Page 112 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

Without another word, he turns and heads to the house, leaving me alone with Scar.

There’s a brief, awkward silence as we watch Cade disappear up the stone stairs. When I turn back to Scar, his smile is friendly and open.

“Yes, he’s always an asshole,” Scar says, like we’re sharing an inside joke.

Up close, the differences between them sharpen. His irises are the wrong shade—lighter than Cade’s. His eyes aren’t as deep-set. The cheekbones don’t quite match. He’s leaner than Cade, more wiry. And of course, there’s that scar—the one I’m guessing he’s named after.

I can’t help returning his smile. “Oh, I figured that already. Besides, he’s hurt.”

Scar raises a tattooed arm, displaying a smear of Cade’s blood from their earlier hug.

“He’s a mess. He’sbeena mess for days, actually—the likes of which I’ve never seen.”

His head tilts slightly, studying me like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. “How on earth did you manage that?”

I throw up my hands with a forced laugh. “I didn’t do anything.”

On the contrary, I’m the one who’s messed up right now.

Scar’s smile widens. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

“I swear. I’m as surprised as you are, Scar.”

His smirk fades to something more serious. “Alright. A word of advice: Don’t fall for him. He won’t catch you. He’ll be gone in a few days.

God, he sounds just like that bitch in my head. Maybe I ought to start listening.

My brows furrow, but before I can say anything, Scar changes the subject.

“Now I imagine this,” he points to his face, “is jarring to see.”

He bends to greet Saint, but I know he’s assessing me and cataloging my responses, and I find myself wanting to do the same. If he’s anything like Cade, then Scar is more than what he appears to be on the surface: intelligent, complex, and ruthless.

I notice while Saint is friendly enough with Scar, letting him get his scratches in, even putting his paws on Scar’s shoulders like he does for Cade, his docked tail barely moves. It’s almost like Saint is putting on an act, which is strange.

Even I can wring more genuine emotion out of Saint, and I’ve only known him days.

Although Saint’s been instructed to be nice to me, so there’s that.

I choose my words carefully. “The resemblance is surprising, but if you’re his brother—”

“Is that who he told you I am?” He looks up at me, his expression still casual, but something sharp flickers beneath.

“Yes. He says you’re the closest person to him.”

His blinding smile tells me I’ve given him exactly what he wants to hear. Then he straightens. “Come on. Let’s get you settled. I’ll get you something to drink. And don’t worry, you’ll be safe here.”

“Thanks, Scar.” I return his smile, my initial dislike of him melting under his intriguing charm and straight talking.

I’m still puzzled over Cade’s abrupt departure when the interior of the house stops me cold.

Dark, gleaming wood and plush furnishings, and high ceilings. A huge stone fireplace dominates one wall, while large windows flood the space with late afternoon light. To my right, a fully stocked bar gleams with brass and crystal. It’s all so . . . warm and lived in.

It hits me again how all this could belong to Cade, yet it’s Scar who enjoys it.

Where did he disappear to anyway?

He mentioned a shower and changing his bandages, but I know something is off. Cade doesn’t withdraw from me. He restrains himself, yes. Until I push him. Then he dominates. This feels different, as if he’s deliberately making himself scarce.

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