His Regret by Bella J.

Chapter Ten

Blanchette Wolfe.

A name Scarlet wanted to erase from her mind, her memory, her life. Nothing associated with that name was anything she wanted to think about or remember. All that name did was remind her of how her life changed within the blink of an eye, how everything got ripped away from her by one act that left her alone and broken.

The minute she decided to run, Blanchette Wolfe no longer existed. Blanchette died along with a very big part of her soul. She lost more than her identity that day. She lost her spirit and everything good a person was supposed to feel in life. There was nothing left of the girl she once was, now she was stuck with an empty shell and a heart that no longer had the capacity to love.

But alas, here she was in the apartment of a guy she didn’t know, handcuffed to his couch—and not in a kinky way—and the asshole knew her real name. Fuck.

Hearing him call her that name was like a punch to the gut, getting the wind knocked right out of her. It was the first time someone had called her that in a very long time. In fact, the last time she heard that name it came straight out of the devil’s mouth. And now, hearing someone call her that after all these years had her wanting to break down and throw up at the same damn time.

Scarlet glanced at the cuff around her wrist, thinking about how close she came to vomiting all over Hunter’s expensive tiled floor when she felt it lock around her arm.

Two things. There were two things that scared the shit out of her—being trapped in confined areas, and being restrained, leaving her defenseless and helpless. Just thinking about being unable to run, incapable of defending herself had her insides twisted, as if barbed wire was being tightened around her stomach.

At least he didn’t cuff both her hands, which made it bearable—just.

Man, her arm was starting to ache. How the hell did this asshole expect her to get any sleep cuffed to his damn couch?

Scarlet scooted up a little and placed her hand on her forehead. Her head was pounding, her ears ringing, sure signs that a migraine was about to crack open her skull.

A soft beep sounded and she glanced over to the bed where Hunter sat up and answered his phone.

“Yeah? Now? Sure, whatever. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Hunter tossed his phone next to him and pulled both hands through his disheveled hair.

Who would be phoning him at this hour? And who would he be meeting at this time? Probably a skank. A married woman from fuck knew where who just landed in Chicago and needed to be satisfied by a big, controlling gorilla man.

Hunter got out of bed—naked. A big, controlling gorilla man with a top notch ass.

“You live in an expensive apartment. You ride an expensive motorcycle. Yet you can’t afford a decent pair of pajama pants.”

“I happen to think the best pants is no pants.”

Scarlet unashamedly watched as he pulled pants from his closet. It was dark, with only the city lights shining into the apartment. The broad expanse of his back, the ripples of each and every muscle, was magnified with the shadows the light casted directly onto him. She had just enough light to see that almost his entire upper back was covered in a circular-shaped tattoo, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Her gaze lingered longer than it should, admiring the naked man in front of her while biting into her lower lip.

The curve of his back down his spine, and the way his sides narrowed toward his hips brought her attention straight to the firm, round cheeks that had her imagining nails pushed deep into flesh. And those thighs? Good Lord, his one thigh was bigger than both of hers combined. The thought of the amount of power and strength that pulsed through that body ignited an aching need that pooled between her legs.

The moment he pulled a pair of tracksuit pants over his naked ass, she pouted. That was a show she never wanted to end.

She turned away and stared out the window in front of her while trying clench her thighs to alleviate some of the pressure. “You know, it’s considered rude to walk around naked when you have guests.”

Hunter came to stand in front of her and pulled his shirt over his head. “Says the guest currently handcuffed to my couch—in her bra.”

“Not by choice.”

“What, the handcuffed part? Or the being in your bra part?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you pick one?”

For a few seconds he just stood there, staring down at her with his intense green eyes, to a point where she started to feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.

“What?” she snapped.

“Nothing. I’ll be back in two hours.”

“Where are you going?”

He stomped off toward the door and grabbed his keys off the side table. “None of your business.”

“Wait. Are you just going to leave me here, handcuffed to your damn couch?”

“Yup.”

“You can’t—”

And then the door slammed shut.

“Asshole!” she yelled, hoping he could hear it. The loud bang against the door told her he did. Fucker.

“Goddammit.” Her head fell back and she stared up at the ceiling.

What the hell did she get herself into this time? Trusting people wasn’t something she did—ever. And no, she didn’t trust this guy either. There was just something telling her that she didn’t have a choice. There was nothing else she could do but to trust him, and pray to God that it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass.

Scarlet sighed and rubbed her hand down her face. That was when she noticed the bottle of Jack still on the coffee table.

