Chapter 36 FUCKED BY THE HOT STRANGER
HE SAVED ME THEN FUCKED ME
SCARLETT HILLS (FL) — 24YRS
ALEXANDER MARIO— 35YRS
SCARLETT POV
My pulse hammered in my throat as I darted through the narrow alleyway, shadows clinging to the cracked walls. The streetlights flickered above me like dying stars, mocking me with their brief flashes of light. Every corner I passed felt like it could be the one where they’d catch me. Every sound behind me was a reminder: I wasn’t running from strangers. I was running from my own family.
The Rossis.
I’d been raised in that house, fed from their table, shaped into their weapon. I owed them my life, and yet tonight I was tearing myself free of them. Or at least trying to.
The click of footsteps echoed off the walls. I didn’t need to look back to know it was Marco’s men. His dogs never strayed far from their leash.
I ducked into the first parking lot I saw, my breath ragged as I pressed myself into the shadow of a broken car frame. My knees stung against the cold concrete, but I didn’t move. I crouched low, gun trembling in my grip, forcing the barrel steady between my hands.
“Scarlett,” came a voice from the darkness, low and commanding, laced with anger. Marcus. Marco’s right hand. “You’re making an enormous mistake.”
The sound of him sent a chill crawling up my spine, but I refused to let him see my fear.
“You think I’m making a mistake?” I hissed back, shifting across the floor, my eyes on their shadows stretching long across the lot. “The Rossis have been using me as their pawn since the day they picked me up. And you—” I spat the word like poison, “—you’re too dumb to realize they’re using you too.”
Marcus laughed, bitter and cold. “You’re a stupid girl. You think you can betray the Rossis and win? You’re biting the hand that fed you.”
A sharp smile curved my lips, even though my heart was slamming against my ribs. “Fuck the hand that fed me. I’m not a girl, Marcus. I’m their weapon. And I’m done being pointed at whoever they choose.”
I fired a single shot into the air, the sound cracking through the night, then ran before the echo even died. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I didn’t stop. Not until glowing lights shimmered up ahead, pulling me toward them.
Music. A low pulse of bass throbbed through the ground as I staggered toward it. Not a club, exactly. But busy enough. Loud enough. Safe enough.
Or so I thought.
I shoved myself into the crush of bodies, weaving through perfume, sweat, and laughter, until I found a door at the back. It was cracked open, the darkness beyond it swallowing me whole. I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I slipped inside, locked it behind me, and collapsed against the wall, chest heaving.
I counted heartbeats. One. Two. Ten. The longer I stayed hidden, the weaker the thunder of boots outside became. They were searching, but they hadn’t found me. Not yet.
I pushed myself to my knees, creeping toward the door again, when a voice slid from the shadows, low and deadly.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
My whole body jolted. The grip I had on the doorknob turned to stone.
That voice. It was deeper than Marcus’s, colder, carrying an authority that seeped into my bones. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I turned, my eyes trying to adjust to the pitch-black corner of the room.
A shape moved. Large. Tall. Broad.
I gasped and scrambled at the lock, desperate to force the door open. But the knob wouldn’t turn.
“I said stop.” The voice sharpened, slicing through the air. “Who sent you to me?”
“I—” My throat was tight. “This is a misunderstanding. I didn’t know anyone was here. I was being chased. I thought the room was empty—”
“Lies.” His tone was flat. Cold. Impatient.
“I swear—”
“Quiet.”
The single word struck me harder than a slap. My breath caught as I froze, watching the shadow rise.
A click. Then the room lit with a low, sultry glow. Dim enough to keep him cloaked, but enough to reveal him.
My chest tightened. He was huge. The kind of man whose presence filled every inch of the room. His shoulders broad, his suit dark and sharp, his face carved in shadows. Power radiated off him like heat.
He stepped closer, and I dropped my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Fear surged through me, raw and electric.
“You wouldn’t tell me the truth,” he said, voice lower now, darker, sliding over me like smoke. “And I hate being lied to.”
His hand shot out, wrapping around my throat.
I gasped, the shock of his touch sparking heat through my veins. His grip was firm but not crushing—controlling. My pulse pounded against his fingers, and shamefully, part of me thrilled at the danger.
I should’ve reached for my gun. I should’ve fought. But my hands trembled, caught between the instinct to defend myself and the strange, suffocating pull of him.
“Please,” I choked out, squirming beneath his stare. “It hurts.”
He loosened slightly, his thumb brushing my skin as if testing me. His eyes flicked down, studying me with unnerving focus.
My body was betraying me. Heat spread across my skin, not just from fear but from something deeper, something I didn’t want to name.
And then it hit me. The burning, the spinning, the sudden rush of dizziness. My vision blurred, the room tilting.
“Fuck,” I gasped, clutching my head. My knees gave way beneath me.
He caught me before I hit the floor. His hands were strong, steady, holding me upright as my body fought whatever was tearing through it. His voice came again, low but different this time. Curious.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured, his thumb grazing my cheek, the edge of authority softening just slightly.
Through the haze, one thought cut through.
I hadn’t run away from the Rossis just to die here. Not like this. Not in the arms of a stranger with a voice that felt like sin.
But as his grip tightened around me, and his scent—dark, smoky, intoxicating—wrapped around me, another thou
ght slithered in, hotter, more dangerous.
What if death wasn’t what he had planned for me?