Page 55 of Fighting for Scarlett

Played her.

Even though it shouldn’t, knowing that cut way too deep. It left wounds on her heart. Because it didn't matter how many times she told herself she had imagined that connection and that Tate didn't like her much less feel anything for her, her stupid heart wouldn’t get with the program.

It wasn’t even that her body found him attractive. That she could definitely ignore. It was the fact that every time she was around him, she got the warmest, flutteriest feeling in her stomach, and her heart felt like it was swelling until it was too big for her chest.

She hated it.

Every time it happened it was like life was taunting her. Like it was whispering in her ear, you know that man you thought could be the one, well he’s not, he doesn’t even like you.

Did life think she was stupid and didn't know that already?

All those lies he’d told to lull her into a false sense of security so he could convince her to follow him there felt like a dozen knives buried in her back.

Worst of all, he still thought she was a traitor.

Why else would he lock her up?

A scream of frustration bubbled through her and erupted to fill the space, and she took the stairs back to the top, hammering her hands on the door until her throat ached from screaming, and her hands were bruised and bloodied.

Before her mind could spiral down the path of wondering whether her team had been lying to her as well, the door swung open.

Caught off guard, Scarlett stumbled backward.

If it wasn’t for a pair of hands reaching out to grab her, she would have tumbled all the way down to the bottom of the stairs.

That moment of relief evaporated in an instant when she looked up to see Tate.

He was back, but what did that mean for her?

What was he going to do?

Was he taking her into custody and handing her off to whatever agency wanted to deal with her? Or was he going to hand out his own brand of punishment?

Fear and fury warred inside her, but she straightened her spine and met his gaze directly. “I hate you,” she said simply.

Did he wince at her words? Scarlett wasn’t sure, she was vibrating with anger, breathing hard, and her pounding pulse echoed too loudly in her ears for her to figure out anything else.

“I know you do,” Tate said with a weary sigh. His gaze raked over her, taking in her disheveled appearance and her bloodied hands, and his eyes narrowed. “You didn't take a shower. Or get any sleep. Did you eat something? Why didn't you even change your clothes?”

He was kidding, right?

What part about being locked up against her will did he think would be conducive to taking a shower and having a snack?

Just as she was about to spit out every bit of venom that had been growing inside her these last however many hours since he locked her up and left, Tate spoke first.

Spoke the last words she imagined him saying.

“Scarlett, I owe you an apology. Actually, I owe you several.”

That took a little of the wind out of her sails. A little. Not all. “Yeah, you do, buddy,” she muttered.

When she went to breeze past him, needing to be out of the claustrophobic space before she lost her mind—locking someone who had recently been held captive into a small room was not a good idea—Tate stopped her.

Ready to fight, do whatever it took to not get put back in that room, Scarlett was already pulling back her arm, ready to strike him when his chuckle halted her.

“Hold up, little fighter, I was just going to give you this.” He held up a shiny new key, and when she shot him a confused look he added, “It’s a key to the apartment. I’d like us to stay there together so nobody looking for you will find you, but I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have my trust. This way you know you can't get locked in here again.”

Weariness suddenly assaulted her. She just wanted this to be over. She didn't want to have to worry about Raul sending men after her. Didn't want to be considered a traitor. “Wait, you said nobody who’s looking for me will find me here. More than just Raul?”

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