Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2) Page 5

  “Keep the fucking noises down,” I tell him. “Some people are busy not fucking and don’t want to hear that shit.”

  I walk away as he yells something at me, something that has something to do with me being an asshole, as if I don’t already know that little fact about myself. I make my way downstairs, heading to the library, damn near slamming into Scarlet.

  She thrusts the bear at me, shoving it right in my face. “What the hell, Lorenzo?”

  I push her hand away. “What?”

  “Who did this?”

  “Who did what?”

  “This... sewing.”

  I look at the bear in the dim morning light, at the thick lines of black thread knotted together, before my gaze turns to Scarlet, who clutches the thing so tightly it looks like she might bust the holes right back open.

  Tears swim in her eyes.

  My skin starts to crawl.

  I should’ve known better.

  This is why I don’t do shit like this. Why I don’t try to help people. Why I don’t fucking bother. I think, hey, it’s important to her, let’s do something about it, because maybe I’m not always an asshole, maybe I can be a nice guy sometimes, but I should know better than to think anything the nice side of me does could ever be good enough for somebody else.

  “So, what, I can’t sew worth a damn,” I say, pushing past her into the library.

  She turns in the doorway, staring at me. “You sewed it? You did this?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  I sit down in my chair, regarding her as she blinks rapidly, like she suddenly doesn’t comprehend English, staring at me like I’m a stranger, like she doesn’t know who I am.

  “Look, be pissed all you want, Scarlet. Go boo-hoo in a fucking corner, if that’s what you want to do, but if you start in on me because I fucked the thing up even more, I’m liable to flip out and give us all a reason to cry, so go do that shit somewhere else.”

  “Seriously?” She gapes at me. “Are you fucking with me, Lorenzo?”

  Closing my eyes, I run my hands down my face, muttering, “I wish I was...”

  The door slams, and I look up, tensing. She’s still standing in the room, still staring at me.

  She comes toward me, clutching the bear. “I changed my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m in the mood now.”

  “What?”

  She climbs right onto my lap, forcing her way on the chair, tossing the bear on top of my puzzle on the table as she straddles me. No hesitation, the woman rolls her hips, grinding against me, as she runs her fingers through my thick hair.

  I need a haircut. Desperately.

  It’s falling into my face.

  Grasping tight to the locks, tugging to the point of pain, Scarlet yanks my head up so I’ll look at her.

  “How are you so fucking dense?” she asks. “You think I’m mad right now? Seriously?”

  There are still tears in her eyes. “You look like you might cry.”

  “Because it’s the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me, Lorenzo. You’re trying to fix things.”

  I grasp her cheeks, framing her face with my hands, and stare her straight in the eyes, dead serious, as I say, “If you’re going to start crying, I need you to not do it while you’re sitting on my lap.”

  She lets out a light laugh, grabbing my wrists, pulling my hands away from her face, forcing my arms around her.

  “I’m not going to cry,” she says, fumbling between us, undoing my pants. “I’m going to show you my appreciation instead.”

  “You don’t have to give pussy to show gratitude,” I tell her. “A simple ‘thanks’ will suffice.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “Thank you. But I want to give you pussy to show you I’m grateful, because the way I feel when you’re inside of me? There’s nothing else like it. You make me feel alive.”

  Those words twist me up, and I want to say something about it... about how I need her to not put so much stock in me and get so damn sentimental... but my cock beats my voice in terms of springing free, and the second she starts stroking me all I can think is ‘fuck… fuck… fuck it’.

  Like I’m gonna turn down pussy...

  She shifts lace aside to sink down onto me, riding me, no hesitation. Fuck, it feels like Heaven. Warm, and wet, and so damn tight wrapped around my cock. I always thought it would get tedious, fucking the same woman over and over, but nothing about Scarlet is ever boring.

  Thirty seconds. That’s all the time I get before somebody shoves the library door open without knocking. Son of a bitch. I’d pull out my gun on principle, as usual, but Scarlet’s kind of sitting on it, so I’d have to throw her off first.

  That’s out of the question.

  I look over, seeing my brother in the doorway, just in time for shock to flash across his face as he throws his hands up. “Seriously? How do you like being interrupted? Huh?”

  “Doesn’t bother me,” I tell him, but he knows that. My gaze turns to Scarlet, who is still looking at me. “Does it bother you?”

  She scoffs, not stopping what she’s doing. “I can’t count how many times I’ve been watched.”

  The door slams closed again about ten seconds later as my brother shouts, “You’re both crazy!”

  “Guess he didn’t want to watch, after all,” Scarlet says.

  I let her stay in control, letting her do what she wants to do. Reaching between us, I rub her clit, getting her off before I finally let loose. Closing my eyes, grunting, I come inside of her. Fuck, it feels good, nothing at all between us.

  She stops moving after a moment, her forehead resting against mine as she breathes deeply.

  “You’re welcome,” I say after a bit of silence.

  She laughs, climbing off of my lap.

  I tuck myself back away, fastening my pants before shoving up out of the chair.

  “So, are you hungry?” I ask as she stares at the bear. “I’m going to make pancakes.”

  “Uh... sure.”

