Scarlett Limerence

by K. A Knight

  She licks her bottom lip as she watches me, the sight of her pink tongue driving me wild. “Come on,” I growl, turning away before I pin her to my car and have my way with her.

  I hear her footsteps behind me as she hurries to catch up with me. I slow my long strides so she isn’t running to keep pace. She walks next to me, so close our hands are brushing, and electricity seems to spark between us. The space so close yet so far. She looks up at me with an innocent, trusting smile, one I want to kiss from her face. I really am a sick bastard.

  We cross the bustling street, the line extending around the bar as they wait in their little dresses and teetering heels, with their overly made up faces and perfectly styled hair. Yet next to Scarlett, they all pale…no, that’s not right. They simply don’t exist. She doesn’t need any of it, she looks beautiful in everything she wears, messy hair and bare-faced. Her wavy locks hang down one side, the strands sleek, and I want to wrap it around my fist as I fuck her mouth. Her lips are pink and glossy, her lashes long and black.

  Fuck, I’m staring again. I glance away as she greets the burly bouncer. He eyes me strangely, but nods when Scarlett introduces me as her friend. Shit, is that what I am to her? How pathetic. I guess it beats next door neighbour though. He opens the red velvet door and she sweeps inside. The music and the smell of alcohol and sweat hits me instantly, and I crinkle my nose but follow behind her—her giant, obsessed shadow. The hallway we enter into is black and filled with lights, with wings on one wall where people are taking pictures. I’ve only been here a couple of times when I couldn’t sleep and needed to see her without her seeing me, but I remember my way as she walks through the open entryway, which opens up into the club.

  Black, shiny marble steps lead down and a red carpet picks up, which surrounds the large dance floor in the middle of the room. To the right is a huge, black marble glitter bar with a pole at one end. The bar is full and bustling already, and standing tables fill the carpeted part, where people talk and watch those who dance. Club music blares from speakers and I spot the DJ up in the VIP section, which is curtained off and upstairs with a view of the whole club. I know she works up there sometimes, but it seems tonight she’s working the floor. She leads me to a section of booths away from the crowd where the music is a tiny bit quieter and grins at me. I slide into one and she passes me her bag.

  “You sure you want to wait?” she asks again.

  I nod, my eyes running down her body before I drag them back to her face. “I’ll be here.”

  “Okay, be good.” She winks and walks away. My eyes drop instantly to her arse, the shorts plastered to the plump, apple shape, and I dig my teeth into my bottom lip as it sways when she walks. She has a quiet confidence about her. She doesn’t add an extra pep in her step, she moves through the crowd without it, drawing eyes without even realising. She is everything girls wish they could be and everything men wish they had.

  She heads straight to the bar, slipping behind it and donning an apron. She smiles and speaks to the man there, his eyes lined with black liner, a hat sitting on top of his head, his arms covered in tattoos, and a white unbuttoned silk shirt hanging open as he moves. I narrow my eyes on him as he hugs my girl, but then he goes back to work. They move together in sync, taking orders and making drinks. When the queue dies down slightly, she grabs a tray, places a drink on it, and heads my way with a warm smile stretching her lips.

  I’m leaning back into the black leather with my legs crossed as I stroke my beard and watch her come towards me. “Here, figured you might be thirsty. Don’t worry, it’s just water,” she says sweetly, placing the drink down on top of a napkin and pressing the tray to her middle.

  “Thank you, Scarlett.” I take a sip and watch her as she fidgets on the spot.

  “You can call me Scar, you know? Everyone else does,” she teases.

  My lips quirk up then. “I prefer Scarlett,” I admit, her name on my lips like a prayer of redemption.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Hunt.” She winks and walks away, moving from table to table.

  She wants to play?

  Is she flirting with me?

