Page 6 of Scarred Sins
From the moment I saw Blair Hawke for the first time, something changed. As if a flip had been switched inside of me, an immense need to protect her was born. I don’t know why it happened or why it had to be her – but it happened, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it.
Blair moved exactly the way I wanted her to move. From the prison escape to the hitchhike and the elderly couple that oh-so-graciously took her in to the job she has now, everything was orchestrated by me.
At first, I was just supposed to give her a helping hand, yet I couldn’t stop myself from watching her every move.
No one notices how often she talks to herself. No one notices that she spaces out often, and it takes her a while to pull out of it. No one seems to notice how dark and disturbing her mind truly is; no one notices that she doesn’t smile sincerely. I haven’t seen a genuine smile on her face since I’ve known her.
She perfected her customer service voice, laughter, and facial expression. She learned by mimicking others, and it’s nothing but a facade. The real Blair would make all of those people shake in their boots until they run away scared.
That’s my goal.
Having my pretty girl all to myself.
Helping my pretty girl heal and giving her the thing she desires the most – revenge.
My right hand is on the mouse, clicking, switching footage from her living room to the bedroom until nothing but Blair is on my screen.
Her dark, brown hair is neatly pulled into a tight ponytail, swaying as she walks over from her dresser to the king-sized bed. It’s late September, and in Long Grove, the reason for wearing short skirts and crop tops is gone.
Yet, there she is, as if she’s immune to cold, in nothing but a pair of shorts and a sports bra.
She sprawls across the bed, scrolling on her phone. With a glance to my left, I see everything she’s seeing. Naturally, I hacked into her phone the moment she purchased it. It’s just for her safety, of course.
As always, she’s searching for anything regarding the prison massacre.
The news made the headlines. Everyone wanted to know why a female prison was targeted and how it was done, without a single witness in sight. But most importantly, everyone wanted to know who did it.
From the employees to the prisoners – all of them were wiped out.
However, I’m notthatbig of a bastard. Beforehand, I made sure that every employee that wasn’t corrupt and prisoners whose sentences weren’t heavy were transferred elsewhere. The inmates were sent across the state under the guise of this one being too crowded.
The employees got paid time off, which Mama helped me arrange.
And now, three years later, all that’s left is for my pretty butterfly to spread her wings and fly freely.
The news didn’t die out as quickly as I’d hoped. Instead, every news reporter and every newspaper company was grasping for straws, trying to collect non-existent evidence and get the juicy story out into the world.
It pissed me off. It still does.
Luckily, it all happened miles away from Long Grove, and no one could ever connect Amy Marshall to Blair Hawke.
Mainly because Blair changed drastically. Her natural, blonde hair is now dark brown, and her once bare skin is covered in tattoos. Her forearms, lower back, and thighs are covered in ink, and it makes her so much more attractive.
Unless someone pays close attention, there’s nothing that can indicate that Amy and Blair are the same person.
Blair Hawke is long dead and won’t be coming back to reclaim her name.
My phone buzzes, breaking my train of thought.
Forcefully, I tear my eyes from Blair, shutting the monitor down. Without bothering to look at the caller ID, I pick up the call, pressing the device against my ear, annoyance evident in my tone.
“Arlo speaking.’’
“You little bastard,’’ Mama’s loud voice echoes, and I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear for a brief moment. “You promised you’d be home for the weekend! Where the fuck are you? Aria is asking about you non-stop. It can’t be that hard to send her a single text message! And do you even realize how many dishes I’ve prepared for you? How many hours have I spent cooking all of your favorite foods?”
I wince again. “I’m sorry, Mama. I forgot.’’
A humorless laugh slips from Mom’s lips. The dangerous kind. The kind that tells me that I’m utterly and completely fucked.
