Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(31)

Scarlet’s voice is matter-of-fact. She’s standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear her follow me, but I’m not surprised she did.

“What I’m hearing here,” I say, “is that I do deserve this.”

“That’s not what I said,” she argues, stepping into the room. “You’re only pretending to listen again.”

“I heard you, Scarlet, loud and clear.”

“You only heard what you wanted to hear, Lorenzo. You didn’t hear what I said.”

“I’m reading between the lines.”

“No, you’re twisting shit,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I hate to break this to you, and you might not like it, but the sun doesn’t rise because of you every morning. You’re not this all-powerful entity the world revolves around. Not everything has to do with you. Leo, he’s got hopes and dreams, and he deserves to be able to follow them without you pissing all over things.”

“Look, can we not do this?” I ask, throwing my arm over my face as I close my eyes, because her running her mouth is getting in the way of the ceiling fan doing what it’s supposed to do. “Let’s just skip the part where we argue over bullshit, like we actually give a fuck about each other, because I’m not in the mood for it tonight.”

“You’re an asshole,” she grumbles, lying down beside me, close enough to touch but we’re not touching. She feels miles away right now, coldness settling in that space between us.

“Yeah, well, at least you know...”

“Yeah, and it’s a pity, really, because I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.”

She says nothing else.

I don’t say anything, either.

We lay there in silence.

For once, I don’t prefer it.

I want her to say something else, anything else, just to erase those words now assaulting my mind.

I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.

I don’t like it, not at all, because as she says those words, I come to realize, in the moment, that feeling might be mutual.



“When’s the last time you slept?”

That question is like nails on a chalkboard. It’s like Jim Carey in Dumb & Dumber. It’s like a boojie little blonde talking about her fucking wardrobe.

It grates on my every nerve.

I twitch at the sound of it.

Seven stands beside me in the old warehouse, eyeing me with caution, awaiting an answer to his question. It’s approaching noon, and we’ve unloaded a few crates, a truck coming in this morning with the guns for one of Jameson’s connections. I couldn’t get ahold of Three, but Five showed up in his place, a fact that also irritates me.

“This morning,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that it wasn’t for more than an hour. I had too much on my mind. “You gonna ask me about my feelings next, doc? Maybe prescribe me a tranquilizer to keep the nightmares at bay?”

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says, not at all ruffled by my attitude.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need my hand held, thanks,” I say, snatching up a crowbar to pop the top off of a crate, figuring I’ll just inventory it all myself.

I left Scarlet at home, in bed, asleep.

She could probably use the extra money, but I need some space to clear my head so I can try to think straight when it comes to all of this. There’s work to be done, things that need handled, and I can’t be worrying about the people around me when I need to be concerned about the ones standing in my way.

My phone rings as I start sorting through the guns. I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. Three. I hand it to Seven, saying, “Deal with this bastard before I kill him.”

Seven nods, taking the phone and answering it, saying everything that needs to be said, minus the threats I’d be spewing if I had to deal with him directly. He lectures the kid like he’s his fucking father, which is kind of funny, you know.

That’s how Seven acts. Like a father figure.

Like he knows what’s best for us.

He usually does.

Seven hangs up eventually, sighing, still clutching my phone. “He said his phone was dead, he forgot to charge it because he was preoccupied dealing with that woman.”

“That sounds a lot like an excuse to me.”

“That it does,” Seven says. “He apologized.”

“He’s got two strikes already,” I say. “If it so much as even rains on me, he’s catching the blame and that’s it for him.”

“Understandable.”

I go back to inventory, popping open the other crates before dismissing Five, paying him for the manual labor. I’m nearly finished with it all when ringing once again shatters the silence.

“If that’s Three again...”

Seven looks at my phone, expression guarded as he holds it up. “Brooklyn number.”

Son of a bitch.

“Put it on speaker,” I order, waiting for Seven to press the buttons, knowing right away it’ll be none other than Aristov. “Gambini.”

“Ah, Mister Scar, I was hoping you would be accepting calls today.”

“For you, Yogi? Anytime. Now tell me what you want so we can both get on with our days.”

“I am curious if you are with Morgan right now,” he says, “if she is there, wherever you may be.”