Frames Of Blood

CHAPTER 2: SCARLETT

"f*****g dreams again," I muttered, stretching on the scrawny prison bed.

And yes—I'm in prison for what my father did.

After he killed my mother and sister that night, I woke up to handcuffs digging into my wrists. Father dearest had already called the police, claiming I was drunk and the one who pulled the trigger.

It was laughable, really—that they believed him. He had a gunshot wound in his side, and I had no injuries—just blood. Their blood, all over me.

A loud buzz grated in my ears. Breakfast time. And by “breakfast,” I mean that sloppy s**t they call oatmeal. I needed to get out of this goddamn place before I lost the last thread of sanity I was holding onto.

"Hey, Scarlett. Move, would you? You're holding up the line," Merida urged.

She was one of the few people in this shithole I didn’t want to stab in the neck.

"Right. Sorry," I muttered.

"113. Get to the supervisor’s office immediately."

The shrill voice crackled from the overhead speaker.

I was 113.

What the f**k now? I hadn’t started any fights lately. What did he want?

I dumped the sorry excuse for food and walked beside the guard who came to escort me.

---

"I didn’t do anything," I said, standing in front of the supervisor’s desk.

He was a pathetic old man—always running his mouth to the higher-ups at every chance he got.

"You’re not in trouble, Scarlett. Sit down. We have something to discuss."

"I’m sat," I replied, shifting in the chair as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I’ll cut straight to the point. The government’s offering bail to five inmates based on 'good behavior.' Don’t ask me how, but somehow you're on the list. So tomorrow, you’re free to go. But you’ll have to sign an undertaking—just in case you get the itch to murder another family member."

"Wait a minute. What are you trying to say?"

"What, you deaf now?" he snapped. "You're free to leave tomorrow. Now get out of my office—I’ve got work to do."

---

I moved on autopilot, walking back to my cell.

I couldn’t believe it.

Eleven years in this hellhole—and now I was getting out?

But I wasn’t just going to live. No, not without getting my revenge.

I’d find Harold Jones. I’d make him pay for what he did to me.

The thought alone made me jittery. Excited. Alive.

I’d learned a lot in this prison—how to fight, how to survive. I even got my tattoos here. I knew my way around knives. Guns too.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

A very fun family reunion.