Vermilion Desire

by Celia Crown

  “But of course, it is possible that he’s a rare case since he’s a rich boy.” Scarletta shrugs, lips downturn.

  “Scarletta, leave the boy some pride.” Cal snorts behind his hand.

  She mentions another statement as added volatility to Braxton’s defense. “The prosecutor’s side will have renowned scientists and doctors that will trump yours in credibility and charm.”

  “Or,” She stops coloring on the sheet as she leaves on a small triangle white. “You could sign the plea deal for life in prison, but you’d probably die in prison before you can get out. Reasons are unknown, and I rather not explore them. Or you could just get the death penalty right now.”

  A crazed expression appears on Braxton’s face, and I push Scarletta’s chair back, so I’m the closest to him. “Finish it.”

  “What?” she asks, amber eyes blinking in confusion.

  “You’re not doing it right. Finish that fucking black! It needs to match!” Braxton shouts, slamming his hand on the table.

  “I don’t want to.” Scarletta wrinkles her nose, and she incites another outburst from him.

  Braxton jumps up from his chair, the metal screeching across the floor. “Fucking do it!”

  I wrap a hand around her elbow, jerking her away from the hostile man and putting her behind me while I curl my other hand into a fist. One more move on his part and I will have to use physical force to make him settle down.

  Cal takes the prosecutor behind him while he gets ready to subdue Berkshire boy.

  “There it is, that little tingle in your leg. It’s coming, and you know it. Why don’t you walk over here and prove my point?” Scarletta taunts, and she’s playing a dangerous game.

  “We are done here!” the defense lawyer demands this interview to be done.

  “Do you want to know what the new findings are right now? It might come in handy if you decide to approach the cure yourself since you have money, and you can most likely control your research from a cell.” My baby needs a lesson on knowing when to hold back because danger is just about to blast in her face.

  “I’ll sign whatever the hell you want. Just tell me what the cure is!”

  Everyone shakily shudders, the next breath losing to the shock in our system. The defeat on his face is devastating as Braxton growls, teeth barring at us with a twitch on his lips—but only one side of his face is moving.

  “Wait—!”

  He glares at his lawyer. “Shut the fuck up!”

  “This is unethical! You can’t threaten him by withholding his chance to survive! You have to save him!” His lawyer proves to be a decent one when he still wants to protect his client, or rather his paycheck.

  “Fuck! Just do what she says!” Braxton screams at his lawyer, and he spins his wild eyes to her.

  “You bitch, I want that research result!”

  “Sign first, rotten prince.” Scarletta calmly nudges her chin at the papers on the table.

  He signs, scribbling and slamming the pen down. He shoves it toward the defense lawyer and has him look over it again. He reluctantly agrees, then gives it to the district attorney who looks it over.

  “It is effective immediately.” The agreement from the tone of satisfaction in the prosecutor’s side feels downright miraculous.

  It’s as if we could finally breathe from waiting for his moment.

  “Good, good. My talented seniors have developed a beta-blocker that targets the specific type of adrenaline only Idée Fixe Syndrome patients have. The first phase has passed, and it is proven to work.” Scarletta bats her eyes with fake sympathy to Braxton.

  “Would you like to be a guinea pig? It’ll hurt, but it will lower the outburst of your symptoms, so you’ll reduce the progression of the disease.”

  Her words render everyone speechless as we watch the crumbling spirit of Braxton. He is just a shell of shock and defeat, knowing that he has to choose between his freedom and his life.

  Even this side of Scarletta is loved by me. I’m not angry at her for toying with Braxton, but I don’t feel sorry for him either. He deserves every kind of torment thrown at him for putting Addison in more pain than a young woman should ever feel.

  She giggles, depraved and insane. “Oh, please send the check to Earl Research Facility. My seniors will be conducting their research there, and the rate is quite expensive for equipment.”

  Braxton’s eyes flash up, a moment of weakness and desperation until it’s covered by what’s left of his pride. “You have to promise me I’ll live.”

