Page 23 of Scar

He nods. “I’m feeling good, and just usual club stuff,” he answers.

I nod and smile, glancing a look at some of his club that are sat at a table on the other side of the diner. One of them smiles and gives me a wink, causing me to blush. I laugh and look away. Scar looks over and scowls at whoever it was.

“So, you’re eating okay? I was worried you would need serious medical attention, or that maybe long lasting damage had been done,” I ramble.

“Angel,” he states.

My stomach does that fluttery thing whenever he calls me that. “Yeah?” I answer.

“You going to tell me how you managed to get yourself engaged so quickly? When I’m pretty sure you were single the last time I saw you,” he states.

At that moment, my bubble pops and reality comes flooding into the happiness I had started to feel. I look down at my coffee, putting on my best false smile. “He works for my father. I’ve known him a long time and the timing just seemed right.” The words taste bitter on my tongue as I lie, praying he doesn’t realise who it is I'm engaged to.

He doesn’t react, smile, or even say the usual congratulations.

I push a chuckle out and tuck my hair behind my ear, feeling awkward. “So, the wedding is in 6 weeks and?—”

I’m cut off by Scar lurching towards me, and I flinch away automatically. Squinting my eyes closed, I brace myself for the hit, but when it doesn’t come I slowly open my eyes. Scar’s hand is paused just an inch from my face as I look at him.

“I would never hurt you,” he declares, his voice low and menacing. His hand gently takes my chin and tilts my head to the side. I close my eyes, chastising myself at my mistake. “Who did this to you?” he growls so low I swear I can feel his voice vibrating through me. I swallow before opening my mouth to say something, to lie, say I tripped or something, that I opened a cupboard door into my face, that I had started boxing, but nothing came out. “Tell me, did he do this to you?” he presses.

“I, it, it’s okay,” I whisper.

“Was this the distraction? Marrying fucking Layton?! He was the thing to make sure that no one came after me?” he presses.

“It won’t be forever, and I’m fine. I can handle it,” I manage to force out.

“You are not going back to him,” he grits through his teeth. My eyes widen and I lean back, forcing him to let go of my chin.

“I have to,” I state. “I can’t, I just can’t,” I whisper.

Scar’s eyes are cold, and his jaw is set so tight. His hands are balled into tight fists and as he pushes his chair back, he sends itclattering across the room. I jump and people in the diner gasp. He runs his hands through his hair.

“Fuck!” he roars. I jump again, and it feels like my heart is thumping a million beats per minute. Then he storms out, nearly ripping the door off the hinges as he does.

I watch as one of his club runs after him while another gives the owner a look.

“Okay everyone, I’m closing early, sorry for the inconvenience. I will give a free slice of pie tomorrow as an apology,” the woman yells. The other customers in the diner grumble and mutter their annoyance as they stand and file out one by one.

I grab my bag and jump to my feet. It was a mistake to come see him. Just one big mistake. I move quickly to the door, but one of the club members gets there first, standing in front of it.

“Just give him a minute, darlin’,” he says softly.

I clutch my purse to my chest as fear begins to pulse through my veins. I shake my head. “No, I need to go. If I am here too long, he will know,” I state, my voice wavering.

The guy holds out his hands as if to assure me. I step back and he gives me a tight smile. “You are safe here,” he assures me. “I’m Cash, and Scar is a good brother. He is obviously just working through some shit, and by the sight of that nasty bruise, and the fact that you flinch away, I’m guessing it’s to do with that,” he points out.

As if he is watching me, my phone starts ringing in my bag. I hurriedly rummage to answer it, but when I see that it’s Layton, my hands shake as I answer.

“Hello?” I say, hating how my voice breaks. I cough, trying to hide my fear.

Cash, the biker in front of me, takes my phone and puts it on speaker. My eyes are wide and I shake my head no. He places his index finger on his lips and nods, assuring me they will bequiet. “Why are you at some diner and not trying on dresses?” he snaps.

I had only been twenty minutes longer, that was all. “I came for a coffee and a salad to celebrate,” I state.

“Celebrate?” he quips back.

“I found the perfect dress. You will love it,” I breathe out, feeling my heart racing.

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