By God, the universe was finally throwing her a bone.

Stretching as far as she could, she ignored all the aching in her body. There was only one short term goal she had in mind, and it was a clear one. Get that damn bottle of Jack and drink as much of it as possible, in the shortest amount of time.

Not only was whiskey the answer to keeping away the nightmares and the memories, but it was her only cure to the headache pounding like a bitch through the back of her skull while she waited for Mr. Gorilla-man to return from wherever the fuck he went.

Hell. Maybe that was where he went. To hell so that he could discuss with Lucifer himself new ways in which he could piss her off and make her want to kill him in unimaginable ways. Yes, that was exactly where he went.

The handcuff pressed a groove into her wrist as she desperately pulled and stretched to reach the bottle. With her index finger she managed to slowly, strategically, maneuver the bottle closer. And finally, after about five minutes of pretending she was part of the Fantastic Four, she held the bottle in her hand and silently sang Kumbaya.

Once she opened the bottle, she swallowed a good mouthful. That first taste was always the best, giving the worst sting as it slowly travelled down your throat, settling in your stomach. Funny how alcohol had the power to make one forget, even if just for a few hours. She never understood how some people could judge those who had to depend on alcohol to make them forget their nightmares. Scarlet got it. She understood it. Until a person fell smack bang right in the middle of their own hell, they would never be able to understand how or why some people needed an escape. And that was what alcohol was to some people—an escape, a coping mechanism.

For what seemed like hours, Scarlet sat there on the couch drinking whiskey and just staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows. She had to admit, when she first laid eyes on Hunter, she did not imagine him living in a place like this. In fact, she was one hundred percent sure he would be living in a dump. But no. He was living in one huge-ass, open-plan bachelor pad with what she could only assume was one of the best views of Chicago.

There was a time in her life when she had woken up to a beautiful view just like this one every morning. The only difference, her view was of a beautiful green landscape. An estate with trees and flowers, her own childhood playground. She was young. Her life was simple then. Until one morning everything changed, and that view with all its beauty turned into nothing but gray.

Scarlet—Blanchette—shared a room with her older sister. It wasn’t because there weren’t any other rooms, or because their house was small. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They lived in a huge mansion decorated and fitted with only the best. But they preferred it that way. They wanted to share a room, to be close. They were inseparable.

Scarlet still remembered how she would watch her sister comb and tie her light blonde hair every morning, wishing and hoping that one day she would be just as beautiful. Her sister was a flawless beauty, the fair-skinned, light blue-eyed princess, while Scarlet was what you would call an imperfect beauty. Her lips weren’t so full back then, her eyes not as bright, and her boobs definitely not as big. Her mother used to tell her not to worry, that the time would come when she would bloom into a beauty.

Scarlet looked down at her cleavage.

Oh, she’d bloomed all right. It was just unfortunate that her cousin also noticed how she had bloomed the day of her seventeenth birthday. The same day he came home no longer a Marine, but a monster.

They said he had psychological issues, that when triggered he became unpredictable. And because of that he could no longer serve. It was a shock to everyone in her family. Just like everyone else, Scarlet was so sure that it wasn’t true. Her cousin, Brent, was one of the most stable people she had ever known. Brent was adopted by her uncle when he was seven years old, the same year Scarlet was born. Yet, even though they weren’t related by blood, she loved him. She adored him. He was like a brother to her. So of course no one believed it. Not even her.

Until the day she experienced firsthand just how deep his psychological issues went. The day her life no longer had any color.

Pouring the last bit of whiskey down her throat, Scarlet felt the pain starting to consume her as she allowed her mind to wander in the past. The pain in her ribs, the pounding ache in her head, nothing compared to the agony of thinking back, remembering what she had been through, what was taken from her.

With every ounce of strength she had, she fought it. She fought the pain, the memories, the flashing images. But it seemed like not even a half a bottle of whiskey had the power to help her with that.

The sun was starting to rise, the soft yellows and pinks forcing some color into a very clean, very boring, dreary-looking white and gray apartment. Seriously, would a simple red or magenta scatter cushion kill this guy?

All the whiskey Scarlet consumed didn’t really have the desired numbing effect she had hoped for, but she really needed to pee.

She glanced from the bathroom to the cuff around her arm. “Well, shit.”

There was a sound at the door, and Scarlet immediately felt her spine chill. Sure, the apartment wasn’t registered under Hunter’s name, but she had learned by now that no matter what, he would always find her.

