Page 2 of Don't Make Me Beg
I can only hope that one day she’ll trust me enough to fully let me in. That she’ll allow me to help her fight her demons…but until that day comes, I guess I’ll have to settle for being her getaway driver.
I can tell from her flushed cheeks and the way her nose is swollen and pink that she’s been crying. And that’s another thing about Scout, she never cries when she’s upset—now, when she’s watching Disney movies, that’s a whole different story. Which means that whatever has her this upset is really bad.
My fist clenches tightly around the steering wheel, and I grit my teeth to keep myself from prying. Scout’s never been one to complain, though based on what I know about her family life, she’s got plenty of reason to. They treat her like shit, always expecting perfection and refusing to tolerate anything less. Sometimes I feel like she thinks she owes them something for simply existing.
I know I basically hit the parental jackpot so it’s not exactly a fair comparison, but the Sinclairs are not the nicest people. They’ve lived next door to my family for over ten years and haven’t once attended any of my mother’s parties. They’re too caught up in maintaining appearances at their country club in the next town over to be bothered with mingling with their neighbors—or anyone else in Ashford Falls for that matter. Honestly, I think the only reason they’ve stayed this long is because of her dad’s high status in the community.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the clinking tin can as she digs through the plastic bag sitting at her feet, and my ears perk up. She pulls the black knit ski mask over her face, shoving the extra cans of spray paint in her cargo pockets like she’s preparing for battle. It’s not hard to put the clues together as to what she may be up to, but I still don’t know why she’s doing it.
I open my mouth to ask her what’s going on, but she cuts me off before I can get the words out. “Keep the car running and try to lay low. I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”
I suck in a breath, flaring my nostrils as I hold back the ever-growing need to ask her why she’s doing this and simplynod. “Be careful. And make sure you don’t leave any evidence or whatever. Call me if you need me.”
A silent moment passes between us as I stare into her eyes, feeling a rush of something oddly protective washing over me. My eyes flash to her, the cutout of her mask revealing her pouty pink lips, still swollen from crying. And when she wets her lips, I have the strangest urge to lean in and kiss her.
Everything around us seems to disappear, and time stands still. My heart pounds in my chest so hard that it vibrates off my bones, sending ripples of electricity between us. I know she feels it, too, because her pupils are dilated and her heavy breathing falls into rhythm with mine.
Maybe it’s the rush that we could get caught, or maybe it’s because I’m seeing a new side to her, wanting to hurt whoever’s behind her being this upset, but there’s definitely something happening right now. It’s not that I’m not attracted to her; she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen on the inside and out, but she’s always seemed out of reach, uninterested. She’s made my position of being in the friend zone abundantly clear over the years, correcting anyone before they can even ask, and I’ve never questioned it.
Rather than acting on my impulses, I reach to adjust the mask around her oversized, round-framed glasses. I don’t miss the way she sucks in a sharp breath before quickly backing away.
She shakes the can of spray paint in her hand and whispers in an almost raspy voice, “Wish me luck.”
The car door slams behind her, and then she’s gone, leaving only the scent of her vanilla perfume behind.
I watch as she crouches down and bolts through the alleyway, before jumping the wrought iron fence to cut through the graveyard. I keep my eyes trained on her for as long as I can until she eventually disappears into the darkness.
“Good luck, Girl Scout,” I whisper to myself as I feel my goofy grin stretch across my face. It’s odd timing, I know, but I can’t help the sense of pride I feel for her in this moment. Seeing her finally let out some of that anger she keeps locked up so tight. Maybe this is a turning point for her? I can only hope.
My leg bounces with nervous energy as I stare at the twenty-minute timer on my phone, impatiently waiting as the seconds tick by.
After fifteen minutes have passed, I can’t take the silence anymore. I type out a quick text to check on her.
You still good?
A couple of minutes later, my phone buzzes with a response.
Scout
Almost done. Ten more minutes, maybe?
Just hurry up and be careful.
I tap my fingers to the beat of the music that’s barely loud enough to hear as I try like hell to keep my mind from going to the worst-case scenario and tell myself she’s fine. But when I catch sight of a white car speeding by out of my peripheral vision, my spine goes ramrod straight. There’s a sickening feeling twisting in my gut, and I break out in a cold sweat—my fear tightens like a noose around my neck.
Two seconds later, another car passes by, going just as fast, heading in the same direction as Scout.
“Goddammit,” I hiss as I shift into drive and take off after them, turning down an adjacent road so I’m hopefully unnoticed.
Turning onto Main Street, I see Scout busy putting the finishing touches on her painting. It’s hard to make out exactly,it’s large and definitely more intricate than I was expecting. The bright green eyes catch my attention, and I immediately know it’s the Phantom.
The second thing I notice is the building where she’s spray painting. It’s the abandoned church smack dab in the middle of town… Ahistoricchurch that’s still standing, despite its ramshackle brick walls. The building’s nearly as old as Ashford Falls, one of the very first built here.
You’d think someone would’ve bought it and fixed it up by now, but since it’s a historical building, the city’s more protective of it. I guess they’re waiting for the right person to swoop in and fix it up like it deserves. I don’t have time to figure out why Scout chose this building of all places, but knowing her, I’m sure she had her reasons.
I see the police cruiser turn down the block, and I pull the car to the side of the road, and I’m already out of my car, running to her, not even caring that I’m illegally parked in a fire lane.
“Scout, we’ve got to go!” I whisper-yell, waving my arms to get her attention.
