Page 31 of Scar

I nod and give him a tight smile before getting back in my car.

He bends down. “Anything happens, anything at all, call me,” he orders.

I nod and he closes my door. I don’t hang around as the need to get away thumps through me. If I don’t go now, I never will, and I will choose to go with him and damn the consequences.

I don’t remember driving back to the house. My mind was too busy whirling with thoughts of Scar, of the feel of his body pressed against mine, the feel of his hands on my face, his lips on mine. A flutter of butterflies swim in my stomach, and I exhale a sigh like some love sick teenager. I pause for a moment in my car to compose myself before getting out. They won’t be home, thankfully. Even if I could do my best to hide how good I feel, my mother would pick up on it. She’s like a bloodhound, trained to sniff out my happiness, ready to destroy it.

I send a quick text to Layton, telling him that I’m home and that I hope he’s okay. He replies instantly that he will be home in 2 days now, which has me smiling to myself. Only then he adds for me to not go anywhere and to make sure I wear the dress he likes for when he returns.

Prick.

I reply sweetly while angrily giving my phone the middle finger. I know it’s pointless, but it makes me feel better.

Walking into the quiet house, I head straight up to my room. Opening my wardrobe, I think for a second about packing a bag ready, but then pause, remembering that Layton has a camera in my room. If I start packing, he will see. Pausing for a second, I stare at my wardrobe when an idea suddenly hits me. I head downstairs to grab some trash bags and begin to take clothes off their hangers and put them in the bag.

My phone rings and I look at the screen, my stomach sinking when I see it’s him. I quickly answer. “Hey,” I greet.

“What are you doing?” Layton snaps down the phone.

I look around my room for the camera. “I’m sorting through my clothes for donation. There was a poster in the town where the bridal shop is stating that they are trying to raise money andhelp the homeless. I figured I have so many clothes that I could give them some of mine,” I lie.

He exhales an exasperated breath down the phone. “And you think that I will just pay to replace the clothes you give away?” he snaps.

“No, of course not,” I counter.

“Sure, because when we are married, you will be on a set allowance. I won’t have you thinking you can spend my fucking money whenever you feel like it,” he seethes. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, like a warning. He’s getting into one of his moods, one of the moods I’ve learnt to try and avoid. It won’t matter that he isn’t back for a couple of days because he will keep this stored in his mind, ready to deliver whatever punishment he deems fit when he gets back. I need to defuse the situation and quickly.

“I think you’re right,” I agree, keeping my voice timid and submissive.

“Of course I’m right,” he grunts. I refrain from rolling my eyes, ensuring to keep my mouth shut. “Maybe if you lost some weight, then I might consider getting you some new clothes,” he adds. I close my eyes at his comment. I’m not a small girl, never have been. My weight has always been an issue with me, and a jab about my weight will always hit a nerve. “I have to go. Anything else you want to piss me off with?” he growls.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

“Good,” he states sharply then disconnects, not bothering to say goodbye or anything. I drop my phone on to the armchair and hang my head, sighing. This week needs to go by quickly and the plan that Scar and his club has needs to work out. It needs to.

I need it too.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ELSIE

Father and Laytoncame back and thankfully, all seemed calm. I’m not sure what happened in the deal while they were away, but whatever it was pleased them. That’s good, because I need them to be in a good mood this week. The only downside was that Layton thought he was being caring and romantic, which led to him wanting sex. I gave it to him, closing my eyes and counting down the minutes until he was done. Thankfully, he never lasted very long, and when he wasn’t angry at me he was gentler. Not that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Having sex when I wasn’t the least bit turned on and dry as the desert down there could never be enjoyable for me. I often wondered if he noticed. I mean, I thought men would notice shit like that, but not him. I faked it when he fucked me, and when he spent 3 minutes rubbing my left labia thinking it was my clit, pulling out my best porn star acting just for it to be over.

One more day. Just one more day and this would be over. Well, I hope it would be. There was still so much that could go wrong, but I couldn’t think like that. I had to trust that Scar and his club could take care of this. Looking up at the clock in my father’s office for what feels like the millionth time, I worried I was being too obvious. It would be 4 pm soon and then it wouldbe dinner, so I could then excuse myself for an early night. The sooner I sleep, the quicker tomorrow will come. My stomach rolls with anticipation. I feel like a child excited for Christmas Day, but the only exception is if it goes wrong, then either myself or Scar will end up dead.

“You have somewhere you need to be?” my father asks as he looks up from the paper he’s reading.

I shake my head. “No, just looking forward to seeing Layton,” I lie.

My father huffs and shakes his head. “Quit what you are doing and go make a start on our dinner,” he orders.

I nod and stand, pausing at the door. “Is there anything in particular you would like?” I ask.

“Beef wellington, with garlic potatoes and asparagus. For dessert I’m thinking a chocolate torte,” he demands. I nod and grit my teeth, knowing full well that I will have to go out to the store to get all of those ingredients. Father quickly notices my annoyance. “If this is a problem, we can discuss it further,” he suggests with a threatening undertone. As he stands, his hands rest on his belt, implying exactly what will happen if I refuse to cook what he demands.

I must never tell him no, never have an opinion that is different from his, and I must never show him any disrespect.

I give him a tight and as always submissive smile. “Of course not. I’m more than happy to make that for you.”

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