Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(43)

There’s no sign of Scarlet, though, either.

It makes me nervous.

I don’t like it.

I circle the property, eyeing it, and stall when I reach the back corner, spotting a ladder leaning against the side of the house. Fuck. My gaze darts to the top of it, to the small offset roof along the second floor, seeing her right away.

She’s just sitting there.

Alone.

I’m assuming that means she didn’t find what she came for, which means she’s probably upset at the moment. Part of me wants to leave her here, to walk away and give her some space, but most of me knows she’s acting fucking crazy so if I leave, I may never see her again.

And all of me doesn’t like that thought.

Before you ask—no, I don’t want talk about what’s up with that, because fuck you.

Strolling over, I grab the ladder, climbing it up to join her. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t greet me. I might as well be Casper, the friendliest fucking ghost you know, with the way she doesn’t react to me at all. She just sits there, staring off into nothingness, so I let her have her silence as I sit down beside her on the roof. There’s a window behind us, and I turn, glancing through it.

Broken crayons cover a small desk right there with a stack of blank paper and a stuffed cat toy beside it. Looks to be a bedroom. Hers, I’m assuming, but she’s not in it at the moment.

“You followed me,” Scarlet says quietly, “again.”

“It’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?” I pull out my tin, grabbing the last joint from it. “You run from me; I track you down. Wash, rinse, repeat...”

“How long is that going to go on?” she asks. “How long until you stop coming for me?”

Look, I know that’s a sex joke waiting to happen, but now isn’t the time for it, so keep it in your fucking pants.

“I guess when the story’s over,” I say. “When we hit the blah blah blah picket fence bullshit.”

“What if we never do?”

“Then I guess we spend the rest of our lives being the coyote and the fucking roadrunner.”

She laughs. It’s a sad kind of sound, like the shit isn’t funny, but it’s either laugh or cry and she’s cried enough tonight.

I light the joint, passing it to her, and we smoke it in silence. It burns too quickly, gone in what feels like a blink, which means our little moment is over and I’ve got to get her out of here while I still can.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” I say. “Or hell, it’s probably after midnight now.”

She turns her head, eyes wide. “You knew?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Kind of pissed you didn’t mention it, though, that you were just going to let it go by without acknowledging the shit.”

“Didn’t seem important.”

“Fuck that,” I say. “My birthday’s August the ninth. I expect a cake and some presents.”

She laughs... again... but this time, it’s more genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

“I’ll even let you throw me a party,” I tell her, standing up. “First, though, we need to get you the fuck out of here before Aristov shows up.”

“But what if he shows up with her?”

“And let whatever’s going to happen go down in front of your little Pearl? Not a good idea. It’s going to require some coordination, Scarlet, and this shit?” I wave all around us. “This isn’t coordinated.”

“But—”

“The only ‘but’ I want right now is your butt getting the fuck off this roof.”

She just stares at me.

“Chop-chop,” I say, grabbing her arm, yanking her to her feet. “Your princess is in another castle, Scarlet. Time to keep going.”

She’s still staring at me.

“What?” I ask. “Why all the fucking staring? Do I got something on my face?”

Ha-ha.

Fuck you.

“That whole thing sounded almost fatherly,” she says. “It was kind of hot.”

Seriously?

“Look, as much as I’d love to fuck you in Aristov’s bed, too, I’m going to need you to control your hormones. We’ll deal with your daddy issues later.”

She rolls her eyes, looking quite annoyed, but my obnoxiousness gets her ass down the ladder and off the roof, so I’m calling it a win.

I follow her down, leading her off of the property and to my car down the block.

“You drove?” she asks, surprised, stalling on the sidewalk.

“Yes,” I say. “The quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line and not taking trains C, J, F, and a fucking cab like a dumbass, you know?”

“I know,” she says, holding out her hand. “You want me to drive?”

“Unless you maybe want to die tonight, it’s probably a good idea.”

I drop the keys right in her palm.

She drives in silence, away from the Aristov residence, straight to my house back in Queens. She cuts the car off after she parks and starts to say something, but her stomach cuts her off.

It growls. Loudly.

It sounds like an angry lion.

She clutches her stomach. “Guess I’m still hungry.”