Page 105 of The Man with a Treasure

Vile hatred toward anyone who had ever brought harm to this woman had my whole body quivering. The only thing that brought an ounce of solace was Sal’s shaking hand landing on my shoulder. “Breathe.” His voice shook. “We have her now.”

My voice quaked. “Sal, look at her.”

He was pale. “I am, and she’s in your arms.” I think he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

Scarlett’s legs gave out as she uttered, “Prospect.”

I yanked her to me, holding her up, wanting her so close our breaths became one. “Shh. No more prospect.” I angled my head over hers, wanting to shelter her from any attack, real or from the past. “You’re safe. No one will touch you again.” With deeply yearning revenge, I told Sal, “I will soon reach down throats and pull their balls up through their fucking mouths, then shove them back in and make them fucking chew. If this has anything to do with those fucking Steel Stallions, I will burn the whole God-forsaken club to the ground.”

He sneered, “I will strike the match.” He got on his cellphone and searched the web. “What do these fuckers’ patches look like? I must know so I can kill them on sight.”

We eventually got Scarlett calm. She even smiled, but the idea that she had hidden memories—and had to experience part of one again—seemed to drain her. The realization that her journey of healing was far from over seemed to be wounding her spirit.

Sal and I wanted Scarlett to get some rest, hence why we took her to her room. Even though the sun was up, she was still feeling the nighttime that usually scared her. Now, we knew why. It was when she became live entertainment for the vile men who had lost all the humanity they had been born with.

To offer comfort and safety, Sal and I each took a side. Lying next to the Giordano Princess, we covered her with a blanket. As we propped her back with a couple of pillows, she quietly asked, “What does the word sorry mean?”

Leaning up on his elbow, Sal eyed me as if I should be the one to answer.

On my side, I explained, “It is an apology. A word to describe regret or sorrow for something that has happened or something the person apologizing has done.”

“I’ve heard you,” she looked at me, then to Sal, “and you, say this.” She paused for a moment, then told us, “My mother said it to me once. After I woke to her with a knife.” She pointed up, then imitated her mother holding a knife, directly over Scarlett’s chest.

Oh my God.

Remembering Isabella in the cave, tormented over this knife, I never understood she had thought to use it to kill her daughter—wanting to end her child’s life to save her from all the rapes to come.

I whispered, “I’m sorry.” I meant it to both women.

Scarlett asked, “What would my life have been, had my mother succeeded,” she tapped her chest, “with the knife?”

Sal’s forehead fell to Scarlett’s shoulder. I think it was too much to look into her deep galaxy eyes and imagine us never being able to fall helplessly into them.

Gently, I explained, “You wouldn’t have a life.” Not that she’d had much of one staying alive.

Her mouth parted. “She wanted me dead?”

It was almost impossible to swallow. “She wanted you spared. She… wanted to keep you from all the suffering your ‘fathers’ would cause you.”

“She lost Faith?”

In sorrow and disbelief, Sal’s head slowly lifted, tears falling.

It was that amazing being around this spirit of grace.

Scarlett wiped one of his tears. “I am glad to still be alive. Here. With you two.”

In a blink of an eye, Sal’s lips pressed to hers. It wasn’t sexual. It was gratitude.

Wiping under his nose, he chuckled. “The Rossi kiss finally came through, eh?”

Snarl…

Scarlett pointed to me. “That is how your kiss tastes.”

Sal and I simultaneously let out freeing feeling laughs when she let out an animalistic growl.

“Is that what I sound like?”