Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(30)

“Well, that was something, huh?” Five asks, shoving to his feet. “We ought to go, too, make sure he’s not fucking us all up too much here.”

“Yeah, you go do that,” I say, scrubbing my hands down my face with frustration. Pussy-blind. That’s Three, without a doubt. He’s going to get himself killed over a woman. “Keep in touch.”

The guys filter out, although Seven lingers.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Seven says. “This whole thing... it’s a big risk. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“About as sure as I usually am, Seven.”

Which means not sure at all.

I’m just making shit up as I go here.

Nodding, like he’s not surprised, Seven walks out, leaving Scarlet and I alone. My head is starting to pound again, throbbing building up in my skull behind my eye, colored splotches marring my vision. Fuck. Hunching over, elbows on my knees, I lace my hands together at the back of my neck, closing my eyes as I lower my head.

The last thing I need right now is a migraine.

Right away, I feel something, a tingle along my scalp, rugged fingernails scratching as Scarlet’s fingers run through my hair, sending a chill down my spine.

I can’t help it.

I moan.

“Fuck, that feels good.”

Scarlet laughs lightly and keeps on doing what she’s doing, gently stroking my hair, the sensation damn near putting me to sleep. Voodoo, I swear... I’ll never not believe it.

The woman’s touch is witchcraft.

It’s a sin to give in, but seeing as sinning is my specialty, I let her dark magic consume me, because what do I have to lose? My head? I want to chop the fucking thing off most nights, anyway.

I’m jolted eventually, eyes snapping open, head darting up as noise echoes through the house. I look up, blurry eyes going straight to my brother as he appears in the doorway with his girlfriend. I must’ve dozed off, maybe just for a second, because the sudden movement makes me dizzy.

I lower my head again, covering my face with my hands as everything starts to spin.

“Hey, Morgan,” Leo says. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

Scarlet’s hand grips my thigh as she turns around. “Yeah, I was a bit indisposed.”

“Good to have you back,” he says. “Is, uh... is he okay?”

“Uh, yeah... sure.”

“I can answer for myself,” I grumble. “I’m right here, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” Leo says. “Rough night?”

“Rough life,” I counter, looking up at him, grateful everything stays still. “I’ll survive.”

“I’m sure you will,” Leo says, frowning, glancing at his little firecracker, who looks extremely nervous right now for some reason.

I sit up straight. “What is it? Spit it out.”

Leo hesitates. “We found an apartment.”

“You found an apartment.”

“Yes, in Manhattan... Midtown. It’s kind of small, just one bedroom, but it’s got a great view. We put in an application. I think we’ve got a good shot.”

He stares at me, like he expects me to have more to say, but seeing as there are more than a million apartments in New York City, this isn’t exactly shocking news that they found one, is it?

Any schmuck with a few bucks could find an apartment if he wanted one.

Sighing, I stand up, snatching up the bottle of rum as I move past Scarlet, strolling out of the living room. I pause near the foyer, looking at my little brother... not so little anymore, frankly. I’ve only got about two inches on him and maybe ten pounds, but maturity wise, he surpassed me long ago, with his pretty blonde girlfriend and his bullshit job and now his inky-dinky apartment that probably overlooks Times Square.

“Congratulations,” I say, heading for the stairs.

“Seriously, bro? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Pretty Boy? That I hope you’re not allergic to cockroaches, because God knows with what you make you’re probably splitting the fucking rent with thousands of them.”

“Ah, yes...” Leo throws his hands up. “There it is.”

“Rats, too. And fucking bums. Good thing Firecracker has had practice with people listening to you fuck her every night, so the paper-thin walls and nosey neighbors won’t be a problem, huh?”

I start up the stairs, my footsteps heavy, hearing my brother mutter, “I knew you’d have something shitty to say about it.”

“Of course you did. Of course I would, right? Not like I’m a decent person.” I laugh dryly. “Only spent the past twenty fucking years taking care of you after your piece-of-shit parents tried to put me in the ground.”

He says something in response.

I don’t know. I’m not listening anymore.

I make my way to my bedroom, guzzling rum, and slam the bottle on the dresser before falling into the bed on my back. I stare up at the ceiling fan, watching as it goes round and round, hoping it’ll lull me to sleep, but I’m tense and wound tight.

I want to kill something.

I want to fuck someone.

I want to fuck someone after I kill something.

“He doesn’t deserve that, you know.”