“Just tired of looking at your stupid face,” I snap back before rushing away.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough in my escape because Easton ends up doing something he shouldn’t. Something that he couldn’t possibly know would cause such a panicked reaction out of me. When he grabs me by my wrist to keep me from walking away, a loud banshee shriek leaves my throat, freezing him in place.
With one single touch, I’m no longer in Uncle Jack’s church. I’m home, reliving the worst night of my life.
The flames bite into my skin as I try to push through them, screaming bloody murder. I’m back there, desperately running through the flames, needing to get to her. My tears evaporate with the intense heat surrounding me, yet, inch by inch, I get closer. I swallow the smoke as I battle the infernal blaze, knowing I’m her only hope. And then I see her. I see her, but I can’t reach her. I can’t reach her!
I hear a faint cry calling my name.
“Scarlett.”
“Scarlett.”
But it’s not her. It’s the silver-eyed boy.
He calls out to me. He shouts for me. He’s trying to pull me out of the inferno that threatens to burn me alive. But the flames are too intense. They burn me. They keep me hostage. They won’t let go.
Please let go!
My eyes tear up from the smoke, and my throat clogs with the vile stuff. I’m not going to make it. We’re not going to make it. Help me! Help us!
“Wake up, Scarlett.”
“Wake up, Scarlett,” he continues to shout.
I hold out my hand, hoping he’s strong enough to guide me to where he is. I feel his gentle touch as he lures me out of the hellfire I’m trapped in, whispering words of encouragement to see me through the blaze.
When I finally come to, Easton no longer has his hand entwined with mine. Instead, he’s being shaken by a well-dressed man in a suit a few feet away.
“What did you do, Easton?! What did you do to her?!” the man shouts as he continues to shake Easton’s body profusely.
I want to yell at him to stop. That he is hurting him. But my voice is trapped inside me, just like it had been that night.
“Easton! What the fuck did you do?!”
“NOTHING!” he yells, the word spit in the handsome man’s face.
He grabs Easton by the shoulders and snaps him in my direction, pointing a finger at me.
“Does that look like nothing to you?! Does it?!”
“I didn’t do anything! I swear!”
I want to yell that Easton is telling the truth. Sure, he was mean to me, but he didn’t intentionally hurt me. He had no idea what lies beneath my long sleeves; what lies within my slashed-up soul. Even though I want to come to Easton’s defense, my body can’t stop trembling, almost as if it’s going to shatter into a million pieces at any second.
“Richard! Stop! You’re hurting him,” Easton’s mom calls out, pushing the man away from her son.
Strong hands pick me up and lift me into a gentle embrace. That’s when I realize that I had been curled on the floor in my manic state.
“Scarlett? Are you okay?” my uncle asks, concern in his gentle tone.
Much like the tone he used when he came into my hospital room, announcing he was going to be my legal guardian and take me home with him. I didn’t have a voice then, either. For days I had been in a catatonic state. I thought I was getting better. But one touch was all it took to tell me otherwise.
One harmless touch, and I was right back in that house of flames.
On shaky legs, I lean into my uncle, my gaze falling on the boy who is being punished because of my meltdown. His momma is gently mollifying his temper while the man standing behind her continues to look furious.
“Let’s go home.” I hear her whisper to her son.
She then turns to apologize to my uncle and says she will come back at another time regarding the homeless shelter they are trying to build on the south side of town. After a few quick goodbyes, all three descend the church’s stairs as my uncle tells me he’s taking me home where I’ll be safe.
But all I can focus on is Easton Price as he turns his head over his shoulder before stepping into a fancy car that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. There is no denying the unfiltered hate embedded in his steel eyes as he looks my way.
Perpetual hate and deep-rooted sadness.
So much sadness, I choke on it all the way home.
I’m brought back from the memory when I hear feet shuffling around me. Sunday service has ended, and I didn’t even need to count the seconds to pass the time.
Unintentionally, I look over to the pew where Easton was sitting, and hate the disappointment that assaults me when he’s nowhere to be found. Why I feel like this, I don’t know. I never have. Being under Easton’s watchful eye unsettles me, yet I crave it just the same. It’s become one of the few things I can depend on, and even though I might try to deny it, I’ll miss his scrutiny once he finds someone better to terrorize.
And that day will come.
He’ll find a shinier toy to play with. One that will fill him with the blinding light he seeks, meet his demands, and close the gaping hole that dwells inside him.
I’m not that girl.
I slump my shoulders and go to pick up my music sheet, retrieving my things to head back home. As I’m about to stand up straight, a sudden, familiar warmth flushes my neck. I scour the church in search of its source.
Like a vengeful angel, Easton is standing in the center of the church’s wide double doors. In his usual black attire and lethal silver glower, his sly grin promises me he’ll return.
What game are you playing at now, Easton, and how can I escape it?
Chapter 5
Easton
“East.”
“East.”
“Easton!” someone clamors beside me, pulling on my elbow to bring me out of my internal panic, right smack back into the nightmare at hand.
My neck snaps toward the voice urgently calling my name, only to land on blurry, anxious, sapphire eyes.
“It’s okay, Finn. I’m okay,” I hush under my breath, dislodging his unyielding grip off me, knowing there will be a bruise there tomorrow.
Finn opens his mouth to say something but is silenced when we hear a growled order in front of us.
“Hurry the fuck up!” Colt commands harshly, trying to keep up with Lincoln’s rushed pace, heading deeper into the Oakley Woods.
I fist my hands beside me but keep my ‘fuck you’ remark to myself. We’ve been walking for what feels like hours, but when I briefly glance at my phone, I see that not even thirty minutes have passed. I use the phone’s flashlight to guide my way, Finn’s steady pace never leaving my side. We haven’t uttered a word to each other since we left the mansion and its bloody crime scene.
I’m about to call a timeout—since my nicotine-damaged lungs feel like they are about to burst within my rib cage—when we finally reach our destination. Apprehension instantly coats its foreboding shadow on me once again, as a broken-down, wooden shed buried in the dense forest suddenly comes into view just two meters ahead of us.