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A spark of anger flares in my gut at her words, but before I can snap a biting retort, we round the corner into an alley between two apartment blocks and I freeze. There, lounging against the wall and twirling wicked-looking blades, is a small cluster of rough-looking men.
One of them looks up at the sound of our approaching footsteps and grins. It’s not a nice grin.
“Well, well,” he drawls. “Hades tried to put out the word that you were dead, little girl. We didn’t believe her. Knew you’d be back here sooner or later to visit the folks.” They fan out, and I hear more feet behind us, too. Their leader points at me. “But now it’s time to put you in the ground for real.”
CHAPTER 5
Lyssa
“Please tell me we can use lethal force this time,” Scarlett mutters sarcastically as we size up the cluster of Sokolov muscle blocking the alley.
I hiss back a “No,” between gritted teeth. As much as I’d relish putting these bastards down, we can’t risk a bigger incident drawing unwanted attention. Not with Scarlett’s secret still under wraps, and the wedding of the fucking century getting closer and closer.
Scarlett rolls her eyes, clearly irritated by my restraint. But we have no more time for debate as the biggest thug—a towering bear of a man with a shaved head—lets out a guttural roar and charges right for us.
My body reacts on pure instinct. I spin sideways, avoiding the brunt of his momentum, and lash out with a savage kick to the back of his knee. Bone crunches sickeningly and he bellows in agony, crumpling to the filthy pavement.
The others surge forward, brandishing wicked-looking blades and clubs studded with nasty metal barbs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scarlett settle into a defensive stance that I couldn’t do better myself.
Aw. Good girl. She really has taken my lessons to heart.
I lose myself in the rhythm of combat, ducking and weaving, taking my hits as well as giving them—but I feel no pain. Just the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the fight.
At one point, I glance over to check on Scarlett. She’s tangling fiercely with one of the bigger men, keeping him at bay with slashing kicks and tight jabs. Her brow glistens with sweat and her face is set in concentration—but she’s holding her own.
Another spike of unexpected pride goes through me at the sight. If she needed help, I’d give it. But she doesn’t need my help.
At last, those still standing finally peel away, hobbling and limping as fast as they can manage down the alley. Scarlett straightens up, shoving her bangs off her forehead as I take a moment to catch my breath.
“Well, that was bracing,” I say brightly, once I’ve steadied my racing pulse. “You handled yourself nicely.”
Scarlett just nods tersely, her expression still locked in that fierce scowl of concentration. She looks…haunted somehow. I want to ask what’s eating her, but think better of it.
I know what’s fucking eating her.
So I just gesture with a tilt of my head in the direction of where I parked the fast, dark-windowed car I took out tonight for this job, and we jog our way over in silence. No one’s tried to jack it, thankfully. Once I’ve checked it for bombs and trackers, since those damn Sokolovs seemed to know exactly where we were going to be, we get inside and I put some distance between us and that particular mess.
As I navigate well away from the city, I sneak sidelong glances at Scarlett. She hasn’t spoken a word since we got into the car, her brow furrowed and gaze distant, clearly lost in troubled thoughts.
I’m sorely tempted again to demand what’s got her panties in such a bunch, since she’s the one who wanted to see her damn parents, but…something stops me. A strange, uncharacteristic flicker of empathy in the face of her obvious inner turmoil. I just keep my mouth shut and my eyes on the road, letting the growl of the powerful engine fill the tense silence.
At last we reach the old farmhouse tucked away amid acres of overgrown cornfields. I kill the engine and turn to face Scarlett fully.
“You need anything when I come by tomorrow?” She just shakes her head, still refusing to meet my stare. “Look, I thought seeing your parents would make you happy,” I snap at last. “It was what you wanted. Right?”
She gives me this wounded look, like I have no idea how hurtful I’m being. I probably don’t. I didn’t have her childhood. Never had her loving parents. In fact, half the time I think she must be deranged to have done what she did, thrown aside all that love for the sake of vengeance.
“Sorry,” I say awkwardly at last. “I really thought it’d make you feel…better.”
She shakes her head. “I just…I don’t understand.” I wait it out and she goes on, “They wanted me to give it all up. To move on. I don’t understand how they can just…forgive.”
Carefully, I say, “I don’t know your parents, Scar. But maybe they just…” I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. I don’t understand it any more than she does. But I know there are some people who can move on from the shitty things that happen to them.
I’m not one of them. Neither is Scarlett.
“I can stay for a while,” I say at last. “If you want some company.”
“No. I’m fine.” A tense pause, then: “Bye.”
