Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(5)

I jump up, banging my head on a cabinet, and wince as I get to my feet, rubbing my scalp. Shit, that hurt. Lorenzo stands in the doorway, dressed impeccably in a fitted suit, wearing black from head-to-toe, looking... whoa.

“Yo, bro, what the hell?” Leo hollers, coming down the hallway. “Was that a cop that dropped you off?”

Before Leo can barge in, and without acknowledging his question, Lorenzo grabs the library door and slams it right in Leo’s face. I wince again, this time from realization. I was so distracted by the look of Lorenzo in a suit that it didn’t strike me that he just caught me searching through his library.

His library.

You know, the room nobody goes into without his permission?

He caught me all up in the cabinets, digging through his shit.

“I’m looking for a needle and some thread,” I tell him, shutting the cabinet doors. “You know, a sewing kit?”

He watches me incredulously as he comes closer. “Do I look like I fucking knit?”

“Actually, you knit with—” I cut off abruptly when he raises an eyebrow. “Well, you don’t knit with anything, because you don’t knit, but needle and thread, come on... you’ve never had to sew up a cut? Give yourself a few stitches?”

“No,” he says, “that’s why we have doctors.”

“Whatever,” I say, holding up Buster. “A doctor’s not going to perform surgery on this guy.”

Lorenzo pushes his chair around to face me as he sits down. His expression wavers, some of the anger melting as he reaches down to untie his shoes. “I’ve got duct tape.”

“I’m not so sure that’ll work, but thanks.”

He kicks the shoes off, leaning back in his chair. “Suit yourself.”

“Speaking of suits...” I wave toward him. “What’s got you looking so snazzy tonight?”

He undoes his suit coat, shoving it off, and starts rolling up his sleeves. “Had a meeting.”

“With a cop?”

“There was a cop involved, yes. A detective.”

My stomach sinks. “Gabe?”

Lorenzo shoots me a confused look. “Who?”

“Detective Jones,” I say. “You know, the one you call my cop friend?”

“Ah, no, not the one you’re fucking.”

I cringe at how he says that. “Fucked. Past tense. Not currently fucking, nor will there be any future fucking. That battleship has sunk.”

“Fucked,” he repeats, running his hands down his face, letting out a deep sigh. “This is one you’ve never fucked. Name’s Jameson, works Organized Crime in the city.”

“And that required a suit? Not that I’m complaining, because whoa... just haven’t seen you wear one before.”

“Sometimes you’ve gotta play the part, Scarlet. You know that. When most people think of guys like me, they still imagine someone like Michael Corleone, so that’s what they get. It’s kind of funny, really. They’re more terrified of me in a suit with shiny dress shoes than they are when I’m wearing combat boots and carrying a loaded gun.”

“Maybe they’re not more terrified,” I say. “If they’re trembling, heart racing, sweating, I’m saying there’s a chance they might just be turned on.”

He laughs, loosening his collar. “Do you piss your pants when you get turned on, too?”

I step over to him, shrugging. “Depends on how turned on I am.”

He reaches out, grabbing ahold of me, pulling me down for a kiss. It’s soft, slow, and doesn’t last very long before he breaks from my lips. “When’s the last time you showered?”

I push away from him. “Are you saying I stink?”

Before he can answer, I tilt my head down, sniffing, trying to be subtle about it, but he catches on to what I’m doing and laughs.

“If you have to smell yourself, Scarlet, there’s a pretty good chance you’re due to be hosed off.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring how he words that. If you only knew, man. “Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yep, that’s the last time I showered,” I say, skirting past him. “Right now.”

Look, I know you’re probably over there cringing. I’m filthy, and yeah, I kind of stink. I’m wearing the clothes I slept in, and I haven’t fixed my hair in a few days, just throwing it up in a sloppy bun. So yeah, whatever, cringe all you want, but I’ve had a pretty fucked up life, you know, so don’t judge me.

Trudging upstairs, I haul myself straight into the shower, scrubbing and shaving and shampooing, using all of Lorenzo’s stuff since all I’ve got is my lotion and a toothbrush. Afterward, I brush my hair, slathering on lotion from head to toe before putting on some fresh clothes and heading back downstairs.

He’s gone again. Lorenzo. It has only been about thirty minutes, but the library is empty. Seriously? Sighing, I go to the living room, finding Melody sitting there by herself.

No Leo, either.

“Have you seen Lorenzo?” I ask.

“He left,” she says, glancing up from her schoolwork. “He had to go do something, made Leo drive him. Said it would only take a few minutes.”

Well then...

I approach her, curiously glancing at her book. Elements of Moral Philosophy. I’m not even sure what that means. “Philosophy.”