  I walk out, letting her pull herself together, and head to the kitchen to find Seven sitting at the table, reading today’s newspaper.

  Look, I’m going to be honest with you—I forgot the guy was here. He’s good at being unassuming. “Your wife cook for you this morning, Seven?”

  He glances up at me. “Of course.”

  Of course.

  I get the shit together to cook, and yes, before you ask, I indeed wash my hands. No pussy juices in the pancakes. I’m whipping together the batter, tossing some damn chocolate chips in for the hell of it, when Seven speaks again.

  “He would’ve kept something, you know,” he says quietly, still flipping through the paper.

  “Who?”

  “Jones,” he says. “He’ll have something on Aristov, something incriminating, just in case.”

  I almost ask how he knows that, but it’s a stupid question, and I try to never ask those myself.

  Been there, done that.

  “A file, maybe pictures, maybe a recording... something. And he’ll keep it somewhere where Aristov can’t get to it. At work, probably... hiding in plain sight. That way if anything ever happened to him, the police would find it. Something that could take down Aristov, so Jones would get the last laugh. Might be beneficial to get our hands on whatever it is.”

  Movement in the doorway catches my eye. I glance over, seeing Scarlet lurking, listening to our conversation. Nosey little witch. Seven looks her way, averting his eyes quickly when he sees her standing there in just a t-shirt and underwear.

  She’s not even naked and his allergy is acting up.

  “I saw the file Gabe has on Kassian,” she says. “It was on his desk with all the others. I looked through it, but there was nothing worthwhile.”

  “He’ll keep the real goods somewhere else,” Seven says. “A desk drawer, a locked box... he had some pictures stashed in his locker on a flash drive last time.”

  Scarlet’s brow furrows. “Last ti
me?”

  “Ah, Seven here and Detective Fuckface are old friends,” I explain. “We paid him a visit this morning, discovered he’s been taking it up the ass from your Russian.”

  “Wait, what? He’s working for Kassian?”

  “Seems so,” I say. “He gave me some bullshit spiel about no proof of a crime, blah blah blah, be grateful you’re alive, yadda yadda yadda, but hey, it’s all good because the kid, she’s fine, so whatever whatever. I wanted to shoot him in the fucking face, but then I’d have to blame it on Seven, so I kept my cool for his sake.”

  “I appreciate that, boss,” Seven says. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty chances later to shoot him.”

  I start making pancakes, dishing out the batter, as Scarlet wanders away, disappearing.

  “I don’t think she took that well,” Seven says after she’s gone. “Maybe you should go talk to her.”

  “And say what?”

  “Tell her it’ll be okay, that things will work out. Maybe it’ll make her feel better.”

  “The only thing that’ll make her feel better, Seven, is having her problem solved, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “And then what?”

  I flip a pancake before turning to him. “And then she gets the bullshit fairy tale life she wants with her daughter.”

  “And you?”

  I laugh dryly. “And I might finally get to finish my fucking puzzle.”

  Chapter Four

  More months.

  More weeks.

  More days.

  So many hours.

  The little girl couldn’t count so high, even though the Cowardly Lion still tried to make her learn all the time. She didn’t talk much, doing as she was told, eating her porridge and using her words. She didn’t cry anymore, like she’d used up all her tears, and she faced the Tin Man whenever he was around, because she didn’t want him to scare her.

  Face your fears and wipe your tears.

  She remembered those words, even though she didn’t hear them anymore in her mind. She couldn’t hear her mother’s voice, no matter how hard she tried.

  Money scattered along the bar top as the Cowardly Lion emptied his pocket, dropping it all in front of the little girl. She caught a silver coin before it rolled away, shoving it back onto the pile.

  “Well?” He sat down across from her. “What is it?”

  The dice game got too easy for her, he claimed, so now she added up his money every day. Most days it was dollars and quarters, but some days it was more colorful paper. Funny money, she called it.

  This day was a mixture.

  It was going to be hard.

  She started sorting it into piles, the stuff she knew and then everything else. She picked up one of the bills—a red colored one—and her eyes widened at the big number. “Whoa! What is this?”

  “Five-thousand,” he said.

  “Five-thousand dollars?”

  “No, it’s more like eighty dollars.”

  “But why’s it say a five and the zeroes?”

  “Rubles.”

  “What?”

  “It’s rubles.”

  “Like rubies?”

  He laughed at that as footsteps headed into the kitchen where they sat. The Tin Man. He was carrying something, but the little girl didn’t look, minding her own business so she didn’t set him off.

  “Pindos,” the Cowardly Lion said, motioning toward her. “I swear it, Vor, she’s so American, just like that mother of hers.”

  The Tin Man didn’t respond to that as he shoved in at the bar beside him, across from the little girl, setting something down beside the money she was counting. Curious, she peeked at it, her eyes widening as he tore the top off of a plastic container that held what looked a lot like it could be cake. “What’s that?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Cake,” she said.

  “Medovik,” the Tin Man said. “Honey cake.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Your birthday.”

  The little girl watched him with surprise as he pulled out some candles, shoving them through the top layer of the crumbly tan-colored cake. It didn’t look like the birthday cakes she saw before, but it was still cake, and that mattered. “My birthday?”