  “We’re exploring the unknown here. Also, I can’t guarantee you anything when you’re in prison; you’re on your own with your perfection in a roach-infested cell.”

  He sneers, “Fuck you, you fucking witch. You’re going to burn in Hell!”

  “How does despair taste? It’s how Ms. Addison felt,” she sneers back, amber eyes glaring with fire.

  “She stepped on my shoes! It fucking hurts, how dare that pig put her filth on me? Me! The perfection of god’s creation!”

  This one-hundred-eighty change of his personality just added a couple of more degrees to it. He’s losing his mind on this matter, and his body rattles with the screams tearing through his voice.

  “Really? You’re going to start your insanity defense right now? Ah, Jesus, please. My senior named Beth has every indication of a deranged psychopath, but you don’t see her playing insane. That woman sleeps with a can of worms.”

  I can almost hear her eyes rolling.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “Good luck in court and in prison. I’ll be rooting for you.”

  Scarletta may not be the princess that everyone believes she is when they look at her. She may not be the nicest girl out there, and she may be the most easily misunderstood one.

  In my eyes, she is the kindest, the most loving, and the fairest. This began as a protective action from being threatened by Braxton, and she reacted in this way to protect me and Cal. Then it becomes a road to justice for Ms. Addison and her grieving family.

  Scarletta does things that are out of the norms, but she has the best intentions in mind.

  I really love my little red.

  Epilogue

  Scarletta

  Happily Ever After.

  “Well?”

  The letters in my hand fly out of my hand, scattering on the floor as I scramble onto my knees to gather them. My first instinct is to hide them from Mr. Wolf because he gets a bit protective when I get letters from prison.

  Ever since the news of Braxton Berkshire’s case had gone viral and my role in it, I have been receiving letters at the research facility. Most of them are people in prison needing my help with their health conditions, while a handful of the content is about my inability to stay out of God’s work.

  I don’t need to be a genius to know that those are the letters from Braxton’s fans, but I like to call them followers.

  Luckily, no one dared to do anything stupid because I have Uncle Cal, who has the whole department at his disposal and Mr. Wolf’s notoriety of breaking bones with one punch. Even those who are a bit delusional would try to take Braxton out of prison before they went after me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble, crumbling the letters behind me.

  “We talked about lying,” he reminds me with a scowl, snapping off his shirt in the hot summer night.

  I huff, aware of his plan to distract me so he can get to the letters. I am not the least ashamed to say that it works every time because he is a masterpiece of sharp lines and thick muscles, a body so big that his shadow swallows me endlessly.

  “It’s really nothing—just some love letters.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut. One thing that triggers the same response from Mr. Wolf for threats is love letters from prison and people around the world.

  I would toss them out, but it’s fun reading them because they think they can provide for me. Money from drug smuggling or guns for hire
is not my taste. I have a specific taste that only Mr. Wolf can satisfy, and no one comes close to making me feel the love near fixation.

  “Hand them over.” He holds his hand out, expectant and daring me to deny his command.

  I guiltily hand them over with the diamond ring on my finger glimmering in possessiveness, and his eyes glaze over the physical ownership symbol on the ring with a pleasing rumble in his chest.

  “I was just getting to the fun part.” I pout, using little tugging motions to pull the letters back.

  “I’m burning them,” he hisses with a cruel sneer that paints his face.

  I shudder under his gaze. Mr. Wolf has been burning all of the letters after he had found out just how sick people were. Somehow, I have received fan mails telling me how they plan on kidnapping me and killing me in the most horrific way.

  They want to make a name for themselves and using my murdered body would get them the notoriety. When I said I like Mr. Wolf’s notoriety, I don’t mean anyone else’s nefarious reputation.

  I cringe, curling into my shoulders when he reads one of the letters out. Out of all the letters, he finds the most disturbing one. The letter had said all the atrocious things and how they had been learning how to become a necromancer to make love to his victims.

  Absolutely revolting. I’m going to avoid funeral homes and any professions that have to do with formaldehyde.

