Chapter 5 No.5

The staff locker room was a concrete box in the basement of the clubhouse. It smelled of damp towels and chlorine. The lights flickered with every clap of thunder outside.

Scarlett sat on a bench, peeling off the wig. Her ankle was the size of a grapefruit. She prodded it and hissed in pain.

The door banged open.

She spun around, expecting the driver.

It was Sebastian.

He was soaked, his hair plastered to his skull. He looked deranged. He slammed the door shut and twisted the lock.

"I knew it," he hissed, walking toward her. "The wig didn't fool me for long. What are you doing here, Scarlett? Stalking me? Trying to get to Harrison?"

"I don't care about you, Sebastian," Scarlett said, standing up on one leg, backing away. "I want my father out of jail."

"He's never getting out!" Vance screamed. "And neither are you. You think Harrison likes you? He's playing you. He knows what you are. Damaged goods. He's just keeping you around to amuse himself."

"Better damaged than soulless," Scarlett spat.

Vance lunged. He grabbed her by the throat, slamming her against the metal lockers.

"You need to learn your place," Vance snarled. His grip tightened, cutting off her air. "You're nothing. You're dirt."

Scarlett clawed at his hands, black spots dancing in her vision.

BOOM.

The door didn't just open. It was kicked open. The lock shattered.

Harrison stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing his golf whites anymore. He was in a dark suit, drenched from the rain. Behind him stood two large security guards.

Harrison didn't shout. He didn't run. He walked into the room with a terrifying, deadly calm.

He grabbed Vance by the back of his collar and the belt of his trousers.

With a grunt of effort, he threw Vance. Literally threw him.

Vance flew across the room and crashed into a bench, sliding to the floor in a heap.

"Get him out of here," Harrison said to the security guards. "If I see him again today, I will kill him."

The guards dragged a whimpering Vance out.

Harrison turned to Scarlett. The rage in his eyes was so intense it looked like pain. He scanned her neck, where red marks were already forming.

"Did he touch you anywhere else?"

Scarlett was shaking so hard her teeth chattered. "No. Just... choked me."

Harrison swore softly, a string of explicit curses. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. It was warm and smelled like him-cedar and safety.

"Can you walk?"

Scarlett took a step and cried out as her ankle gave way.

Harrison caught her. He didn't ask permission this time. He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

"Harrison, people will see," she whispered.

"Let them look," he growled.

He carried her out of the locker room, through the service corridor, and out into the pouring rain. A black Maybach was waiting at the curb, engine running. The driver opened the rear door.

Harrison placed her gently on the leather seat. He got in beside her.

"Drive," he ordered.

The car pulled away, leaving the Royal Dunes Club behind in the storm. Scarlett huddled in his jacket, watching him. He was staring out the window, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Harrison didn't look at her. "Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you."

"Then why?"

He turned to her. His eyes were dark, haunted. "Because he touched what is... he created a scene. It reflects poorly on my associates."

The correction was clumsy. The silence that followed was heavier than the storm.