Pulling violently at the cuffs, Scarlet fought against the fear that had both her heart and stomach fighting for a way up her throat. Out of instinct, she thought about all the ways she would be able to haul her ass out of that apartment. But the damn handcuff shot all those ideas to shit.

Dammit.

She heard the beep of the door unlocking. Another click and Scarlet was sure her heart was about to explode.

And then Hunter walked through the door, and anger just launched its way through her chest.

“Jesus Christ!” She flung the first thing she could find at Hunter’s head—which just happened to be the empty bottle of whiskey.

Hunter ducked and covered his face from the splattering glass. “What the fuck? Are you insane?”

“You scared the bejesus out of me, you fucking asshole. I thought you were one of them!”

He slammed the door shut. “I already told you it’s impossible for him to trace this place back to me.”

Scarlet pulled her free hand through her hair and tried to catch her breath, her heart still pounding heavily inside her chest. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I know him well enough to know that nothing is impossible for that son of a bitch.” Then she looked over at him. “What the hell is wrong with your face?”

He turned away and tossed his keys on the table next to the door. “Nothing.”

“That big shiner around your eye disagrees.”

Hunter looked at what once was a bottle of whiskey that now laid splattered on the floor. “Did you drink the entire fucking bottle?”

“It was half a bottle, smart-ass.” She shrugged. “Besides, I was bored.” She pulled at the cuff. “And restrained.”

There was a sound of cracking glass as Hunter made his way toward her. “It’s seven in the fucking morning and you’re completely shit-faced.”

“I am not shit-faced.” She held up a finger toward him. “But I do have to pee.”

He stared at her in what Scarlet could only assume was his I’m-so-not-amused face.

“I leave you alone for a few hours and this is what I get.” He leaned over her and she breathed in his wild spice scent mixed with sweat and pure raw male. In this position, she was able to take a peek down his shirt, and saw a lot of ink tattooed on almost every part of his skin.

Her skin tingled and her breath hitched when she felt his hand brush against her arm. There was a click, and the cuff loosened around her wrist. Her arm was so stiff from being in that one position for so long, she had to slowly bring it down before rubbing her wrist.

Hunter stood up, his green eyes still glaring down at her. “Go pee.”

His gaze slipped from her face, slowly moving down her neck, pausing for two seconds at her breasts still covered with nothing but her bra. She noticed his chest rise and fall with every deep breath he took. There was no denying that Hunter was one huge, solid man built out of nothing but cold, hard steel, muscle, and attitude. She would have been blind not to notice.

But while he stood there staring at her, taking in every inch of her body, it seemed like there was something different, something darker lurking behind his eyes. Like an animal slowly pacing up and down behind the gates of his cage, wanting, needing, waiting to get out. And just thinking about that animal finally being let out of his cage caused a subtle, slow burn to start up inside her. The way he kept those brilliant, mesmerizing green eyes on her felt like he was caressing her with his gaze, touching her body with his mind.

Yeah, she’d probably had way too much alcohol.

The second his gaze landed on her hip, staring at the button of her pants, he looked up. “And take a shower while you’re in there. You stink.”

And that was the second time Hunter Keaton had managed to completely shatter the atmosphere around them, causing the crackle of electricity to cease instantly.

He turned around and headed to the kitchen.

“Fucking asshole,” she whispered.

“I heard that.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I already did that today.” He turned around and shot her a smug grin. “Twice.”

“What?” She glanced at him, dumbfounded. “It’s not even eight in the morning yet.”

“I’m not easily sated.”

All she could do was shake her head, and clench her thighs before getting up from the couch…and then almost losing her balance.

“Is Jack kicking your ass over there, Lucy?” Hunter held up his cup of coffee, that smug smile still plastered on his face.

Scarlet grabbed hold of the armrest of the couch and steadied herself. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

With carefully planned steps, Scarlet managed to get to the bathroom. While she was sitting down cuffed to the couch, she didn’t realize how drunk she really was. Now that she was finally allowed to stand up, she was fully aware that drinking all that whiskey might not have been her best idea ever.

After closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. She was tired, her body ached, and she needed some fucking sleep.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall of the bathroom. God, she looked like Medusa had taken a dump on her face. Her mascara was no longer on her lashes, but on her cheeks. And her sleek hair was now one giant ball of tangled mess. No wonder he was staring at her. He wasn’t fucking her with his eyes, he was mentally giving her a damn makeover.

With a deep breath and a heavy feeling inside her chest, Scarlet wondered if she would ever get the answer to the single most important question she’d had for a very long time.

Why me?