  “Are there more?” he demands with a glare.

  I shake my head. “No, that’s it for today.”

  Reading those letters is more entertainment than anything. I get curious as to what the writers are going through when they were writing on the paper. It’s interesting because I can learn about them through words, the way they write and the tone, and the strokes of power on every word.

  Our research facility had gotten massive flooding of funds from investors that security had to be amplified, so I can use that as another layer of security against the people who write these letters.

  I have Mr. Wolf, and Uncle Cal escorts me home and to work, and I don’t remember one day where I’m not with someone for virtually the whole day.

  “Okay,” I stammer, fishing out another letter from under the couch after seeing the unimpressed expression on his handsome face. “There’s one more.”

  He seized it, reading it over, and it’s the letter from Braxton Berkshire. Every emotion in those words is filled with hate and discontent. I kept it as a victory over that man, and just to spite him, I don’t write back so he can be in prison with the thoughts if I had gotten the letter or not.

  Mr. Wolf crumbles the paper, tossing it over his shoulder and a crazed expression on his face. A growl resonates through his chest, and his massive body crouches down to face me.

  My heart jumps, quivering against my ribs at the feeling of dread crawling on my skin. He’s the predator, and I’m the prey, and an enclosed space is his hunting ground. With a prowess of a graceful wild animal, his muscles ripple in preparedness.

  I, with the self-preservation below ten points, stupidly scuttle back. Shifting on my knees—another mistake—and crawl away hurriedly, but his massive hand clamps down on my dainty ankles and drags me back.

  The carpet burns on my exposed arms as he throws me under him, a cracked grin of a sinner and a predator displays the part of him that wants to hurt me.

  “Where are you going, baby?” he purrs, rolling his tongue over his lips.

  I laugh with a nervous shiver, my hand frantically run over his bulging muscles on his chest to calm him down, or I won’t be able to get up tomorrow morning for work.

  “Oh, you know, bed.” My lips twitch anxiously.

  I like to play with Mr. Wolf because his reactions are always powerful, and I would end up with my legs spread and dripping with thick cum after being brutally split open by his massive cock.

  Not that I’m complaining, but I have an important meeting tomorrow with the group researchers.

  “To sleep!” I squeal as his lips meet mine, nipping and pulling at my bottom lip.

  I weakly push his chest, but his strength is superior. “You will sleep when I tell you to, little red.”

  I huff, playfully glaring up at him. “You don’t own me, Mr. big, bad wolf.”

  He hisses, a snarl ripping through his deep voice and thundering through my ribs to ensnarl the poor galloping heart.

  “Do you want to say that again, baby?” He smiles, fingers digging into my delicate ankle, and this vast difference between us doesn’t come as a surprise.

  His smile disappears when I grin, other small foot pushing at his chest to knock him on his butt. The hand on my ankle disappears to support his weight on the carpet, and his dark eyes glimmer with an urgency of threats.

  I jump up from the ground and sprints out the living room; fiery red hair tumbles down my back. Playing with fire will get me burned but playing with my husband will get me a night of scorching passion.

  I’ll take the risk.

  “Catch me if you can, Mr. Wolf.”

  Finale

  Author’s other works!

  Noir MC Series

  KANE (Noir MC - Book 1)

  VLAD (Noir MC - Book 2)

  DEAN (Noir MC - Book 3)

  Standalone

  Pretty Girl

  Marionette

  Black Clover

  Whisper My Name

  Claiming Lily

  Daddy King

  Flawed Temptation

  Wicked Temptation

  Daddy’s Little Bait

  The Debt Collector

  His Sapphire Witch

  King Size

  Sugar Daddies

  Sinful Red

  Virgin Spark

  Beasts

  Doctor’s Indecent Fixation

  Touch Starved

  Chained

  Charming Husband

  Courting Rituals

  Mirrored Love

  Mercenary’s loving Lie

  Dream Girl

  Valentine’s Miracle

  Follow the Author