Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(45)

I glance at the warehouse as he motions toward it. It’s non-descript, unassuming, looking like a piece of shit, but it does everything I need it to do, and I got it for cheap, so what more could I ask for?

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says. “Quite the coincidence, is it not?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“That is a shame,” he says. “I am a big fan of happy accidents, myself.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask again. “I’m not really in the mood for chit-chat, so spit out whatever it is so I can go on with my day.”

“I am curious... were you at my house last night, Mister Scar?”

“Why would I go there?”

I answered his question with a question.

The man’s not stupid. I’m waving the red flag of evasion over here.

“You will not find her there,” he says, not beating around the bush anymore. “She is gone now.”

“Where’d she go?”

A smile tugs his lips. “I could ask you the same, could I not? Seems we are both hiding someone.”

“Oh, I’m not hiding anyone,” I tell him. “Like I told Doodlebop, you’re welcome to check my pockets if you’d like. You see, me? I’m not a runner, nor am I a hider. I’m more of a wolf than an armadillo.”

Another round of animal metaphors.

Cut me some fucking slack here.

It’s still early.

What’s important here, in case you haven’t done the math, is the man managed to locate my warehouse, which is just a step away from finding everything else. Nothing I own is in my name, no... most of it’s under an alias. Oliver Accardi. But all it would take is a simple search of this property to stumble upon every other deed I have, including the one to my house in Queens.

You know, where Scarlet’s at...

“Not in the mood to strip search me, huh?” I ask. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time,” he says. “Are you certain there will be one of those?”

“Pretty goddamn sure.”

Aristov glances all around me, like he’s contemplating what to do. Before he can do anything, though, Three struts into the alley, interrupting.

“Ah, Mister Jackson,” Aristov says. “It has been a while!”

“Not nearly long enough,” Three growls. “What are you doing here?”

“Just saying hello to your boss,” Aristov tells him. “I thought I would give him one more chance to return what belongs to me before I start helping myself to what does not.”

Three’s eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”

“Does it sound like one?” Aristov asks. “I am merely saying if I do not get what I want, I may have to settle for something else. In fact, there is a pretty brunette already on stand-by, a sexy little one we call Lexie... she is not my Morgan, but I suppose I can make do with a substitute for now.”

Three looks damn close to snapping, about to lunge at the guy for that, which is what Aristov wants, so yeah... not happening.

“Three,” I say, “get to work.”

“Yes, sir,” he mutters, making his way into the warehouse.

“Go help him, Seven,” I order, knowing the man’s still lurking behind me, “so we can get out of here.”

“Yes, Mister Pratt, go help your friend,” Aristov chimes in. “I am sure your wife will be happy to have you home early. Lovely woman, that one.”

“What did you just say?” Seven asks, stepping closer instead of going away.

“I said she is a lovely woman.”

“Go, Seven,” I order. “Now.”

Seven listens that time, storming into the warehouse.

“Threatening a man’s family doesn’t make you a bigger man,” I say. “It makes you a disgrace.”

“Do you think I care about the names you call me?” he asks. “Besides, it is not a threat. I do not make threats. I am a man of my word.”

“Your word being...?”

“I will do unimaginable things to that woman, lovely or not. It would not be hard. She is very trusting. Most women are. But I will leave her alone, I will leave you all alone, if you return my Morgan.”

“She’s not yours.”

“Do you think she is yours?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So why does it matter so much to you whether or not she is mine?”

I don’t answer that, because fuck him.

I don’t owe this man a goddamn explanation.

“I will give you a chance to think on it,” he says, taking a step back, “but your chance will not last long, so think quickly, Mister Scar.”

He leaves, disappearing from the alley, just as Seven bursts back out, unable to contain himself. I know he was still listening. It’s written all over his face.

“Go ahead,” I say before he can even ask. “Check on your wife and make sure he doesn’t show up there.”

“Thanks, boss,” Seven says, his steps brisk as he rushes away.

I stroll back into the warehouse, finding Three sitting exactly where Seven had been earlier, munching on one of Seven’s carrots.