Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(44)

“Come on,” I say. “There’s plenty of food in the kitchen. No need to starve.”

“You’re not sick of me eating your groceries?”

I turn, looking at her, scanning her. “Getting close, but not quite yet. Ask me again tomorrow.”

She laughs.

Scarlet heads straight for the kitchen once we’re inside, scouring through cabinets, snatching up a fresh bag of trail mix and chowing down on it as she says, “Can I ask you a question?”

If there’s one question I hate most, it’s that one. Can I ask you a question? What a waste of fucking words... “Just ask.”

“All this stuff we did today,” she says, motioning around with the trail mix bag. “Was it just because you knew it was my birthday and you didn’t want me to spend it alone?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” she says, pulling herself up onto the counter. “I’d still like an answer, though.”

I stroll over, sitting down in a chair at the table, and glare at her as she swings her legs, her heels banging against a cabinet below her. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would just humor someone?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“You look like you might enjoy toying with people,” she says, “in the playing with your food before you eat it kind of way.”

“That’s different,” I tell her, my muscles coiling as her heels continue to hit the cabinet. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. “I’m not going to spend an entire day doing shit with somebody if they’re not somebody I enjoy doing shit with.”

“So you enjoy being with me?”

“Sometimes.”

She’s still kicking her feet.

“Just sometimes?”

“Well, right now, I’m getting pretty fucking aggravated,” I tell her. “Is there a reason you’re banging against my cabinet like it’s a goddamn bass drum?”

She stops, just like that, jumping down from the counter to shove the trail mix back away. “I wondered how long you’d tolerate it.”

“Seriously?”

She shrugs, looking at me.

Playing with her food.

That’s what she’s doing.

Taking a page right out of Leo’s book and pressing my buttons intentionally, like she thinks I won’t shoot her.

Fuck you, over there, shaking your head at me. I will. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I won’t. Just because I haven’t doesn’t meant it’ll never happen.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, shoving out of the chair.

“Without me?”

“Fuck you.”

She laughs, following me out of the kitchen, not put off at all by my attitude as she joins me in bed.



Seven is munching on a carrot.

He gnaws away at it, like he’s goddamn Bugs Bunny, sitting on the top of a crate of guns in the warehouse. Second morning in a row, we find ourselves here, this time for a delivery of oranges.

I should count them.

I always count them.

But I forgot to inform Three, to let him know to come do inventory, and I’m not in the mood to do it myself. It’s tedious work. And Scarlet, well... I left her in bed again, sleeping so hard she was snoring.

Didn’t feel like waking her.

I mean, part of me felt like smothering her with a pillow, maybe, but I left her snoring away, not disturbing her slumber.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and toss it to Seven without warning. He attempts to catch it, but he’s too far off. It hits the filthy concrete with a thud. My fault, since I can’t really judge distances. Could be three feet from me. Could be the whole way in fucking Tahiti. Hard to tell.

“Call Three,” I say, “and tell him to come count these oranges.”

Seven grabs the phone. “Yes, boss.”

I reach into my pocket, to pull out my tin, and flip it open. Empty. I glare at it, having forgotten to roll more joints, and snap it back closed, shoving it away. “I’ll be right back, Seven. I’m heading to the car for a moment.”

I walk out of the warehouse, leaving him there on my phone, and make it barely halfway down the alley before coming to an abrupt stop. My feet, they’re not moving any more, my gaze fixed straight ahead, right at the end of the alley where a familiar man stands.

Aristov.

My instinct is to reach for my gun. I grab a hold of it, but I don’t pull it out. No, something stalls me. I’m not entirely sure what that something is, but I let it go for the moment, remaining calm.

I don’t move any closer, and he doesn’t approach me, both of us just standing here.

“Boss, Three said he was—”

Seven steps out of the warehouse, freezing when he sees what I see.

“Three said what?” I ask.

“He said he was on his way,” Seven says, his voice low. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Good.”

I stroll away then, because fuck it, I’m not intimidated. A little put off by Aristov’s presence, wondering how he found this place, but he doesn’t scare me, personally, so I walk right up to him.

“Mister Scar,” he says, greeting me. “I must admit... I expected more.”