  “It is your birthday today.”

  Her brow furrowed. How could that be? She thought her birthday came before Christmas. Was it already almost another year again? “How do you know?”

  “Because I was there when it happened,” he said with a laugh. “How do you not know?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what day it is.”

  He lit the candles. “Make your wish.”

  “Are you going to sing?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll sing,” the Cowardly Lion chimed in before launching into a raunchy song, loud and vulgar.

  “That’s not the right song,” she said, reaching across the bar and slapping her hand over his mouth, trying to stop him. “Don’t sing that!”

  He laughed, pulling her hand away, still singing.

  “Enough,” the Tin Man said, silencing him with that simple word. “Blow out the candles, kitten.”

  She looked at the flickering candles, sighing. I want to go home, with Mommy and Buster. It was the only thing she wanted.

  She blew hard, extinguishing them all with one breath. The Tin Man plucked the candles back out, tossing them in the trash before walking away.

  As soon as he was gone, Cowardly Lion grabbed a pair of forks, tossing one to her as he pulled the cake closer. He took a bite right out of the container, shoving his mouth full. “Well, what are you waiting for? Eat up!”

  The little girl hauled herself up onto the bar again and took a bite of cake. It wasn’t so sweet, and it didn’t really have frosting, but it tasted a lot better than everything else he made her eat.

  She sat there, with the Cowardly Lion, tearing the cake apart, stuffing themselves full of it, leaving none for anyone else.

  “Do you think Daddy wanted some?” she asked, crumbs covering her.

  “No,” he replied. “He doesn’t like sweet things... not even his women, especially your mother.”

  He laughed at his own joke, but she just made a face at him as she tossed her fork down. Sometimes he could be nice, but other times he said mean things the little girl didn’t like.

  “Ah, don’t look at me that way,” he said, putting his hand on her face and playfully pushing her. “I only speak the truth.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked, snatching his hand away. “You’re always here.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because he’s my daddy. He makes me be here.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s my brother,” he said. “And he kind of makes me, too.”

  The Cowardly Lion started collecting his things as she gasped. “Does that mean you’re my family?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said, shoving his money in his pocket before handing her the red 5000 bill. “Happy birthday, sweet Sasha… although, just between us, your birthday was months ago. I just told him it was today so you could make another wish.”

  He strolled out, leaving her there, clutching the money and utterly confused, covered in cake.

  Chapter Five

  Sasha would’ve liked chocolate chips in her pancakes.

  That’s what I’m thinking, as I sit at the kitchen table beside Lorenzo, slowly chewing a small bite. I’ve never made pancakes from scratch. Hell, I’ve never made anything from scratch. I wish I would’ve at least tried before, though.

  Sasha would’ve eaten them every morning, if she could’ve, and I know, without a doubt, she would love Lorenzo’s pancakes.

  I wonder if Kassian has made them for her.

  I wonder what Kassian is making her.

  I wonder if Kassian is even feeding her.

  All day, every day, it’s in the back of my mind.

  Is she eating?

  Is she sleeping?

  Is
she breathing?

  Will we make it through this?

  Will I ever see her again?

  Will she still remember me?

  I get lost in my head, drowning in those thoughts, forcing down bites, so consumed by these torturous unanswered questions that I almost don’t hear the words spoken from across the table.

  “I’m moving out.”

  Blinking a few times, pulling myself out of my stupor, I glance over at Leo and wonder if I’m imagining things, because whoa...

  Leo stares down at his plate, at his untouched breakfast. He looks nervous.

  “What did you just say?” Lorenzo asks, his tone clipped.

  “I’m moving out,” Leo says again.

  “The hell you are,” Lorenzo says, dropping his fork with a clang. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I am,” Leo says. “Mel and I, we’re going to get a place together. Our own place. We’ve been talking about it for a while, and well, I think it’s time.”

  “You think it’s time, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how are you going to do that, huh? How are you going to afford that?”

  “I’ve got my job,” Leo says. “I can pick up extra shifts, if I need to, but I’ve got some money saved up. And Mel, she’s about to graduate, so she’ll be getting a job soon, which means there’s no reason we can’t—”

  Before Leo can finish, Lorenzo slams his hands against the table, the loud bang echoing through the kitchen, rattling plates and knocking drinks over. “There are plenty of reasons why you can’t. Do you need me to fucking name them for you, Leonardo?”

  A strained, painful silence swells through the room. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Hell, I don’t know if anyone is even breathing. Lorenzo glares across the table at his little brother... a brother whose name he just used. I’ve never heard him do that before. The sound of it is downright chilling.

  I shiver.

  “I should go,” Melody whispers, rubbing Leo’s arm as she stands up from the chair beside him. “I’ll let you guys talk.”

  “We should all probably do that,” Seven says from where he lurks across the room. “Morgan?”

  I glance at him when he says my name, watching as he walks out of the kitchen, realizing he’s pretty much telling me to get my ass up and leave, too. My gaze flickers around the room, landing on Lorenzo, who looks seconds away from flipping the table over. Shit.