Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(54)

Turning, my gaze catches my reflection above the dresser, blurry in the darkness, before my attention shifts to the remnants of red lipstick on the mirror, not yet wiped off. Didn’t see the point, so I never bothered. I’m sorry. I can make out part of the words, smeared but still there.

It grates my already frazzled nerves.

As anger rushes through me, my blood turning cold, I raise the gun, finger on the trigger.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

The mirror fractures, shattering, pieces of the glass flying back at me as bullets rip through it, destroying my reflection and the apology I never asked for, the one I don’t want. I don’t stop until the last bullet pierces the mirror, tearing through the wall behind it, but it doesn’t matter, because there’s nobody else here. The clicking of the gun echoes through the room before I toss the damn thing down on top of the dresser.

Empty.



“Seven years bad luck.”

My brother’s voice filters through the haze of exhaustion that keeps pulling me in and out of consciousness. I’m too tired to sleep, if you can believe that shit. My body aches and my head just keeps throbbing. Every time I doze off, I’m jarred right back to reality. Figures.

“I didn’t raise you to be a superstitious little bitch,” I mutter, my forearm covering my eyes as I lay in the bed, on my back, still fully dressed from yesterday. “There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Pretty Boy. Life isn’t magically delicious. The consequences of breaking a mirror is that your goddamn mirror is now broken.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t just break it,” he says, his voice growing louder, closer, as he comes further into my bedroom. “Looks like you murdered the thing. What did it do, tell you Snow White was prettier than you?”

Moving my arm, I open my eyes and glance over at him. I’m not sure when he got here. I’m not even sure what time it is, but being as the room is bright and I can tell there are people downstairs, moving around my house, I’m going with it being afternoon.

“Why are you even here?” I ask, sitting up, scrubbing my hands over my face before running them through my hair, trying to wake up.

“I live here,” he says, turning to look at me, “in case you’ve forgotten.”

“For now.”

“For now,” he agrees, quiet for a moment before saying, “I’m worried about you, Lorenzo.”

I laugh at that, getting to my feet, swaying. I grasp his shoulder, squeezing, on my way out of the room. “It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

I walk out before he can argue with me on that, not in the mood for the sentimental bullshit. I appreciate it, the fact that my brother cares, but I don’t have it in me to deal with any of that right now. There’s too much else on my mind.

The guys are all here, but I don’t greet them right away, instead making my way to the kitchen. I grab an orange from a bowl on the counter and start peeling it as I stroll to the living room. The guys are chatting—strategizing, as it is. Where to go, who to hit, what to do, how to do it... why the hell we’re all just sitting here instead of being out there, doing something.

It’s a damn good question.

Leaning against the doorframe, I finish peeling the orange, tossing the scraps at Seven for him to discard. I eat it, still not saying a word, as they continue to bicker back and forth.

Three wants to hit the strip club.

Five wants to blow the guy’s house up.

Seven looks like he wants to mediate, opening his mouth to chime in every few seconds before just closing it again, shaking his head. He knows it’s not his place. The others don’t seem to know what they want to do, but they sure seem ecstatic about the prospect of raising some hell out there, somewhere.

“I’m telling you, we’ve gotta hit the club,” Three says. “The club is where she’ll be.”

“Oh bullshit,” Five says, waving him off. “Now isn’t the time to go get your dick sucked, Declan. He isn’t just going to take her back to his goddamn whorehouse to work for him.”

“No, but he would’ve taken her there to lock her up,” Three says. “Are you forgetting he locked me in his fucking basement and tried to get information?”

“Tried, huh?” Five glares at him. “Who’s to say it didn’t work? Who’s to say you’re not working with him now?”

Three springs to his feet, furious. “How dare you! I’d never!”

Five jumps up, coming at him, bumping right into him, pointer finger jabbing against his chest. “How are we supposed to know that, huh? Somebody spilled their guts to him. So if it wasn’t you, who was it? Huh?”

Three shoves him. “Maybe it was you, asshole!”

Five stumbles but recovers quickly, coming back at him, this time swinging. Three punches back, the two of them trading blows, sending Seven over the edge. He can’t stay out of it anymore.

“Guys, guys, relax!” Seven says, shoving his way between them, separating the two men. “There’s no need for this! The last thing anyone needs right now is us turning against each other.”

“Tell that to that traitorous bitch,” Five says.

Three tries to come back at him, shoving, but he can’t get past Seven. “Fuck you!”