Page 21 of Scarred Sins
Arlo knows that I’m here, and he’s playing for me. He’s not afraid of showing it, either.
His hair is white, pearly white. My brows crease, and a breath gets lodged in my throat as a distant memory resurfaces in my mind. The man on the bus back in Long Grove.
It was Arlo all along?
By the time I’m done processing everything, the music stops. The man stands from the chair, turns around, and bows. And then, his eyes fell on me.
The intensity in his eyes makes me take a small step back. Even from afar, I can see his shoulders go rigid, his body tensing up, hands clenching by his sides as he tries to maintain a smile on his face.
A round of applause echoes in the room, and the reflector shifts from him to the stairs on the right. I no longer see him, but I just know it won’t be the last time we lock eyes for the night.
Forcefully, I tear my eyes away from him and turn my attention to the stairs.
I freeze immediately, fear hugging me and wrapping around my entire being, slowly starting to break me. I can’t look away from the man on top of the stairs, his eyes scanning the room, a big smile on his face. He taps the microphone, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’’ he greets. “I’m very grateful so many of you have come tonight to support me. Tomorrow, a new era will begin. Tonight, we are all celebrating the new beginning!”
People cheer loudly, a round of applause echoing in the room. He pauses speaking, waiting for the people to quiet down.
“The support I’ve received is overwhelming. I’m hoping to show you just how worthy of the support I am in the months to come. Now, enjoy yourselves.’’
Another round of applause ensues, people murmuring and whispering in excitement. Loud noise fills my ears, and I can’t block it. All of me is screaming for me to move, to run after him, and to use the gun that is tucked on the inside of my thigh. He isrightthere.
I remain frozen in place, the fear gripping me tightly.
He turns on his heel, walking up the flight of stairs with a much younger woman on his arm. She’s younger than me, and her body trembles as he puts his hand on her lower back. She smiles, but I can tell it’s forced. I’ve been wearing the same smile for years. And even from a distance, the look of fear in her eyes is unmistakable.
I force my feet to move in purposeful, deliberate moves. My shoulder brushes against strangers as I walk toward him, the fear and anger in me molding together, and I’m not sure which emotion is stronger.
I’m not sure what my plan is.
The fact that I didn’t get searched at the entrance because I came as Wren is a plus, but now, the weight of the gun holstered on my thigh doesn’t matter much. My heart is beating rapidly against my ribcage as I move through the crowd, looking for a way to get to him.
The man who just gave the speech isn’t the same man who continuously assaulted me throughout the years. No, he just tagged along and watched. That was something he got off on. He’d sit in the corner, jerk off while his friend violated me in the worst ways possible.
Don’t do it, Blair.
I don’t listen. I know it’s a bad idea, at least on some level. I know that I lack the skills to kill him; I know that I lack the strength to overpower him. Even if I somehow manage to land a killing bullet, I’ll be sent right back to prison in a blink of an eye.
The surroundings fade away, and I pick up the pace. Emotions get the best of me, and I can’t prevent myself from doing something utterly foolish. I don’t pay attention to where I’m going or if anyone is noticing my odd behavior.
Until I collide with someone’s chest, that is.
I stumble backward a little, but a pair of arms catches me before I can fall. One hand grabs my arm, the other one holding my waist in place.
“No, Blair,’’ a deep voice echoes in my ears. “I can’t let you put yourself in danger.’’
A scent of whiskey and cinnamon hits my nose, preventing me from moving. His hand is still on my waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the dress.
My eyes flicker upward, and I just receive another shock of my life.
It’s the pianist.
My stalker, Arlo.
But I alreadyknowthis man.
“You,’’ I breathe out, whispering. “Has it been you the whole time?”
