Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(75)

“You’re lucky we’re here at all,” he says. “Damn lucky one of Aristov’s guys has an active felony warrant in the system, and the club is open, because it gives the guys some leeway to go right in, no judge needed.”

“Well, let’s hope the luck continues,” I say, “because there might be a woman chained up down in the basement that needs to be set free.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Not your woman, is it?”

I give him that one, not correcting him on her being mine. We both know who he means. “Yeah, that’s what we’re hearing.”

“Jesus... you’re serious? How the hell did he get her? Thought she was with you.”

“Long story,” I lie. It’s sort of a simple one—my closest guy betrayed us, turning into a bigger rat than Peter Pettigrew in Harry Potter. Yeah, whatever... you’re wondering how I know who that is, huh? Truth is, my brother’s got a nerdy side. He read the books as a kid, wouldn’t shut up about it. “Look, just go in, secure the building, make sure it’s clear, then give me the signal so I can come take a peek.”

“Got it,” he says, hesitating before adding, “What’s the signal?”

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose, mumbling, “Do some jumping jacks, for all I fucking care. Just make something up. I’ll know.”

I hang up before he can respond, tossing my phone up on the dashboard to get it out of my hand before I snap the fucking thing in half out of annoyance.

8:21 p.m.

The plainclothes warrant squad rushes into the building, guns drawn. All is silent. No gunshots.

8:25 p.m.

Jameson’s on his phone. He turns toward me in the car, not-so-subtly tapping the side of his nose.

“Is he on coke?” Five asks, watching.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I mutter. “Come on, that’ll be our signal.”

We get out, as do the rest of my guys, leaving the heavy weapons stashed in the trunks, since the police are now involved, small guns hidden on us just in case something happens.

There are a few guys inside the club, twice as many girls, all of them lined up along the wall, sitting on the floor with their hands visible. Officers stand guard in front of them, keeping them wrangled, as I walk right in and help myself to Aristov’s office.

The keys aren’t where Three’s girl said they’d be, but I find them easily enough, tossed in a drawer. The basement door is here in the office, and I fumble with the keys, trying to figure out which one goes to which lock as my guys stand guard nearby.

Five is right behind me.

“Here,” he says, snatching the keys from my hand. “Let me do this for you.”

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve lost my cool over that, but being as I’m in a hurry, I let it go... for now.

He gets the door unlocked a lot quicker than I could, and I flick on a light as I pull out my gun, just in case I’m about to be ambushed.

It’s quiet, and still, like nobody is here.

“Scarlet?” I call out as I head down into the basement, my voice echoing off the barren concrete walls.

No answer.

I come to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the steps as I look in the shadows, being met with a pair of discarded red heels.

That’s never a good sign.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Just inches from where they’d been kicked off in what looks like a struggle, I spot a pair of feet, the black pantyhose covering them ripped. They peek out from the bottom of a tattered blue blanket, but I can’t see anything else, the rest covered.

I feel like the fucking Grinch as I stop here, staring at what’s clearly a lifeless body. My heart feels like it’s way too big, the only thing inside of me, each beat hard and hesitant, like it’s squeezing the life out of my fucking chest.

“Boss, what—oh, whoa... fuck.”

Five rode the whole gauntlet of emotion with just that one sentence. Confusion. Shock. Distress.

He stalls there, taking my place as I step forward. Reaching down, I grab the blanket, pulling the top part of it down to look.

I exhale loudly—too damn loudly—the second I see the face. Three’s pretty little brunette is chained to the concrete floor like a dog, makeup streaking her cheeks. She’s not breathing. The chain is wound so tightly around her neck that it asphyxiated her.

She’s alone, though.

Not that it makes it any better.

She’s not supposed to be here at all.

She was supposed to be at the house.

She was supposed to signal Three.

She was supposed to get the kid out, but instead, here she is. And the worst part of all, I think, is that the sight of her is bringing me relief.

It could be worse. A lot worse.

It could be Scarlet.

For a moment, just a flicker, I truly thought it was, and the way that’s making me feel inside? I don’t like it. It has me all twisted up.

I lower the blanket back over the girl’s face, covering her once more. I stand in silence, trying to come to terms with whatever this is I’m feeling.

“Is it...? Fuck, boss, I need you to say something. It’s not her, is it? Is that Morgan?”

I glance at him. He looks legitimately concerned, like the son of a bitch might be getting emotional. “No.”