Page 52 of Cruel Master

Even as I repeated that in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel exhaustion weigh down on my shoulders, slumping them as my passenger hyperventilated in the seat next to me. Perhaps if things had been different between Gaven and me, I might have been able to call him for help. As the situation remained, though, I had few people that I could actually contact for assistance. And since being captured by Gaven, I hadn’t had time to set up a safe house for Ron.

I wracked my brain for a plan as the speedometer raced upward. Trees and dilapidated country houses, a few barns, and some general stores flew past the windows. My fingers gripped the wheel sharply as a thought occurred. There was someone I could contact. I hadn’t talked to her in nearly two years, but after leaving Gaven and running from Jackie five years prior—I’d learned to memorize all the contact numbers I needed.

If luck was on my side, the number Scarlett had given me would still be good. If it wasn’t … well, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

* * *

Several hours later…

My foot tapped incessantly against the pavement. The clouds seemed to follow us wherever we went and it seemed to make the fact that I was back in the city—far closer to home than I’d prefer—that much more anxiety-inducing. Then again, perhaps my sudden bout of anxiety might have also had something to do with the man that was sitting in the passenger seat of my sedan with his mouth hanging open and drool dripping from the corner of his lips.

I glanced through the driver’s side window at him and frowned. It took nearly the entire trip here for him to calm down, but it was clear that the nervous paranoia that had kept him up for several nights had finally taken its toll. Ron was out cold.

A sigh slipped free and I turned back to the closed bookstore sign I was standing in front of. I stared at my reflection in the window and shivered as more rainwater splashed against the backs of my legs while I stood under the pathetic awning.

Luck was rare in this world—rarer, more so for people like me. Somehow, though, I’d managed just enough luck that when I’d finally stopped to call Scarlett, she’d admitted to being nearby. In this very city, in fact. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Coincidences were just as rare as luck, and I suspected that her easy appearance was anything but a coincidence.

It was fate.

Perhaps all of this was. Gaven. Me. Jackie. My father’s death.

I was born the daughter of a mobster and even if I had thought I could escape that life, the world had shown me something else. It had shown me that perhaps my father had been right all along. It was in my blood.

I’d killed a man today—perhaps two—and I didn’t feel all that sorry about it for some reason. I didn’t feel crushed or frightened by the lack of emotion either. I just felt … apathetic. Not numb, just indifferent. Had I been numb, well, then I could’ve written it off as shock or something similar.

It wasn’t shock. Something deep down in my soul opened its eyes and peered out at me. Something I thought I’d left behind long ago. It was the very thing that had caused me to make a vile request of that man from my mother’s funeral. I’d asked him to kill the person responsible for her death, and I had lost no sleep over that.

I’d hoped it was a one-off, but now it was time to face the truth.

I am my father’s daughter. A killer. A criminal.

The door to the bookstore creaked open. The bell above jingled lightly, but the sound was swallowed up by the rain. A somewhat familiar face peeked out. Though I hadn’t seen her in two years, I still recognized Scarlett’s wicked grin and her deep brown eyes.

She gestured towards the inside of the building, and I paused to glance back. I hesitated at leaving Ron out here in the car, but it’d been hard enough to get him to sleep and he needed it. Plus, I really didn’t know what I’d do if he woke up and began spouting his angry and frightened bullshit as he had before he’d fallen asleep.

“Eve?” Scarlett’s voice echoed behind me.

I turned away from the image of the sleeping man in my car and followed her into the building. Ron would be fine for a short while, I assured myself. No one had followed us from that shitty roadside motel and I wouldn’t be long.

I stepped into the building and Scarlett closed and locked the door behind me. A moment later, she enveloped me in a tight hug. I blinked, taken aback for a moment before I caved to the feeling. I wrapped my own arms around her and hugged her back, pressing my face into her shoulder. It felt good to hug someone, to recognize them, and feel a connection to them. Hugging Scarlett wasn’t like being wrapped in Gaven’s arms. There was no heat, no visceral tightening in my stomach. It was simply … nice. Not something I’d experienced in a long damn time.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said, pulling away seconds later. Her hands remained on my arms as she looked me up and down. All around us, the scent of stale paper and dust permeated the room.

“You too,” I said absently. “Um … Scarlett? What the hell are you doing in a closed-down bookstore?”

She glanced around as if just remembering where we were. “Oh, it’s just a front,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “We’re only here temporarily. One of my husbands had a job to do, and his employer wanted to meet with him, and well—one thing led to another, and we’re renting the space for a short while. You actually caught me at a good time. I only got in a few days ago. I came up for a visit because…”

Her words trailed off as she began moving, releasing my arms as she turned and headed up the darkened room towards a back staircase. It left me little else to do but follow her, so I did.

“Wait.” I frowned at the back of her head as her words caught up with my mind. “Did you say one of your husbands? As in more than one?” Who else did that sound like? America, that’s who. I shook my head. What was it with the women of this world? Did they all get multiple men and not give a damn? I could barely handle the fuckingoneI was married to.

Scarlett chuckled, tossing her long black hair over one shoulder as she looked back. “Yeah,” she said. “A lot’s happened since I saw you in Italy. I’ve got two husbands now and a little girl. She’s fucking adorable.”

“You had a daughter?” I scanned down the length of her body. “How long ago?” My stomach tightened. A small piece of my mind wondered what a daughter between Gaven and I would look like. Would she have his midnight blue eyes? His blonde hair?

Scarlett ascended the staircase and I trailed behind her. “Actually, she’s my stepdaughter,” she admitted. “But I love her like she’s mine. Who knows, maybe someday one of my husbands will give her a little brother or sister.”

Just as that last statement crossed her mouth, we reached the top of the staircase into what appeared to be a second-floor apartment.

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