  No, just my imagination. She smiles and jokes with customers, and takes their orders before going back to the bar when it gets busy. I pass the time simply watching her work. She never stops, never complains no matter how busy it gets or how rude the customers are. That smile is plastered across her face the entire time. A drunk stumbles and slightly spills his drink he got from her, and she is patient as she helps steady him, passes him a glass of water, and steers him into a bar seat where she keeps an eye on him as she works to pour more drinks.

  The atmosphere changes the later it gets, the room filling with steam and getting darker. The music sexier, the bass thumping in time with my heart, sultry. The couples on the dance floor get closer, twining as they grind and move. People touch and kiss in the corners, some sneak off to the toilets or even away from the club, going home with their conquest for the night. The girls get louder, falling and dancing on their high heels, doing shots, screaming, and flirting. The men get more desperate with the drinks, spending money they don’t have to impress people that don’t matter. Through it all, Scarlett shines like a beacon. Like there’s a fucking spotlight on her, she steals all my attention, my unhealthy obsession satisfied by watching her.

  Sweat dampens the hair at her temple and I stare, nearly drooling, as she deftly ties her hair back in a high ponytail, her tits bouncing with the movement. Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose and tell myself to be kind, to let her be.

  Not for the first time since meeting her, I question my resolve to stay away, to keep her at arm’s length. Like she can hear my thoughts, she looks over and catches me staring.

  Her smile is slow and sexy as hell, and she doesn’t look away, even though I’m being a total creeper. No, she stares right back with a dare in her eyes before someone calls her name. Then she moves away and the spell is broken, but I’m left with a punch to the gut.

  Fuck, I wish she was mine.

  But she never will be. I’ll have to watch her fall in love with some asshole who doesn’t deserve her as she settles for a life she didn’t want. They will have kids and all that white picket fence crap that I can’t give her, and they will grow old together. He will cheat and she will be unhappy. It’s the way of the world.

  Bad men like me don’t get the girl, no, we get a coffin and no one to remember our names.

  I want her to remember me, I want her to love me, I want it all. I’m greedy, I want nothing between us anymore. I want to grab her from this vile, twisted world and protect her until she needs no one else but me.

  Mine, for all time. My own little angel. I’ll take all the light and corrupt it until she’s as dirty as I am, until she can never escape.

  Grinding my jaw, I down some water to try and quench my thirst, but it’s no use, even my body rebels against me, wanting to taste her. I freeze in my booth when she comes around the bar—is she heading my way again? Halfway here, a man steps into her path, stopping her. She smiles politely and steps around him, but he grabs her arm, hard.

  I’m on my feet in an instant, clenching the tabletop to stop myself from ripping him away and pummelling his face. My eyes lock on hers, waiting for a sign she needs my help. She shifts uncomfortably, but then he must say something because she tries to step back. Frowning, her eyes widen in panic, but he moves with her. I’m striding towards her, covering the distance in a moment.

  She’s fucking mine and he dares to touch her?

  He’s a dead man walking, he just doesn’t know it yet.

  I tower over him from behind and the relief in her eyes when she sees me almost staggers me. My poor little angel, almost falling from grace for me. I grab the arm he’s touching her with and pry his fingers away so as not to hurt her.

  “What the fuck?” he cries, struggling against me. I easily yank his arm behind him, twisting it and pulling.

  “If you move now, you br
eak your own arm, do you understand me?” I tell him.

  “Fuck you, man, let me go, we were just talking!” he yells. I yank harder and he screams.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her, softening my voice. She nods, her hand hovering near her throat. “Scarlett,” I command.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she answers, her voice shaky.

  I nod. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I march the man away, dragging him kicking and fighting, but he’s like a fly buzzing around me. He’s so weak and pathetic it’s almost funny, if it wasn’t for the red imprint I glimpsed on my girl’s arm from him touching her. Quiet rage is pouring through me, the dark silence that comes when I kill or hurt, when I hunt, and right now he is my prey.

  I drag him upstairs and out the front door, and the bouncer frowns. “He hurt a waitress,” I mutter and he nods, glowering at the man as recognition lights up his face. “I’ve got it,” I tell him, and he watches me as I haul the guy down the line, marching him in front of me until we reach the corner where an alley runs between the bar and a shop next door. I look around and notice no one’s looking. Yanking him into the dark alley, I smash him into the wall and lean in close.

