Grievous (Scarlet Scars #2)(92)

Son of a bitch. “You think the kid is yours.”

It suddenly makes sense why he’d look the other way, why he’d show up outside of her house night after night, why he’d do what he did to try to help them while still protecting his own ass.

“Well, this has certainly been enlightening,” I say, standing up, “but I think I’ve heard enough.”

“So you know I mean them no harm.”

“What I know is that it doesn’t matter what you mean, because you are as harmful as they come.”

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

I unload the gun, bullet after bullet, right into his fucking chest, not a second of hesitation from the first trigger pull to the very last, shot after shot lighting up the room, until the gun does nothing but click.

CLICK.

CLICK.

CLICK.

He slumps over, falling from the couch to the floor with a thud, no longer moving. No longer breathing.

I shove the gun away and walk out, keeping my head down. Seven still sits behind the wheel, driving away as soon as I’m beside him.

“Where to, boss?” he asks.

“Home,” I say quietly. “It’s over.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





The Cowardly Lion lived in a gloomy castle.

Or so it felt like it to the little girl. It wasn’t beside the beach, like the palace, although it seemed to be just as big. Maybe even bigger. This place was cold, and dark, and off on its own. Isolated.

Some of the flying monkeys stayed there, too, along with some women, a rotating door of people, which meant there was always somebody around to watch her. They didn’t act like she was invisible. No, they acted like she was a prisoner, like a princess locked away in a tower.

“Hey, sweet girl,” the Cowardly Lion said one night, appearing in the room she’d been kept in, where she’d been spending all day, every day, with nothing more than a mattress and a small television, letting her watch cartoons for the first time in months.

The people in the house were upset about something, yelling at each other about some club somewhere that maybe got raided by somebody or something. She didn’t know. She didn’t like their talking, so she just kept turning the volume up on the television.

She said nothing to the Cowardly Lion. Not because she wanted to be mean. She just had nothing to say to him.

“Are you not speaking to me?”

Nothing.

“Have I made you upset?”

Nothing.

Stepping into the room, he walked over, blocking her from seeing the movie on the screen. It was Toy Story, but part two, the one where Woody got stolen. She scowled, thinking he’d turn the volume down, but instead, he shut it off.

“Hey!” she said. “I was watching Woody!”

“Too bad,” he said. “Maybe you should not have ignored me.”

She let out a noise of annoyance that made him laugh, like he thought she was being funny. “I don’t got nothing to say.”

“You don’t have to say a word,” he said, “but you do have to get up and come with me, because it is time for you to go.”

“Go where?” she asked, her stomach in knots.

“Go home,” he said, leaving it at that.

Home. That word used to make the little girl’s heart soar, but now her insides soured.

“I can’t go. He don’t want me.”

“Who?”

“Daddy.”

The Cowardly Lion gave her a sad smile. “I’ve spoken to him. He agreed that you could come home now. In fact, there is a surprise waiting for you, one that will make you very happy.”

Buster, she thought. Maybe he saved Buster.

The little girl got up, leaving with him, quiet as they drove away from the dark castle, heading back to the palace. It was chaotic when they finally arrived, cars and people and noises all around.

“Shit, shit, shit...” The Cowardly Lion chanted, not even bothering to shut off the car, leaving it running when he pulled to a stop. “Come on.”

Before the little girl understood what was happening, he yanked her out of the car, leaving the door wide open. Her heart raced wildly as she looked around outside. She didn’t recognize the people she saw. They all watched them, frozen, like ice sculptures with wide eyes, holding guns.

Guns.

The little girl felt sick.

She thought she might throw up.

The Cowardly Lion dropped her to her feet on the porch, pushing on the front door. It was already cracked open—no locks, no alarm. The little girl had never seen it like that before.

Noises hit her from inside, strangled noises, gasping breaths. The little girl blinked rapidly, scared by the sound. Tears burned her eyes but she tried not to cry.

“Go on, sweet girl,” the Cowardly Lion said. “Your surprise is waiting.”

She walked into the foyer, taking small steps. Someone was crying, curled into a ball on the floor. The little girl crept closer, alarmed, as something inside of her got all tangled up.

A man knelt there, his face slashed with a big scar, but the little girl only vaguely noticed he existed at all. No, her attention was fixed to the woman hunched over. She could hardly believe it. Her eyes were cloudy from tears, but she could still see her so clearly.