Command (Storm MC 6)

He was silent for a beat and then asked, “Is she giving you grief?”

“No, I’m actually driving her somewhere.”

“Jesus, Harlow, why?”

“It’s a long story and I’ll tell you when you get home if you still want to know, but for now, she needs that cash back she gave you the other day.”

“Griff will give it to you, but can you put her on the phone, I’ve got something to say to her,” he said. Frustration laced his words and my worry for him grew.

He’s got too much to deal with at the moment.

I did as he asked and passed the phone to Scarlett. “Scott wants to talk to you,” I said as I handed it over.

She took it with a raise of her brows.

I tuned their conversation out and turned my attention to Rogue who sat on his bike watching us. My gut told me to be very wary of this man and I decided to ask Blade to check him out.

Scarlett ended the call with Scott and handed me back my phone. “He said he’s going to get that Griff dude to get the money to me today. Thanks for organising that.”

“No worries.” I eyed the bags she held, which I presumed had her t-shirts in them. “Where do you need me to take you now? Just to your house?”

“Yeah, your guy said he’d get Griff to bring the money there, so that would be good.” She eyed Rogue. “I see why you don’t like that asshole. I’d be doing everything in my power to get rid of him if I were you.”

I nodded. “I’m working on it.”

Scott will be home soon and then everything will be all right.

* * *

“What are the t-shirts for?” I asked Scarlett as I watched her unpack them in her kitchen half an hour later.

“I sell them at the Southbank market on the weekends.” She began stacking them in styles on her kitchen counter.

“Oh, okay.” I had a friend who used to try to sell her art at those markets and never had any success, so I wondered if she was able to make much money doing that.

Her head snapped up and she shot me a dirty look. “Don’t stand there and judge me for my job choice.”

Whoa.

“I’m not judging you. The only thought running through my mind at the moment is whether you can pay your bills by doing that because I had a friend who was never able to when she sold her art there.”

“I do well out of it, and the best thing is, I work for myself. I report to no one and I’m off the grid.” I got the distinct impression she’d had this conversation many times. Her tone was almost defensive.

I opened my mouth to reply, but a cough took hold and I doubled over as it turned into a coughing fit. Pain racked my body and I squeezed my eyes shut. This cold was the worst one I’d had in a long time.

Scarlett moved so she could place her hand on my back and rubbed it for me. When I finally stopped coughing, I straightened and she said, “Grab a stool and sit for a moment while I make you some tea.” She left me no room to argue, and waited until I’d done as she said before exiting the room onto her balcony.

I folded my arms on the counter and rested my head on them while she was gone. My energy levels were rapidly deteriorating and I wasn’t convinced I’d make it through a shift at the café today.

A couple of minutes later, the door behind me slid open and I lifted my head to see Scarlett circling the kitchen bench. She busied herself with boiling the kettle and crushing some leaves that looked to be Thyme leaves.

Her home was a tiny, old apartment that had an even tinier balcony off the kitchen, and from what I’d glimpsed, plants filled that area. The small kitchen barely fit both of us and was in dire need of renovation. Tiles were beginning to peel off the wall and the discoloured and worn countertop looked like it was out of the seventies.

As she reached into the cupboard for a mug, she said, “Thyme tea will help your cough, but I think you need a lot of rest because you seem pretty run down.”

“I can’t rest, I have too much to do at the moment.”

“Sometimes your body gives you no choice.” She placed the leaves in the mug and poured hot water over them. Turning to face me, she said, “What’s so important that it means you can’t take some time for you?”