  “You will never come here again. You will forget you ever saw her or me,” I order, my voice almost soft, and he freezes, obviously recognising the danger he’s in.

  “Okay,” he replies shakily.

  “You understand that I cannot let you go unpunished? You laid your hands on what’s mine.”

  He struggles then, but I hold him with one arm. “Fuck, I’m sorry, it was stupid, I’m sorry, please,” he cries.

  I let him go and he spins, and I quickly grab the arm he touched her with and, staring into his eyes, I break each finger on that hand. He screams, his face paling as he slumps, fainting.

  I let him go and he drops to the alley ground. I search his body, finding his wallet. I take a picture of his ID just in case, and then put it back before standing and leaving him there. He’ll wake up eventually, but he will think before he acts next time. I head to the club and the bouncer nods and lets me in. “I got him a cab,” I announce and head back inside, straight back to my girl.

  I have officially claimed her in every sense of the word, she just doesn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Eight

  Scarlett

  Still cringing from that man’s slimy hands and filthy words, I head straight to the employee bathroom. Will gives me a concerned look as I pass.

  “You okay?” he calls, mixing a drink.

  “Fine, just need a minute,” I reply on the way past the bar, following the hallway to the second door.

  I’m lucky and it’s empty, so I step inside and flick the lock. Leaning back against the wood, I bite down on my lower lip, remembering the utter rage I had seen in Max’s eyes when that man touched me. I was disgusted by the drunk’s touch and words, but I’d shivered under Max’s gaze, his possessiveness and anger heating me, sending lust spiralling through me. I’m so messed up.

  Moving over to the sink and the mirror with the lights above it, I check out my sore arm in the reflection. It’s red and looks like it might bruise, great. Turning with a sigh, I look around the basic bathroom. There’s nothing but the sink, mirror, and toilet in here. It doesn’t have any of the fancy decorations like in the customer bathroom, but it offers the silence and privacy I need to get my head together. I hope Max is okay, I know he can look after himself, but the bouncers might take issue with him booting a customer.

  A knock at the bathroom door has me blinking and moving away from the sink. “Busy!” I call out, hoping they will go away.

  “Scarlett, let me in,” comes Max’s gravelly order, and I swallow, my body instantly moving to obey.

  Flicking the lock, I crack open the door and peer out, my mouth opening. “I was just—” I gasp as he pushes in and shuts the door behind him.

  Leaning back against the wood, he watches me with dark eyes, fire following in his wake as he runs them over every inch of me as if to ensure I’m okay. He stops on my arm, scowling and glaring, and I try to hide it behind me, but he steps forward and gently pries my arm away from my side, and holds it out so he can see.

  I watch him as he looks at the red mark, his face hardening and his dark eyes flashing. “Should have hurt him more,” he mutters.

  “What?” I ask, but he just shakes his head, his finger sweeping across the mark.

  “Hold on,” he murmurs, before moving over to the sink. He grabs some paper towels and turns on the sink, wetting them with cold water before wringing them and heading back over to me. He clasps my arm carefully, pressing the cold towel to the mark and holds it there, watching it. My eyes drift to his hand on my skin, noting the differences between his darker skin, and the rough feeling of his fingers and palms against my softer, pale skin. His hand looks huge, spanning around my whole arm, and my dirty brain immediately goes to how good it would look spread across other parts of my body. I swallow hard and he peers up at me.

  Darting out my tongue, I wet my lips, speechless under his dark gaze. He follows the movements, his eyes tightening and his grip on my arm becoming firmer. I almost stop breathing as he leans in closer, his eyes locked on my lips. Is he going to kiss me? Fuck, yes. My breathing picks up as I wait for it, but at the last second he seems to realise what he’s doing and ducks his head, looking at my arm once again. He removes the towel and throws it into the bin, staring at the red mark and avoiding my gaze. I deflate. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss you, Scar. God, you’re so stupid.

