Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(55)

“Jesus Christ,” a voice mutters behind me, and I glance over my shoulder, back at my brother as he steps down off of the stairs, pausing. “What’s even going on around here anymore?”

Another damn good question.

The guys are still trying to fight, the others jumping in, choosing sides. Seven’s doing a shit job playing peacekeeper on this one, unable to keep the hotheads from exploding at each other, taking a few blows himself as fists start flying again.

If I had my gun on me, if I hadn’t unloaded it in the mirror upstairs, I’d probably shoot half of these assholes right now just to rid my life of all this bickering.

“You should probably get out of here,” I tell my brother. “Might get ugly.”

He laughs dryly, saying something about how it’s pretty damn ugly at the moment, before heading out the front door. I push away from the doorframe after he’s gone.

“If you’re measuring, fellas, to see which of you has the biggest cock,” I say, “I can end this easily by telling you it’s neither one of you jackasses, because nobody has a bigger cock than I do, so sit the fuck down before I’m forced to whip it out.”

I shove right through the middle of them, doing what Seven couldn’t accomplish, sending the two of them to opposite corners and stopping this shit-show of a showdown.

Three wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood from a busted lip onto his cheek. “Boss, I just think—”

“Shut up,” I say. “I haven’t told you to speak.”

Three says nothing else, nostrils flaring as he breathes heavily, balling his hands into fists. He doesn’t take well to being called a traitor.

Can’t say I blame him.

I turn to Five just as he goes to step back, to turn away, thinking that’s the end of it, like this is over. He, on the other hand, doesn’t take well to being betrayed, but I can’t say I blame him, either. Still, I grab him roughly by the back of the neck, forcing him to stay where he is, yanking him in the direction of Three. “Apologize.”

Five looks at me with shock.

“Three and I have already hashed that out,” I say. “If I thought he was to blame, do you really think he’d be standing in my living room?”

“No.”

“Then apologize,” I say again. “Kiss and make up, whatever, because I don’t have time to deal with the two of you whacking off when there’s shit to take care of.”

Five glares across the room at Three. “I apologize.”

There’s not a stitch of genuine meaning to his words, but that doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell him to be sorry. I told him to apologize.

“Fuck you,” Three grumbles in response.

“Fuck you back,” Five says, stepping over to sit down on the couch.

“Well, then,” I say, “if you’re all done being stupid and want to offer real suggestions, I’m listening... otherwise, get the fuck out of my house.”

They throw out ideas, the same bullshit ones they spewed before, as I take a seat beside Five on the couch and pull out my phone, ignoring the guys as they start bickering once more. Stubborn assholes.

I guess if I want shit done, I’m going to have to figure it out myself... like usual.





Chapter Thirteen





The little girl sat in a blue plastic chair in the lobby of the police precinct. The lights were bright, blasting her like summer sunshine, the heat cranked up high in the building, but she was still so cold. Even with the thick blanket they’d covered her with, she couldn’t stop shaking, her teeth chattering.

She just wanted to go home.

How many times did she have to tell them?

She said it every time they started asking their questions, but they kept ignoring her, wanting to know other things she couldn’t say, things she didn’t want to talk about with those people.

“What should we do?” an officer in a uniform asked, standing beside the chair. “We’ve been trying for an hour and nothing.”

“I’ll put a call into DCFS,” another man said, this one wearing a suit. “Family services should be able to help, maybe send up someone who can coax something out of her.”

“You don’t think something happened to her parents, do you?” the uniformed man asked, frowning. “We checked all over the city, no missing reports matching her, but somebody ought to be missing her, you know?”

No missing reports.

Somebody ought to be missing her.

The little girl didn’t like how they talked about her, like she wasn’t there and couldn’t hear, and she especially didn’t like some of the things they said, like how nobody told them she was missing. Was she missing? Her mother would be missing her, the little girl was sure of it, but maybe she thought she was just still hiding.

“What’s with all the commotion in here this morning?” another man grumbled as he wandered into the lobby, his suit all rumbled, the skin under his eyes dark, his hair sticking out, like he’d just woken up. He carried a huge cup of coffee, sipping on it. “Someone said Ramirez got assaulted out in Brighton Beach? Who the hell did that?”

“This one did,” the first man in the suit said, motioning to the little girl. “He found her wandering alone at four o’clock this morning. Feisty thing damn near clawed his eyes out.”