Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(21)

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

I know, I know... ugh... look away.

“Where’s your little attack dog?” he asks, a bitter bite to his voice. “You know, the mutt you sent here to threaten me this morning?”

“Who?”

“Scar,” he says—although not long ago he claimed to have never heard of anybody called that. “Tell me you haven’t taken up with that guy, Morgan. I told you—”

“Anyone named Scar is trouble, I know,” I say. “He’s got his own motivations, though. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Sure seemed to,” he says. “Told me he’d cut off my dick if I ever touched you again.”

My eyes widen. He said that?

Gabe pulls back some to look at me, his hands roaming. It makes my skin crawl, and I ball my hands into fists, keeping myself from punching him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gabe says, grinning. “Kassian... Scar... doesn’t matter who thinks they own you. Won’t ever stop us. Isn’t that right?”

“Right,” I whisper when he turns me around, shoving me against the row of lockers as he fumbles with his pants. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My heart races as I panic, my body shaking, wedged between him and the cold metal. “Wait... Gabe, wait... condom.”

He sighs, reaching past me, shifting things aside in his locker but coming up empty. “Damnit.”

“Don’t you have some in your office?”

“Yes, but—”

“Just go grab one.”

He groans, pushing away and saying, “Wait here.”

My stomach twists as he walks away, leaving me here alone. The second he’s out of sight, I dive right for his locker, knowing I’ve only got like thirty seconds until he gets back and then I’m fucked.

Figuratively. Maybe literally, at the rate I’m going.

I’d rather neither way happen, to be honest.

So I grab stuff, sorting through it, looking for anything that might be something, but it all seems to be nothing. No files, no papers, no journals, no flash drives. Shit. I’m about to give up, on the verge of panicking, when my hand hits something wedged along the back at the bottom.

A DVD.

I yank it out, heart racing. It’s tucked into a worn protective sleeve, a lone word written on the front of it in faded black marker: Aristov.

“Thank you God, and Jesus, and even fucking Krampus,” I mumble, shoving the DVD in my hoodie pocket, gripping it tightly as I scurry away.

I get to the door of the locker room just as it swings open. Gabe.

“Whoa, where are you running off to?” he asks, grabbing my arm to stop me. “Come here.”

“I can’t do this,” I say, trying to pull away. “I’m sorry, I just... I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t, so I’m just going to go now.”

“What?” He grips tighter to my arm. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” I say, shoving away from him. “Don’t touch me. I told you before... don’t ever touch me again.”

“What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry.”

I find part of me means those words. God knows I probably shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be sorry about anything, especially if he is working for Kassian, and this DVD in my pocket is certainly suggesting that might really be what’s happening.

But still... I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for whatever led us to this moment.

I used to believe in him, and the sorry part of me still thinks part of him might be good.

But it is what it is, and I can’t stick around here, so I shove out of the locker room to get away from the precinct... fast. I’ve got probably about a minute before Gabe figures out what I’m up to.

I don’t have time to wait on the elevator, so I head for the stairs, scaling them as fast as my legs will carry me down to the first floor of the building.

I almost make it out, am already past the desk officer, when Gabe’s frantic voice rings out from the stairwell. “Stop her!”

Shit.

I run, shoving past people. I can hear others following, shouting for me to stop, but I keep going, out of the precinct and down the block, away from the subway, running into the first alley I come across.

They’re right on my heels.

Shit. Shit.

Looking around, frantic, my mind works fast. I could hide, but they’d find me. I could run, but they’d catch up. My gaze shifts toward the nearby dumpster. Ugh. Heart racing, I yank the DVD out and fling it beneath the dumpster, turning away from it just as somebody rounds the corner.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Officers appear, my hands are in the air, and I don’t know what’s happening, but guns are in my face out of nowhere.

Guns.

Okay, it’s not the first time someone has aimed a gun at me, and being as my life has gone to hell, I’m guessing it probably won’t be the last time, either. But right now there are three of them, and they’re kind of looking like they might want to shoot.

Gabe shoves past them, into the alley, and comes right for me, breathing heavily, his face bright red. Oh, man, he’s pissed. Instinctively, I take a step back, my hands faltering, until the officers start shouting, “Don’t you fucking move!”