Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(42)

“But what if he won’t?” she asks. “What if this is what he wants?”

“What, mayhem?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, you get rid of him a different way.”

I draw a line along my throat with my fingers, making my point, as I lay back on the bed. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m exhausted, too lazy to put on my pants yet. Shit. My eyes are burning, my head starting to pound with the beginning of a headache, thanks to the adrenaline rush finally fading, mediocrity creeping back in.

“That’s not an option,” she says quietly. “Murder isn’t always the answer.”

Laughing, I close my eyes, covering my forearm with them. “Hell, and here I thought it was...”





Chapter Twelve





The sun rises in the east.

I’m not sure how old I was when I learned that. To this day, I’m not even sure why it happens that way. Although, it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s just an undeniable fact, one I think about those mornings when I sit up here, on this rooftop and watch the sun peeking out over the Brooklyn skyline, bathing the borough in an orange glow, like the streets are on fire.

Some days, it feels like they might be.

It feels like Brooklyn is burning and I’m just here, sitting, watching it disintegrate as I breathe in the smoky air, my lungs scorching and chest aching, not doing a goddamn thing to stop it. Because, seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do? Huh? I’ve yelled ‘fire’ so many times that nobody even looks my way anymore when they hear me screaming, like I’ve become nothing but white noise in a crowded city full of overpowering voices.

I’m probably not making any sense to you. It’s okay. I don’t understand myself anymore most days. I just sit on this ledge and stare out at the fiery horizon as another day dawns, too strong-willed to ever fling myself off the side of this building but yet too damn powerless to ward off my inevitable fall. So I sit, and stare, and wait, and cling to the little bit of hope I wake up with every day, but I don’t stop doing it, I don’t just give up, because maybe—goddamn it, maybe—I’ll find my wings again and get to soar.

Fly the f*ck away from all of this.

But until then, I’m just grounded.

Tagged and tracked.

My wings got clipped.

I’m a little caged birdie.

Sighing, I bring the joint to my lips and inhale, taking a puff of scorching smoke into my lungs, holding it, letting it soothe the pain away as it makes my head just a bit more foggy so I stop agonizing about a life on the other side of that too-deep river that I’m never supposed to cross.

“You know, I didn’t kill you when you stole my wallet. Didn’t kill you when you stole my money. But my medicine? That’s crossing a f*cking line, Scarlet. I might throw you off the roof for that.”

That voice makes my skin prickle, places inside of me tingle, as it calls out behind me on the roof. Lorenzo. The tiny hairs covering my body stand on end, like sparked by electricity, as I hear his footsteps. I wouldn’t classify myself as ‘frightened’, because I’m pretty sure he’s not really going to kill me, but I would say it’s kind of alarming, because, well... I’m only pretty sure. There’s still that chance he might actually throw me off the roof and make me go splat.

“Your medicine, huh?” I glance at the horribly rolled joint I got from the repurposed Altoids tin I swiped from his pocket while he snoozed in my bed.

“Yes,” he says, pulling himself up on the ledge beside me, swinging around so his feet are dangling over the edge. He’s dressed now, from head-to-toe, like he took a nice little nap so he’s ready to go. “It’s medicinal.”

I take another hit of it, holding the smoke for a second as I offer the joint to him. Or, well, relinquish it, I guess. Not really mine to offer.

Letting out the smoke, I playfully ask, “So what’s your ailment, huh? Glaucoma?”

Wordlessly, he takes it from me. “Close.”

Close.

My stomach drops when I see he’s staring at me peculiarly. He motions toward his injured eye. Shit. He’s being serious?

“I, uh… I didn’t realize…”

“You didn’t realize my eye was all f*cked up?” he asks, taking a hit, letting the smoke filter right back out as he says, “Kind of hard to miss, Scarlet.”

“No, I mean, I know it’s messed up. I’m not blind, I can see, but I just didn’t realize...” I trail off as he curves an eyebrow, continuing to stare at me. I’m not blind. I can see. Did I seriously just say that shit? “Wow, I should probably stop talking.”

“Might be a good idea,” he says, taking another hit before holding the joint my way, like he’s actually offering it to me. I take it from him, watching as he exhales slowly. He doesn’t look offended, at least. “I used to be able to see shadows, make out shapes, but that kept getting worse, went away completely about a year ago. Total darkness now. I’ll probably lose the eye eventually. Hell, I’m surprised it’s survived this long. It’s been dying one hell of a painful death for about twenty years now. Guess it’s as stubborn as the rest of me.”

“I didn’t realize...”

“Yeah, I got that,” he says. “Got it the two other times you said it. Don’t go walking on eggshells around me over some perceived disability you’re thinking I’ve got now. Don’t pity me. I’ve learned how to compensate for what I’m missing. You don’t need depth perception or pinpoint aim to throw a f*cking grenade.”