Ryan Clark Scar Novels & Stories

He turned back to Larry, his voice laced with cautious seriousness. “Larry, I want to make this very clear,” Ryan began. “You must never, under any circumstances, make the mistake of telling Scarlet about the connection between her late mother and Henry.” Larry’s eyes widened at Ryan’s stern tone, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Of course, sir,” he replied quickly, a sense of understanding dawning on him. “I won’t utter a word about it. You have my word.” Ryan nodded once, his gaze intent on Larry’s face, searching for any signs of doubt. Satisfied with what he saw, he stepped out of the car.

I complimented and he gave me a sarcastic smile. I could feel someone staring at me and when I turned I noticed it was a dark-haired boy sitting next to Lynch. He saw me look at him and he smiled still not tearing his eyes away as he held eye contact with me. Something about him made my hair stand and not in a good way. "Who is that?" I whispered to Claire. She turned in the direction I was looking and turned back to me rolling her eyes. "That is Ryan. The living breathing definition of scum."

"Mrs. Carter! Welcome. How may I assist?" Karla ignored the bow, voice ice-queen. "Where's Ryan?" Clark straightened, a polite smile on his face. "Out on business, ma'am. What can I do for you?" She claimed the leather guest chair uninvited, crossing her legs elegantly, and pulling a slim cigarette from her bag. Flick—the gold lighter sparked, smoke curling defiant as she exhaled. "Recent contracts for my son, Howard. All of them. I need to review."

Ryland shrugged, confirming my suspicion. Dr. Clark aka Connor Davies had been my assigned lab partner. "These things happen sometimes.” he shrugged. Then seeing my expression asked, “Ariana, are you okay?" "I'll be fine," I smiled. I wasn’t fine. And soon I was about to feel far worse.

I smile again and thread my hand into his hair. His scalp is…textured. Pebbly, almost. I run my finger over the skin, trying to make sense of it. A nasty bout of acne? Eczema? My thumb catches the edge of a fine, straight line. They’re scars. His whole head is covered in scars. I clutch my gauzy, powder pink skirt in trembling fingers, caught somewhere between rage and despair. “Fine!” Ryan shouts. “Think I’m making a mistake all you want, Lil. But I’m not going to miss my goddamn—”

Ryan climbed in after her, adjusting his hard cock in his trousers as he barked at the driver. “Take her home. No stops.” The car sped off into the night as Scarlett sat trembling beside him, her thighs pressed tightly together. Her body was on fire, her clit throbbing with every bump in the road. But despite the humiliation, despite the frustration, her lips curled into a small, wicked smile. She was going to break him. No matter how strong or disciplined he thought he was, no man could resist her forever. And when he finally snapped… She was going to let him ruin her completely.

Only those who knows the Scarpa for who they are—original mafias after the Cosa Nostra, could recognize it. "What about the cufflink?" I ask, reaching my hand into my coat for my gun. I'd have to kill her here and now if she knew who I was. She looked up and her teary eyes found mine. Only, she didn't look scared. "I know this cufflink." Shit. She would have been a good 'Fuckmate.'

A middle-aged man in a charcoal suit stepped out of a black sedan. His face was partially obscured. Only one feature stood out clearly. A thin scar above his left eyebrow. Roman's voice became unusually serious. "Evelyn says this is the same man who came looking for me." Damien's jaw tightened. "The scar." Clara's face drained of color. "No..." Vivian turned toward her. "You know him?" Clara shook her head slowly. "I've never known his name." "But four years ago..." "...he was the last person I saw before everything went black."

That we had different paths and we knew it and we made a clean decision like adults and I had been quietly proud of myself for being so sensible about it and had spent the subsequent decade discovering that sensibility and grief are not the same thing and one does not prevent the other. I told her about the clinic. About the waiting room. About the door opening and Ray Lionel standing there in a white coat looking at me like something he had been half-expecting and fully dreading. I told her about the nickname, “Scarlly” falling out of his mouth before he could catch it. I told her about the examination and the results and everything looks fine on your end and what those words had done to e

Jasper narrows his eyes at me, but decides not to bring up my thoughts. Instead, he says, "I will not stop until this deal is complete." "Do you know anything about Cyprian? Where he may be?" I ask, hating to bring up the name of the man behind the uprising. Cyprian. Young, strong and extremely manipulative. An outsider of the Love Pack born and raised. A rogue now. All these things are a dangerous concoction I don't want my beautiful mate witnessing. Unfortunately, my end of the deal must be upheld.