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."

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.'

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

Once the meeting was over, Scarlett dismissed the others and retreated to her father's study. Closing the door behind her, she let out a deep breath and slumped into the plush leather chair behind the desk, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She couldn't afford to let anyone see her weakness, not now that she was in charge. Just as she was about to pour herself a drink, the door creaked open and a man entered slowly, his form looming over hers like an eclipse. Scarlett froze. She recognized him instantly - The Lord's most trusted hitman, Romero Alvarez. They had been in an altercation some hours ago. She watched as his eyes bore down on her, dark and intense.

“You’ve made Ryan blush, you dirty slut!” Sandra smiles at you, then thankfully changes the subject to put you out of your misery. “So Ryan, which famous person would you choose?” You think about it for a moment. “Uh, I dunno… maybe Scar Son?” “Good choice!” says Laura. “Yeah, good choice,” agrees Sandra. “You know, I think I’d probably turn lesbian for Scar Son. How about you, Laura?” Laura shrugs. “Maybe. I bet she eats pussy like a pro.”

The vulnerability of grief laid bare, I allowed myself to express the depth of my sorrow. Jason, attuned to the shift in my emotions, pulled me into a gentle embrace. His comforting presence provided a sanctuary for the torrents of grief that poured out. "It's okay to let it out, Celicia. I'm here for you," he murmured, his words a soothing melody in the midst of the emotional storm. In that moment, surrounded by the hushed whispers of the funeral attendees, I surrendered to the waves of grief. The collective mourning seemed to echo my individual sorrow, creating a symphony of shared pain.

Maxwell’s POV Scarlett stepped back from the door, her eyes darting to mine with a mixture of curiosity and unease. I offered her a gentle smile, hoping to ease her nerves. Clay and I entered, glancing around the small, modest room. It was simple, far from the opulence she must have known in the South, but she seemed to find peace here. Her expression was calm, as if grateful for the small space and its quietude. She didn’t need luxury; she needed a haven.