Frames Of Blood

CHAPTER 11: DAMIEN

She was already halfway to the door when I pulled the burner phone from my coat pocket.

“Scarlett—wait.”

Her steps slowed, but she didn’t turn around.

Good. I hated begging.

“This isn’t a leash,” I said, holding the cheap black phone in one hand. “It’s not a tracker, not a trick, and I’m not going to blow up your inbox with trust-fall exercises.”

She turned just enough for me to see her profile—sharp, unreadable.

“What is it then?”

“An option.”

---

She crossed her arms, standing in the doorway of Shelley’s bar like the night belonged to her and the rest of us were just renting time.

“Damien,” she said, voice dry. “I’ve been locked up for eleven years. Every option I’ve ever had came with strings, cuffs, or blood. So unless that phone can stab Harold in the throat, I’m not interested.”

I walked to the table, placed the phone down gently next to the map we’d been studying.

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” I said. “Hell, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then why even offer?”

“Because this thing we’re doing—it’s not a solo mission. You and I might hate the idea of relying on anyone, but we need each other. You want vengeance. I want justice. And Harold won't go down unless we’re aligned.”

She stepped forward slowly, arms still crossed.

“You think one late-night heart-to-heart earns you that?”

“No,” I said, honest. “But I think giving you a choice—one without pressure, without manipulation—might be the first step toward something other than chaos.

She walks over.

Picking up the phone.

Rolling it in her hand for a few seconds.

“Still not saying I’ll use it,” She muttered.

“You don’t have to.”

She glanced at me, eyes narrowed. “If I do... what happens then?”

“I pick up,” I said simply. “No questions, no lectures. Just what you need—when you ask for it.”

Her fist closed around the phone.

She didn’t say thank you,didn’t smile.

But she nodded once, turned, and walked out the door into the night.