PLAY WITH FIRE

CHAPTER 29

HOLDEN KINCAIDE

PRESENT TIME

Scarlett's eyes met mine through the steel bars of the local police stations 48 hour holding cell, and she was anything but happy. If looks could kill, I'd of been killed and cremated all in one, in the span of about 3 seconds. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her index finger tapping against her bicep impatiently as she tuned out the words of the officer opening my cell. 

What did I pay most attention to? Definitely not what the cop was saying, the only thing I should've been paying attention to, but instead the dark marks littering Scarlett's neck. I held a blank face on the outside, but on the inside I was grinning so fucking wide as the hickey's on her neck screamed my name. I hope officer whatever his name noticed them. I hope he knows he's opening the cell of the person who painted those those beautiful marks on that beautiful woman's skin. I hope he noticed the marks I'd been sporting proudly on my neck and put two and two together. 

I wanted him, someone I'd met a few hours ago when I'd been arrested and haven't spoken a word to, to know this woman was mine, and I hers. 

I wanted the whole world to know Scarlett Valentine owned me; inside out. 

Scarlett's pissed harrumph brought me back to reality, my eyes meeting her furious ones and for once in my life, being in her company put me on edge. A tiny smirk had accidentally formed on my mouth when I'd been thinking about her hickeys, and she wasn't having it. Not one bar. I was ready to be throttled when we got home, and a part of me was excited for it. 

I knew going to the head office of 'Australia News' and asking for Isaac Young, the cunt who'd wrote the article about my father was a mistake the second I'd gotten into my car this afternoon. At the time it was a thought, a hypothetical, but as I sat in my car, scrolling further and further through the article, reading unnecessary bull-fucking-shit about Scarlett, I knew where I'd end up. 

An article that was, to put it simply, about my Dad killing himself, had turned into a good 20 minute tangent about my family, then Scarlett, and then her family. It was unnecessary. It was uncalled for. I was pissed. Pissed he'd brought the girl I loved and her deceased family into a matter that had nothing to do with them. That's was why I drove there asking for Isaac Young. That was why I was now sitting in a cell, the skin over my knuckles broken and bloody. 

I told Isaac to take the article down and he declined what he'd thought was a suggestion. He begged me to stop punching him once I'd started, and I simply declined his suggestion. Eye for an eye. 

The cell opened and I remained seated for a couple moments, just staring at Scarlett before standing up once the officer told me it was time to leave. I stood beside but slightly behind Scarlett as she angrily scribbled on some release forms at the front desk of the police station, the pen flicking across the paper so fast it looked like it'd flicker metal sparks and set the page on fire. 

We walked out to my car, in silence. 

Scarlett got into the drivers seat, in silence. 

She pressed on the accelerator whilst I still had a leg out of the car, in silence. 

She drove with her hands wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles white...in silence. 

And then, she lost it. 

"Fucking idiot. Fucking dumb, stupid idiot. Fucking dumb cunt. Fucking fuck fucks" Scarlett yelled, eyes set dead ahead. I sat back in the passenger seat, resting an elbow on the centre console, and sitting my chin in my hand as I stared at her. Just stared

 She was beautiful, but when she was angry? Fuck, she was sexy. I felt myself harden in my pants.

"You're one of the dumbest people I have ever met in my entire life, Holden-" She glanced at me, taking in my expression, it only making her face more sour. "And your stupid fucking face is evidence enough of that. I'm pissed. I'm angry. I'm yelling at you and you're looking at me like you want me to pull over, get on your lap, and fuck you."