Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(52)

No, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of the woman. He’s practically Mother Theresa, isn’t he? The patron saint of fucking friendliness. Next thing you know, he’ll be organizing neighborhood watches, painting people’s fences like we’re all Tom Sawyer and he’s the little twit getting tricked, like doing someone else’s dirty work is an honor.

“I’ll see you when you get home, Pretty Boy.”

“But wait, what’s hap—?”

I hang up, not letting him finish that question, because I don’t have an answer for it. I shove the phone into my pocket, motioning toward Seven. “Firecracker’s hiding out down the street. Blue house, old woman, Leo feeds her... I don’t know.”

“Mrs. McKinnon?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll handle it.”

He walks out, his steps determined, and I shake my head, running my hands down my face. “Fuck.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I head to my library. My nerves are fucking shot. Rolling a sloppy joint, I light it up, smoking in silence as I stand there, in front of the table, waiting for them to return.

Melody bursts in a few minutes later, shrieking like a banshee, talking so damn fast I can’t keep up, yammering about a guy with some hands and something, something, something...

Just as it seems she’s about to finish, Leo rushes into the house, and the girl starts all over again from the beginning, somehow even more frantic now. Leo manages to calm her down, and I get the gist of it, hearing all I need to know—the Russian bastard showed up at my house and now Scarlet is gone.

I’m trying to get my thoughts in order, but my head is starting to throb. These people are in my library. There’s crying and panic and blah, blah, blah... and maybe it makes me an asshole, but I really wish they’d all shut the fuck up. I just need a moment of silence so I can figure things out.

Absently, I reach over onto the table, picking up a puzzle piece and trying it in a few spots.

“Is he seriously working on a puzzle right now?” Melody asks. “Seriously?”

“It helps him think,” Seven says.

Usually, we should add, because it’s not much helping at the moment. Sure, Aristov might’ve had enough time to do his research. He might’ve just happened upon this address. But chances are someone told him where to find the house, spilling their guts faster than the Tauntaun on Hoth when Han Solo sliced it open with the lightsaber.

If that reference didn’t make sense to you, go watch Empire Strikes Back.

Point here being, someone tattled like a little bitch.

“Call Three,” I say, giving up on that puzzle piece and instead trying another. “Tell him to come pay me a visit.”

“You think he has something to do with this?” Seven asks.

“Not him, but maybe the girl,” I say. “Besides, I’m not sure it even matters. Somebody needs to answer for this, so unless you want to claim credit, Seven, get his ass over here.”

“Yes, boss.”

Seven leaves the room.

“We should... go somewhere,” Leo says. “Anywhere but here tonight. Go stay in the city, get away, try to forget this happened.”

“But Morgan,” Melody says. “We have to do something!”

I can feel my brother’s eyes. I don’t turn around. I don’t acknowledge whatever look he’s giving me.

“I’m sure Lorenzo will figure something out,” Leo says finally. “And whatever it is, we probably don’t want to be around for it.”



“Wait... wait... wait!”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I pull the trigger back to back, no hesitation, no calculation, no fucking deliberation. As soon as I see Three’s face, I shoot. The bullets fly through the living room from the suppressed gun in my hand, from where I sit on the stolen couch in the darkness to where he popped up in the doorway just now. Three throws his hands up in an attempt to stop me, but otherwise, he just stands there, frozen. A bullet rips through the wall beside him, another zooming past him, slamming into the banister for the stairs, while the last one lands God-knows-where.

Seeing as how he’s not currently bleeding to death, I’m going to go out on a limb and say I might’ve missed my mark this time.

The fourth time I pull the trigger, the gun jams, completely locking up on me. I sigh, sitting up straight, forcing the slide to the rear, locking it so I can eject the magazine and try to clear the chamber.

Can’t even fucking rely on guns these days.

“You’ve got maybe a minute until I reload,” I say. “Now would be the time to do something.”

A normal person would run right now, get the hell away while they had the chance. A smart person would find a gun and shoot me, quite frankly, since this certainly qualifies as self-defense. But a crazy person would just fucking stand there, awaiting their fate. One guess on what Three does.

Fucking insanity.

“Look, boss, I don’t know what happened, but I swear to you, on my mother’s life, that I had nothing to do with it,” Three says, not moving an inch, his hands still raised in front of him as I clear the chamber. “I promised you years ago that I had your back, no matter what, and I meant that. I know I’ve made mistakes, so if you wanna kill me for being a meathead, go ahead, but I refuse to go out like I’m goddamn Judas.”