A very permanent accident

Scarlett

The steel door of the warehouse rolled shut behind me, sealing out the rain, the cold, and Aaron Wylder’s unreadable stare.

The second the lock clicked into place, my shoulders loosened.

The weight of being Scarlett Vance slipped off like a wet coat.

Here, I wasn’t Senator Marcus Vance’s daughter. I wasn’t tonight’s runaway fiancée. I wasn’t a political pawn.

I was just Scarlett.

The familiar smell of motor oil, stale beer, cigarette smoke and hot metal wrapped around me like an old blanket. Bass vibrated through the concrete floor while laughter echoed from the lounge. Someone argued over a game of pool. Someone else revved an engine just because they could.

Home.

Most people assumed this place belonged to Bear.

Technically, it belonged to me.

When my grandfather died, he had left me one thing my father couldn’t touch. A trust fund with no strings attached.

Marcus had expected me to waste it on designer handbags, luxury vacations or perhaps a penthouse overlooking the harbor.

Instead, I bought an abandoned warehouse the city had written off years ago.

Then I spent every dollar turning it into a clubhouse for the only people who had ever made me feel safe.

"Look at this." A deep, gravelly voice rumbled over the music.

Bear pushed off the pool table and walked toward me. He was enormous. Gray threaded through his beard, faded tattoos disappeared beneath his leather cut and a scar cut across one eyebrow.

To the rest of the city, he was the President of the Phantom Skulls. To met, he was the closest thing I had ever had to a father.

"You wore a dress," Bear noted, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "I owe Slider fifty bucks."

I blinked. "You bet on my misery?"

Bear shrugged. “You have been threatening to burn every formal gown you have ever owned for the last five years.”

Slider grinned from the pool table. “I said she would cave.”

I scoffed. “You both suck.”

Laughter rippled through the room.

I caught the beer someone tossed my way and twisted the cap off.

“I was ambushed..” I said before taking a long drink. “Marcus decided the middle of a political fundraiser was the perfect time to announce my engagement.”

Bear’s expression darkened. “To who?”

“Nathan Vale.”

The room groaned in perfect unison. “Oh, hell no.”

“The Porsche guy?” Slider scoffed, chalking his cue. “The guy who hired people to polish his car after a street race?”

“The same one.” I replied dryly.

Slider looked genuinely offended. “That man irons his jeans. I hate him.”

“I know.”

Bear folded his arms. “So who was driving the Aston Martin?” His dark eyes narrowed in fatherly suspicion. "That wasn't one of ours."

Several heads turned toward me.

"No…" I agreed, staring at the empty glass bottle in my hand. "That was Aaron Wylder."

The pool hall went dead silent. Even the music seemed to dip.

“The Aaron Wylder?” Bear raised an eyebrow, the scars on his jaw stretching.

I nodded. “Unless there are two billionaire CEOs driving identical Aston Martins.”

“You got into his car?” Slider seemed too curious now.

“He was headed the same direction.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I sighed. “I borrowed transportation.”

Slider laughed. “You kidnapped a billionaire.”

“I did not kidnap him.” I deflected, brushing past him toward the back office “I requested a ride. At roadblock.”

“…Continue, Scarlett.” Bear rubbed a hand over his beard. “And?”

“And what?”

“What was he like?”

I shrugged. “Tall.”

Slider rolled his eyes.

“Ice. Annoyingly calm.”

Bear smirked. “And?”

“…He alphabetizes his spice rack.”

The room erupted into laughter.

Before Bear and Slider could continue the interrogation, the side door opened.

My heart softened instantly.

Jace walked out, wiping a streak of black grease from his hands with a red shop rag. He was wearing faded denim and a white t-shirt that gripped his shoulders, his blond hair messy from running his hands through it all night.

He didn't look like a billionaire. He didn't look like a politician. He looked real.

"I thought I heard the Panigale." Jace smiled, tossing the rag onto a workbench.

Then his eyes found mine. “There you are.”

He crossed the room without hesitation. His arms wrapped around my waist. Mine slid around his neck.

For the first time all evening… I could breathe.

He kissed me slowly. I kissed him back. Not for anyone else. Not for cameras. Just because I wanted to.

“Tough night?” he murmured.

I laughed against his lips."You have no idea." I rested my forehead against his collarbone, letting out a breath I felt like I had been holding since I walked down those glass stairs. "Marcus tried to trap me."

