“Anything?” I ask.
“Nothing. All quiet.”
“Good.”
I open the door not sure what to expect. Well, sure of one thing. It won’t be Scarlett on her hands and knees with her face down and ass up. The thought makes me grin.
She’ll make me bend her.
But I don’t have a problem with that.
I ready myself for an attack but then again, I always ready myself for an attack. Like Alec said, though, all is quiet, and I’m surprised to find Scarlett is asleep on the armchair closest to the window, her head leaning against the wing.
I’m quiet as I make my way toward her. She’s wearing my clothes which look ridiculous on her. She has her feet tucked up under her. Her toes peek out from underneath and I see pink polish.
Her hair’s in a braid that’s coming undone, the shade even darker since it’s damp. She has a book on her lap, thumb in the page.
I take it slowly, look at the cover as she stirs with a quiet moan.
She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. There’s a momentary pause when she opens them, confusion about where she is, I guess. After that, she starts with a gasp, pressing her back into the chair and looking up at me with those pale whiskey-colored eyes.
“You read Italian?” I ask, gesturing to the book.
She shifts her gaze to the book. Almost like she isn’t sure what I’m talking about before shaking her head no.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Dinnertime.”
“Where’s Noah?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Same place I left him.”
“I want to see him.”
I move to place the book on the nightstand, and she stands up, adjusting her clothes. My clothes. I look her over, only to realize one of my favorite ties is knotted at her waist. It’s the only thing keeping the pants up.
“Hello? I want to see my brother. I did what you said. I showered and I haven’t done anything stupid.”
I smile at that and walk to the closet to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater. “But you also weren’t waiting for me as I instructed.”
“I’m not—”
“You don’t make demands, Scarlett,” I throw over my shoulder, noticing the drawer where my cufflinks are stored, isn’t properly closed. It gets stuck sometimes, but I remember closing it.
Glancing at her, I go to it, open it.
“I didn’t steal anything if that’s what you’re thinking.”
No, she didn’t. Not even the ring I took from her. “You looked through everything?” I ask, turning back to her.
“Yep.”
“Good. That’s out of your system then.”
She just narrows her eyes at me. Suspicious of me. She should be.
I walk into the closet and when I emerge after changing, she’s standing at the window looking outside.
“Where are we?”
“Isola San Nicola.”
She folds her arms over her chest and shifts her weight onto her right foot. She’s uncertain but trying not to show it.
“Where is Isola San Nicola exactly?”
“Off Porto Di Napoli.”
“Naples?”
I nod. “I’m hungry.”
“How did you get me here? Get my brothers here?”
“Chopper and boat.” I walk to the door and open it. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Dinner. I’m hungry.”
“So you’ve said. I want to see my brother.”
“I’ve also said you don’t make demands, but I gather you have selective hearing. Now unless you want to get fucked before eating, get your ass out the door.”
Her jaw tightens and she digs her heels in, eyes brightening with anger. “No. And I’m not fucking you.”
I shake my head. “Fury.”
“What?”
I walk toward her, take her arm. “The Furies. Greek mythology.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything? Let go.”
I walk her toward the door. “Your face is the personification of fury,” I say then gesture to my cheek where she scratched me pretty good before I stopped her. “Fury did this. Rage. Now, I’m hungry. We’re going to eat.”
She resists but isn’t a match physically. “I thought you were just going to fuck me when you got back. Isn’t that what you threatened?”
At that I stop, smiling a true smile. I look down at her, not releasing her as she struggles to peel my hand off.
“Is that what you were dreaming about?”
“What? No!”
I look her over, liking her in my clothes. Liking how small she is in them. I lean down, inhale when I’m close. She smells like me. My shampoo. My soap. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to the fucking,” I whisper. When I pull back, I see her pulse thrumming in her neck, see how her face is flushed red.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“First, dinner.” I drag her through the door. Alec watches, snorts like it’s what he expected.
“I’m not eating with you. I want to see my brother and I want to go home!”
“And where exactly is home?”
At that, she falters. I decide not to waste time, so before she realizes what’s happening, I bend down to lift her and toss her over my shoulder.
She yelps when I do. Then yelps once more when I smack her ass.
“Quiet,” I tell her.
She doesn’t quiet though. She doesn’t seem like the quiet type. She struggles, hurtling curses at me as I carry her down the stairs, through the living room. I nod at the soldier standing nearby and enter the dining room where I plant her to sit.
“Does your mother know the language you use?”
“My mother doesn’t know much these days since she’s dead, asshole.”
I stop, take in her anger. I drop it because why the fuck did I even say that? Her mother is dead. Murdered like mine. Well, maybe not exactly like mine.
Lenore, who opens the dining room door, quickly disappears back through it.
“I want to see my brother,” Scarlett demands. I guess gaining a little backbone at my silence. “I’m not sitting here with you or eating with you. You killed my brothers. You’ve probably hurt Noah. You—”
I slam my hands on the arms of her chair and she jumps. I lean in close. I want to be sure I have her attention.
She leans away from me, quietly staring at me wide-eyed.
“I have not hurt your brother.”
“How do I know that? I can’t know it until I see him for myself.”
“You know because I just told you.”
She juts her chin out.
“You will sit with me and you will eat with me.” She opens her mouth to argue but I continue. “And afterward, I’ll consider letting you see your brother.” My concession. Not that I need to make one.
Her expression changes and she searches my eyes. Probably trying to gauge if I mean it or not.
“Understand?” I ask.
“What does that mean? You’ll consider it?”
“It means if you’re good, I’ll take you to him so you can see for yourself that he’s fine.”
She stops, studies me for a long minute. “Do you promise?” she asks, earnest and innocent.