Page 73 of Fighting for Scarlett

For a second, his grip loosened, and she felt his fear, but then it locked tight again. “I hope you don’t mean that. I hope you’ll see I'm doing what I have to in order to keep you alive.”

Maybe in his mind, but not from where she was standing.

She’d fight, but it all seemed so hopeless.

Minutes later, they pulled up outside Prey’s office building.

Just like she expected, the second they were out of the car and walking toward the building they were approached by men dressed in black suits, their hands hovering over their weapons like they truly believed she was some criminal mastermind.

Like he wasn’t breaking her heart in the process, Tate handed her right over to them, stood there impassively watching as her hands were yanked behind her back and secured with cuffs.

She didn't look back as she was led to a car and shoved in the backseat.

Didn't spare him a glance as she was driven away.

What would be the point?

It seemed like there was always something more important than her, and for Tate, like everyone in her family, it was his job. He could say all he liked that he was doing this for her, but he was doing it for himself, so he didn't lose everything.

She wasn’t worth more to him than his job.

January 18th

8:22 P.M.

His entire body was so tense that his muscles were actually aching.

Tate didn't think that for as long as he lived, he would ever get the look of complete and utter betrayal on Scarlett’s face out of his mind.

It was etched in there, a permanent reminder of the fact that he had hurt her in a way that might not be able to be undone.

All he could do was pray that Scarlett would understand that nothing was more important to him than keeping her alive. He got that she didn't see it the same way. Already he’d done the whole locking her up for her own good thing, and he hadn't intended on doing it again.

But this was different.

Things had changed.

No longer was it just Scarlett’s freedom on the line, but her life.

Trapped between two terrible options, her sitting in a prison cell or her dead body sitting in the morgue—or worse, buried in some shallow grave never to be found—he’d done the best he could. There was no way he could guarantee a mole at Prey couldn’t find a connection between him and the apartment.

Put in this position there was no good choice, but Scarlett wouldn’t see it that way.

Still, even if she never forgave him—although he’d fight like hell for a chance with her—at least she’d be alive. Alive trumped dead every single time. It trumped everything. Including Scarlett’s feelings. Including his own happiness.

Trumped everything.

Had to.

Because the alternative was a world without Scarlett’s bright, shining presence.

As far as he was concerned that was unacceptable.

Even though he would make the same choice every single time, none of this was easy. Focusing enough to be any help at all as they’d worked on narrowing down their suspect list until they could zero in on the most likely had been next to impossible.

It was only knowing his entire future was resting on this that gave him the strength to do it.

And now they might be moments away from getting the proof he needed to free Scarlett once and for all. Then he’d beg, grovel, plead, get down on his knees, whatever it took to make her understand that hurting her hadn't been his goal, but he cared about her enough to do whatever it took to protect her.

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