Scarlett Red: A Billionaire SEAL Story, Part 2 (In the Shadows)

Mister Black swept in and out of my life like a tornado, leaving me twisted up and forever changed in his wake.

And now that my life is finally back on track, I need to move on, despite the many reminders of our time together.

But our pasts are only as far away as the shadows we hide behind, and sometimes those shadows grow darker, converging on the present in the most insidious way.

He is Black: a stealthy hunter and rainbow master.

I am Red: a truth seeker and desire keeper.

Together we are obsession. Passionate colors destined to be drawn together.

NOTE: Scarlett Red is meant for readers 18+ due to mature content. This is part 2 of a serial and is approximately 250 print pages

Copyright 2014 by P.T. Michelle

All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook cannot be re-sold or given away to others. No parts of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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M
om yells for me to get the phone from her nightstand, her voice pitched higher than usual as it echoes down the hall. I open my eyes and try to shake the stuffy grogginess from my head.
What phone? Has she forgotten our phone’s been disconnected? Stupid medical bills.
I glance at the clock. One-eleven glows back at me. Mom must be getting ready to go to bed. She usually stays up late reading. She claims it helps her escape from the pain. I rub my face and wonder if I dreamed her calling me. Mom screams at the same time I hear the door to our apartment slam on its hinges.

What’s happening?
I stumble out of bed and run blindly toward my mom standing at the front of the hall. Other than streetlight bleeding through the blinds and casting shadows on the walls, it’s dark in our apartment.

A man in a ski mask approaches Mom. “Move,” he barks in a gruff voice.

“We don’t have anything.” Her words are low and shaky. “Even the TV is broken.”

I skid to a stop behind her, but she throws her arms outward. She’s not letting me past her. “Stay
back
, Sebastian.”

I’m big for a seventeen-year-old. The masked man must’ve felt threatened. He quickly points the gun at me and narrows his dark eyes.

“No!” Mom screams, jumping in front of the gun just as it goes off.

Her slight frame flings back into mine and I catch her. “Mom!” I yell, stunned into immobility. As we fall to the floor together, the intruder empties his gun into us. Heart pounding in fear for my mom, all I can do is clutch her close and jerk with each bullet jolting her body.

I try to yell, to scream at the motherfucking bastard, but nothing comes out. I’m in shock, and all I can do is lay there frozen, while the man turns and ambles out of our apartment like he’d just delivered pizza, not shredded my mother to bits.

Warm blood oozes over my fingers. I don’t have enough hands to stop all the blood flowing from her wounds. I crawl over her, gulping my fear back. I try, but there are just too many holes.

You need to dial 911.
Get your head on straight! Call.
No fucking phone! No neighbor will dare offer help for fear they’ll be next to catch a bullet. Mom had said something about a phone in her nightstand. I gently set her aside and run to her room. Dragging open her drawer, I find a small flip phone inside.
Where did that come from?

I grab it and dial 911. Once I tell the operator where to send an ambulance, I rush back to my mom’s side to wait for the sirens.

My heart races as I frown at the phone in my hand, my fingers sticky with blood.
Where did she get this?
Opening it once more, I scroll through to see who she has called. No past history. One number is stored under contacts.

No name. Just a number.

I dial and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” A man says sleepily.

“I think I have the wrong number,” I say, sounding hoarse.

Just when I start to hang up, the man replies, “Sebastian? Is everything all right?”

I frown, my stomach churning. “Who is this?”

The man sighs heavily. “Is your mother all right?”

“No,” I croak, shaking my head. “She’s not moving.”

The man’s speaking but sirens begin to blare in my ear. They get louder and louder until it feels like my eardrums are going to explode. As soon as I yell for it to stop, my eyes fly open.

Exhaling a harsh breath, I scrub my hands down my face, then grab my ringing phone from the nightstand. Five a.m. glows red on the display. “You have five seconds to make this early call worth my time,” I growl into the receiver.

“I’m assuming you’re Sebastian. I’m detective Bill Danvers. Carl Resinski over at the ninth precinct recommended your firm—well, you—saying you see stuff others don’t. We’d like you to come take a look. At this point, I’m willing to pay the damned Tooth Fairy to catch this bastard.”

“On behalf of BLACK Security, fuck you, Danvers.”

Just when I move my thumb to end the call, the man calls out, “Wait! Sorry, that came out wrong. Listen, I’m at my wits’ end on this one. This is the second redhead this year. And two years ago, there was a string of five, same MO. All have been strangled and left naked with bloody wounds and welts all over their bodies. The freak mixes the victim’s blood from her wounds with food coloring to make it even brighter before he splatters it all over the scene. His special calling card. We can’t allow this guy to do it again. Can you help us out?”

Grunting, I agree to meet him at the latest victim’s address in a half hour.
Bright Red.
I can’t go a day without seeing that color everywhere and automatically thinking of her. Today’s going to be brutal in more ways than one. It’s why I hate the gory murder cases the most.
What is Red doing now?
I can never get her out of my mind.
Has she thought of me even once these past three years?
Shaking my head to clear it, I stand to grab a shower, glad for the distraction from rehashing past regrets.

My dream comes back to me as I step under the hot pounding water. It has been a while since I’ve dreamed about my mother’s death. Too many other nightmares have crowded in since then, filling the dark space and shoving thoughts of her death to the recesses of my mind. Probably dreamed about it due to Mom’s cold case file finally making its way to me. I’d requested it from a law enforcement buddy the other day. I mentally step through what I remember and wonder how it’ll compare to her file.

After I meet with this detective and survey the crime scene for him, I’ll go for a long run to clear my head, then crack open Mom’s folder.