting her verdict.

She sips her champagne, and it’s then that I notice the bottle next to her is now half empty. “You took your time,” she mutters. “What took so long? Did it take the two of them to squeeze you into that dress?” She smirks.

I clench my fists at my sides. It doesn’t matter that the dress is in fact a little big, and it doesn’t matter that I thought I looked okay. Glancing down, I know that it’s not the type of dress I would ever pick, not that I care what I look like to marry Layton, but the shape of this dress flattered me.

“I will try another dress.” I smile at the assistant and her mouth hangs open in shock at the vile words that came from my own mother’s mouth.

“You do that. Who knows, they may have something that makes you look less like you’re about to eat an entire cake,” Mother snorts.

My back stiffens and I keep my head facing forward, my gaze fixed on the dressing room. I don’t dare look at the sympathy or shock that I know will be in the assistant’s eyes. She undoes the back of the dress and lets out a little gasp when Scar steps in and practically shoves her out of the way.

I spin around. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Let me kill her?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “No!” I snap.

“I will make it quick. Hell, I can even make it look like another gang did it to get back at your father,” he suggests.

My lips twitch as I fight back a smile. “You can’t,” I whisper.

His eyes go soft. “Fine. I’m not leaving, and we are also not done with our earlier conversation. I will get you out,” he says determinedly before stepping back out of the curtains. I drop the dress and shake my head, smiling to myself.

I pause when Scar sticks his head back through the curtains. “Scar!” I hiss.

“Just so you know, you look beautiful in any of them. You will always look beautiful,” he compliments, giving me a wink before disappearing again.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper to myself.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ELSIE

“The last onemade you look less fat. I mean, you still need to lose a couple of pounds, but the last dress is the better one. Your father won’t be too embarrassed to walk you down the aisle in that one,” Mother states. I nod, agreeing. Sad, really. I couldn’t care less as I just want this situation to be over with. “Call James to come collect me and take me to my next appointment,” Mother orders, clicking her fingers at me.

I don’t hesitate. James, the good guy that he is, isn’t far away, knowing that she would want him to get her. “He will be here in five minutes,” I tell her.

She nods as she stands. Anyone else would wobble on their feet after drinking an entire bottle of champagne for breakfast, but nope. Not my mother. It will take a lot more than that to get her drunk.

The sales assistant hesitatingly approaches. “Er miss, if you don’t mind, before you go, we would like to redo your measurements and confirm dates,” she states, her eyes telling me that there is much more than what she is saying.

I give her a brief and curt nod. “Of course, that’s no problem.” I smile.

“Just hope you have a measuring tape big enough,” Mother scoffs, causing the sales assistant to wince. I close my eyes and swallow down the anger her words cause me.

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