(Scarlet Scars Book 2) - Grievous - J.M. Darhower.pdf

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Once upon a time, there was a girl who stopped believing in fairy
tales after her innocence was stolen.
Morgan Myers is tired. So damn tired. Most people either push
her around or brush her off, and she's not putting up with it
anymore. Determined to reclaim the life that had been stolen from
her, she puts her trust in the last person she ever expected to: the
notorious they call Scar. Morgan sees a side of him that few people
seem to know—the man, not the myth. Lorenzo. And what she
sees, she likes, a lot more than she thought she would.
But fairy tales aren't real, as life likes to remind her. Some
dragons, you just can't slay, no matter how hard you fight them.
And when hers comes back around, breathing fire, she's forced to
face some unimaginable horrors. But there's a white knight in
combat boots out there that isn't afraid of monsters.
You see, it's impossible to be afraid of something you see every day
in the mirror
Chapter One
"I
have something for you."
Those words rang out from the open doorway of the bedroom... and not
for the first time, either.
I have something for you.
The little girl slowly
turned in the chair at the desk, turning away from the window with
snow falling outside, away from the blank paper and pile of mixed up,
broken crayons.
The Tin Man stood there, dressed in a dark suit, his hand hidden behind
his back.
"Is it Buster?" she asked, trying to ignore the swelling in her chest that
really hoped it was. It had been another week without him. Another
week without her mother.
Too many weeks.
The Tin Man's face twisted, like her question made him angry.
Not
Buster.
The little girl frowned, turning back to the frosty window. "No, thank
you."
"But it is Christmas today," he said, "so you get a present." Her brow
furrowed. It wasn't Christmas. Not anymore. They'd
missed
Christmas.
Santa hadn't come. "It's the new year now." "True, but it is still
Christmas."
She just shook her head, staring at a bare red crayon on the desk,
all of the paper peeled off and scattered around in front of her. Red
crayon wax was caked under her fingernails from picking at it that
morning.
The Tin Man made no sense.
How could it be Christmas still?
"Use your words, kitten."
Use your words.
He always said that, like she wasn't allowed to have
any thoughts that just belonged to her. She had to make them into
words and give them to him. He was always taking
everything.
"I don't have no words," she said. "I just wanna go away."
"You want to go away?" he asked, his footsteps coming through the
room as he approached. "Or would you like me to go away?"
He stopped behind her, his shadow covering the desk like a storm cloud
had moved in and blocked all the sunshine. He touched her shoulder
and little girl froze, whispering, "I want
you
to go."
His hand darted over as soon as she said that, gripping her jaw so hard
she cried out. It felt like a metal claw. He yanked her face up, forcing
her head back, banging it against the chair as he made her look at him.
His expression was hard, his eyes as cold as ice as they glared down at
her. His rough touch left finger-shaped marks on the pale skin she'd
gotten from her mother.
Tears stung the little girl's eyes, her throat burning.
"You think I will not hurt you because you are small?" His hand moved
to her chubby cheeks, squeezing them hard, making her purse her lips.
"You think I will not hurt you because you look so much like the
woman who has my heart?"
"She has your heart?" the little girl tried to ask as tears fell down her
cheeks, the words sounding like a muffled sob, but he understood.
"She has all of me. I love that
suka
more than she could ever
understand. I love her
to death,
kitten. The moment I saw her, I knew
she would be mine. I gave her everything, and all she had to do was
love me
back."
He closed his eyes, like those words hurt him, as his hand shifted again,
pressing against her throat until she couldn't breathe. She tried, sucking
in air, but it felt like her lungs were broken, like they had a hole
in them so everything leaked out until she was choking.
Choking.
The little girl struggled, grabbing his hand with her own. His eyes
opened when she touched him, something flickering in them, like
flames roared inside of him.
He let go right away.
The little girl inhaled sharply, touching her neck as her whole body
shook.
Why did he do that?
From behind his back, the Tin Man pulled out a stuffed cat. Small, and
calico, with a red bow around its neck. He tossed it on the desk in front
of her, on top of her broken crayons.
"Merry Christmas, kitten," he said as he turned away. "I love you."
Chapter Two
"You
know, when you mentioned
breakfast,
I kind of thought you were
going to go home and make pancakes again."
Lorenzo laughs, standing on the street corner in the Chelsea
neighborhood, just down from a little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place
that stays open twenty-four hours. He clutches a styrofoam container,
at eight o'clock in the morning, eating the most gigantic burrito I've
ever seen in my life.
Four bucks, cash only.
He made me order one, too.
Or rather, I said I wasn't hungry and he said, 'fuck that, I'm getting you
one and you're going to eat it,' like the gentleman he is. I'm grateful for
it, even though I pitched a fit.
Turns out, it's
delicious.
"Can't believe you've never eaten there," he says. "I thought it was a
requirement to be a New Yorker."
"I'm not your typical New Yorker," I point out. "I never really got the
experience.
Too busy slinging pussy, I guess."
A woman walks by as I say that, clutching her chest and casting me a
look, like she might catch something by walking near me.
Yeah, like
some fucking human decency, maybe.
I scowl at her, chomping on my

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