Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(87)

“Lexie?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, look, about her,” he says. “I know she was supposed to be there tonight, that she was supposed to help, but she wouldn’t have flaked intentionally, you know. I don’t know what happened, but Lexie... she’s a good girl, so if you could maybe cut her a break, I’d—”

“She’s dead.”

He stalls, his expression falling. “What?”

“She’s dead,” I say again. “When we hit the club tonight, we found her in the basement.”

“Dead?”

“Yes.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, just standing there, staring at me, like he’s not sure how to react. I can see it in his eyes, though. The sadness. The pain. He liked her, for whatever reason, and he’s grieving. Look them in the eyes if you want to know what they’re not saying. My stepfather used to stress that.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Is it really any wonder why mine are fucked up?

“Well... that sucks,” he says, running a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it up. “But hey, on the bright side, Bruno’s back, so I guess we have snacks again, huh?”

I don’t have it in me to tell him not to get his hopes up on that, because Seven might have shown up but I wouldn’t call him back, so I just nod. He’s deflecting. I’m not going to be a bigger asshole and call him out on it.

“Goodnight, boss,” he say quietly, walking out.

I turn back to my puzzle, mumbling, “Goodnight, Declan.”



“Lorenzo?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

When I get no response to my retort, my gaze turns to the library doorway, where my brother stands. He’s staring in at me, watching me, his eyebrows raised.

“It looks like you’re standing there,” he says, “doing the same thing you were doing when I went to bed twelve hours ago.”

I glance at my watch. It’s shortly past noon. Huh. “You went to bed at midnight?”

“Yes,” he says. “I said goodnight, remember?”

No. “Vaguely.”

He stares at me some more.

“I’m still working on my puzzle,” I tell him, turning back to it. “I’m almost finished.”

I only have about five hundred pieces left out of the eight thousand that make up Michelangelo’s painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

“Have you even tried to sleep?” he asks. “I’m guessing not, since you still look like that.”

I glance down at myself. I haven’t even taken my boots off. I’m covered in dirt, sweat, fuck... even some blood. It’s not very visible on the black fabric, but it still covers my hands, caked under my nails. “I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You know sleep deprivation can kill you, right? I mean, it probably won’t, but it could.”

“I’m fine,” I say, “but if it’ll make you feel better, Pretty Boy, I’ll go to bed when I’m done.”

“When’s that going to be?”

“Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Maybe.”

He grows quiet, but I can feel his judgment. Seems my answer isn’t good enough for him for whatever reason. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m the adult here, that I raised his little punk ass and not the other way around.

Before he can try to lecture me, a chime echoes through the house. Instantly, I hear Melody’s shrill voice as she panics in the living room, like she’s traumatized by the sound of a doorbell.

Leo forgets all about our conversation, rushing away to console her.

I ignore it, going back to my puzzle, working on it in silence. I assume my brother answers the door, because a minute or so later, he’s right back in the doorway. “Seven’s here to see you.”

“Good for him.”

“Yeah, he rang the doorbell,” Leo says. “Seems to think his open invitation has been revoked, so he’s waiting on the front porch.”

“Ask him if he’s come up with a reason yet.”

“Uh, okay...” Leo walks away, returning a minute later. “He says because he’s sorry.”

“Not good enough.”

Leo leaves, once more returning. “He says he thinks he can still be helpful.”

“Well, I think Valet parking is helpful, but that doesn’t mean I can’t park the fucking car myself.”

And again.

“He says he’ll do whatever you say.”

“Tell him I say to come back when he’s got something real to offer, because otherwise, I’m liable to shoot him in the fucking face.”

Leo hesitates before walking away.

I focus on the puzzle, piece after piece after piece, and fall into a trance. Tunnel vision. There’s a disconnect inside of me. My mind’s working, my muscles moving, but I’m on autopilot. A fucking robot. My blinks get slower, my eyes burning, the world around me a blur as the day drifts away, darkness falling.

Leo keeps popping in, trying to engage in conversation.

Are you hungry? No.

You sure? Pretty damn positive.