Jace’s grip on me tightened instantly. "Did he touch you?"

"No. He just talked." I looked up into his eyes, forcing a smirk. "I walked off the stage in front of the entire press corps. Marcus is probably having a stress-induced aneurysm right now."

Jace let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "God, I wish I had been there to see that."

“I am glad you weren't. Marcus was... agitated."

I didn't tell him about the threat. I didn't tell him my father had threatened to have him killed. If he knew Marcus had threatened him… Jace would never back down. He would march straight into danger because that’s who he was.

I had to protect him.

"I am going to get out of this dress," I said, kissing his jaw. "Stay?"

Jace sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the digital clock on the wall. "I can't, babe. I just came over to borrow Bear’s torque wrench. I have got that imported Skyline on the lift at my shop, and the owner is coming at 6:00 AM to pick it up. I need to finish the suspension tonight."

"It's pouring," I argued, gripping the front of his shirt. "Do it in the morning."

"It's a ten-grand payout, Scarlett. I need the cash for the new garage expansion." He kissed my forehead, pulling away gently. “I will be back in three hours. Wait up for me?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, a weird, icy knot forming in my stomach.

Unless you want your little grease-monkey mechanic to suffer a very tragic, very permanent accident...

"Jace—"

"Three hours…" He promised, walking backward toward the side door. He shot me that crooked, brilliant smile that had made me fall for him a year ago. "Love you, Scarlett."

"Love you." I whispered back as I watched him disappear through the side door.

Even after it closed… I kept staring at it.

My father’s voice echoed in my head.

Unless you want your little grease-monkey mechanic…

I squeezed my eyes shut.

No.

Marcus made threats every day.

He wouldn’t…

He couldn’t…

…

Two hours later, the clubhouse had gone quiet. Most of the members had headed home. The music was lower. Rain hammered endlessly against the roof.

I had changed into sweatpants and an old tank top and was lying across the battered leather sofa in my office, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes… I saw my father’s face.

My phone remained silent.

No message from Jace.

I checked the time again. He should have been halfway finished by now.

I told myself to stop worrying. But I failed.

I stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out my next move. Marcus wouldn't let tonight's humiliation slide. He would retaliate. He always retaliated.

I needed leverage. I needed access to his offshore accounts, something I could hold over his head to buy my freedom permanently.

The warehouse doors suddenly exploded upward with a deafening crash.

I was off the sofa before I consciously decided to move. My hand found the pistol hidden beneath the cushion.

Footsteps pounded across the concrete floor. Fast. Frantic.

"Bear!" A voice screamed. It was Slider. His voice was completely wrecked, echoing through the cavernous space with a raw, terrifying panic. "Bear, get out here!"

I was out of the office in three seconds.

Slider was standing in the middle of the garage, drenched in rain, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

Bear was already emerging from the back room, his expression instantly shifting from sleepy to lethal.

"What?" Bear barked.

Slider didn't look at his President. His wide, panicked eyes found me.

The icy knot in my stomach turned into a jagged block of lead.

The air vanished from my lungs.

"Slider," I said, my voice eerily calm. "What happened?"

Slider swallowed hard, pointing a shaking hand toward the rolling doors.

"It's Jace's shop…" He choked out, the rain dripping from his chin.

My fingers tightened around the grip of the pistol. “What about it?”

His lips trembled. “There was a fire.”

Everything inside me went perfectly still.

“The whole place…” His voice cracked. “It’s gone.”

The room blurred.

“Jace?” My voice shook.

Nobody answered.

I looked from Slider to Bear, then back to Slider. “Where… where is Jace?”

Slider’s eyes dropped to the concrete floor.

No.

No.

No.

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Slider.” I called him. “Look at me.”

He slowly raised his head. His face was pale beneath the grease and rain, his eyes red and glassy. “Scarlett…” His voice broke. The blood drained from my face. “He… he was still inside.”

Everything stopped. The music. The voices. The rain. Even my heartbeat.

The pistol slipped from my numb fingers and hit the concrete. “No.”

It came out as a breath.

“No…” My knees buckled.

Bear caught me before I hit the floor, but I couldn’t feel his arms. I couldn’t feel anything.

The only thing I could hear was my father’s voice echoing through my head.

Unless you want your little grease-monkey mechanic to suffer a very tragic… very permanent accident…

A scream tore itself out of my throat.