  The door bangs open then and I realise he never locked it behind him. The server wanders in but stops when she spots us. I glance from Max, who is leaning over me, to her.

  I look at the server who has her eyebrow raised and she grins knowingly at me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” She giggles as she backs out, closing the door behind her, and I glance at Max with an embarrassed grin. If he minded her thinking we were fucking around, it doesn’t show. Instead, he rubs his finger across the mark before letting go and stepping back.

  “Come on, Scarlett, you better get back to work. I’ll watch out for the rest of your shift.”

  “You don’t—” I start, but he narrows his eyes on me and I smile under the pressure. “Okay, thank you,” I say instead, thinking it would make me feel better knowing he has my back. He nods and opens the door, gesturing for me to go first, so I slip past him, purposely brushing up against him. I hear him suck in a breath before the door slams shut behind us. I walk down the corridor, jumping slightly when his palm lands on the base of my spine, warming my back as he escorts me to the front of the club.

  He breaks off when we reach the club, no longer touching me, and I miss him instantly. Miss his heat and strength at my back. “I better get back,” I offer, noticing how full the bar is and how much Will is struggling to keep up.

  “I’ll be watching,” is all he says, before he walks back over to his booth. My eyes drop to his ass as he walks, and I groan at my own stupidity. I can’t help checking him out though. Even in the club filled with rich clients and pretty boys, my eyes keep going to him, enraptured by his rugged, handsome good looks, and the air of danger he gives off. I’m addicted. My body leans towards his automatically and my eyes search the crowd for his gaze.

  The crush is getting irritating, but I could have sworn we had a moment in the bathroom…but Max wouldn’t want me too…right?

  But what if he does?

  That thought puts a bounce in my step as I hurry behind the bar to help out, losing myself in the repetitiveness of making drinks and taking orders. The task is automatic, and I’m moving on autopilot as my thoughts replay that hungry look in his eyes from the bathroom, hoping what I saw was true.

  “Scar! Here!” Will calls, and I shake my head and go back to work. I’ll have to save my daydream for later. One thing is for sure, we have crossed a line tonight, one we can’t come back from. Maybe we crossed it when I got in his car, I’m not sure,
but we are drifting around each other, and before long we are bound to crash. I just hope I can survive the aftermath.

  I’m sweating, my hair and shirt are sticking to me, and these stupid shorts are riding up in places they shouldn’t be riding. The rest of the shift is so busy I don’t even get time to check in with Max. I can feel him watching though, his eyes reassuring and dizzying compared to the leers from the creeps in the bar. When the queue at the bar starts to open up a bit, Will nods and I head out with my tray to collect some glasses and take some orders. Usually the other girls do it, but it’s super busy tonight so I try to help by manning our little area near the bar if I can help it. Plus, it means I can watch and maybe flirt with Max.

  I move around the bar and stop at the closest table, my hair moving in front of my face as I discreetly look over to Max’s booth. When I see him, a smile starts to curl my lips but then I freeze, my heart seems to stop, and the floor falls out from under me. A woman has slid into the booth next to him, and her back is slightly to me as she leans on him. She’s beautiful, all willowy and thin, tall and pale, with long black hair that’s perfectly straightened. Her dress is designer, I can tell that from here, her legs go on for days, and I’m betting those black heels cost more than my whole month’s pay. She’s stunning, classy, refined, and everything I’m not.

  I hate her. Instantly.

  Sad, but true, and very childish, but when she places her manicured hand on Max’s chest, I see red. Gripping the tray tightly in my fist, I debate smacking her over the head with it. Doesn’t she know he’s mine? I watch his reaction as I pretend to collect the glasses from the table. He leans farther back into the booth, escaping her hand, and crosses his arms over his chest as he glares at her. In his defence, he doesn’t seem to want her attention. I glance down quickly, moving the glasses when his eyes turn to me.