Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(42)

“So?”

“So? So he’ll know.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “What’s he going to do, call the police? Wah-wah, nothing got stolen, but someone broke in and fucked in my bed.”

I laugh, because he’s right.

Nobody would give a shit but him.

It’s late, so we make the trek back to Queens. Lorenzo finally lets go of my hand when we hit the subway. The house is dark, Leo still at work, Melody off wherever, so it’s again just the two of us.

“Thank you,” I say, stalling in the foyer. “I’m glad you came along.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Lorenzo says, taking a few steps toward the library before pausing, like he’s waiting for something.

“I had fun,” I say, “and you know, while the sex was great, nothing topped getting to see The Lion King. I think the only thing that would ever be better than that is getting my daughter back.”

I head for the stairs, needing to shower, when Lorenzo’s quiet voice stalls me. “I talked to her.”

Turning, I look at him as he lingers in the hallway. “What?”

“Your daughter,” he says. “I talked to her.”

I gape at him. I’m not sure what to say, what to think, what to do, so I just repeat myself. “What?”

“Aristov called while I was at the warehouse this morning,” he says. “She was with him.”

“And you talked to her?”

“He put her on the phone,” he says, “made her ask for you.”

I feel like I’m being suffocated. It hurts to breathe. “What did you say?”

“I said you weren’t there, but you miss her. Then I told her to put her father on the phone, because he was using her to try to get your location, and I wasn’t having that shit.”

None of what he’s saying wants to sink in, like I can’t comprehend it. He talked to her. He heard her voice. “She was with him this morning?”

Lorenzo nods.

How many times have I called Kassian, desperate for a moment just like that?

I’m going to cry. I know it. I can feel the tears building up, stinging my eyes. So I turn away, walking away, going upstairs so Lorenzo doesn’t have to watch when it happens.





Chapter Nine





“Seriously, bro?”

I know, the second I hear those words, exactly what Leo’s going to say to me. I left the restaurant without paying the check. Blah blah blah whatever whatever. Sure isn’t the first time it’s happened.

I scrub my hands over my face, groggy, trying to wake up, as I glance toward the library doorway at where my brother lurks. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s dark in the house, eerily quiet.

I fell asleep sitting here in my chair, giving Scarlet some time to process shit after she went upstairs.

“Did you use my credit card?” I ask.

“You’re damn right I did,” he says.

“Good.” I shove up out of my chair, staggering his way. “Figured you would.”

I’m not going to stiff my little brother or fuck up the good thing he’s got going on at that place. He keeps one of my credit cards on him, for emergencies, and he always just swipes it whenever I do this shit.

He gives me hell for it, of course, but he handles things like the respectable adult he is.

So no dining and dashing, technically speaking, and truth be told, I would’ve even paid for The Lion King, but the show had already started and tickets were no longer on sale, so I said to hell with it, we were going anyway.

“What time is it?” I ask, heading past him, out into the hallway.

“Around eleven.”

Not even midnight yet. Huh.

I go upstairs, because I’m too tired at the moment to deal with Leo’s lecturing, but I stall when I reach the bedroom doorway.

My bed’s empty.

A glance toward the bathroom tells me there’s nobody in there, either.

“Goddamnit, woman,” I mutter as I lean against the doorframe, covering my face with my hands. “Why can’t you make shit easy for a change?”

Sighing, I shove away from the bedroom, heading back downstairs.

Scarlet’s not here anywhere.

She’s got a head start on me, but I’ve got a pretty good idea where I might find her.

I hope like hell I’m wrong.

Leo watches me from the living room as I pull out my keys. “Whoa, you’re driving?”

“Yes.”

“In the dark?”

“Yes.”

“Just... don’t kill anybody.”

“No promises.”

He doesn’t like that answer, but I don’t stick around and make it better for him. He’s a big boy. He can deal with the shit.

I drive south, straight into Brooklyn, only sideswiping one other car as I make my way toward Brighton Beach. Scarlet is impulsive, and she’s desperate to see her daughter, so I’m pretty sure I gave her just enough ammunition to have her gunning for these motherfuckers.

Without a gun, mind you.

There’s a thin line between ballsy and boneheaded, and she’s toeing that line going at this alone.

I park far enough away not to draw attention to my car and stroll through the darkness to Aristov’s house. It’s dark, no lights on inside, no cars parked out front, so I’m assuming he’s not home.