Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(45)

He stares at me, like he’s awaiting some reaction, some sort of intelligent response to that declaration, but he’s kind of rendered me speechless, so I just offer him his own words. “I haven’t the faintest f*cking idea what to say to that, Lorenzo.”

A smile cracks his face as he grasps my chin, tilting my face up further, and holding me there. His touch sends sparks through my body, my heart racing in my chest. Working for him would be dangerous, very dangerous, in every conceivable way, and I’m just not sure if that’s a risk I can take.

“You just think about it,” he says. “Jamaica Estates over in Queens… it’s a white house on Midland, not far from Grand Central Parkway. You want me, that’s where you’ll find me. My door’s always open. Literally. I don’t lock my doors, either.”

His thumb lightly swipes across my bottom lip before he pulls away, letting go, his hand leaving my skin.

I just stand here as he leaves, waiting until he’s gone before returning to my apartment. I shower and change clothes, grabbing my oversized black hoodie, tugging it on before leaving, too.

I need to clear my head. I need to make sense of this mess.

I need to make another trek to Brooklyn.



Dry heat billows from the vent in the ceiling right above me, ruffling my frizzy hair, blowing wayward strands into my face.

I don’t bother pushing them away.

It feels like Death Valley in this glass cube they call an office, the fluorescent lights too bright and the air too warm. My palms are sweaty, hands shoved in the pocket of my hoodie. Every breath makes my lungs burn, stiff and achy in my chest, like smoke inhalation got the best of me this morning.

I’m still high.

I can feel it.

The blinds are up and the door is propped open, giving a clear view inside the office, so anyone walking past can see me sitting here. It’s unnerving, but I’m grateful for the openness. It means the detective is too busy to think about hanky-panky right now.

He’s been in and out of the office for the past thirty minutes, barely acknowledging my presence, shuffling through paperwork and muttering under his breath. I’m curious what he’s working on, but if I ask he’ll just say it isn’t any of my business, even if it is... he doesn’t tell me anything.

I stare past him, beyond him, out of the office window of the precinct, a stream of sunlight reflecting off the glass, reminding me of the orange glow this morning. “Two hundred and eighty sunrises.”

Gabe shuffles through a few files as he says, “You shouldn’t be here, Morgan.”

That’s what he always says.

You’d think he’d be tired of repeating himself.

“Yeah, well, here I am,” I mumble as I toy with the edge of the sleeves of my hoodie. “Always exactly where I don’t belong.”

He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh as he sits back in his chair. “The guys over at the seventh precinct are gonna want to interview you.”

I nod, not surprised.

The police would be crawling all over Mystic. I’m not on record as working there, officially, but my name is bound to come up. The security monitors are nothing more than live feeds, so there won’t be any recordings, which means they’re going to be desperate for witnesses.

They’ll find none.

Nobody’s going to talk.

Certainly not me.

“Was it him?” Gabe asks.

“What do you think?”

“I think it certainly sounds like something he’d do.”

“Well, there you go,” I say.

“So you saw him?” Gabe asks. “Kassian?”

Kassian.

My gaze shifts to my lap at the sound of that name. Sweat rolls down my back. It feels even harder to breathe in here now. Why the hell is it so hot?

“I heard him talking,” I say. “He was looking for me.”

“Did he see you?”

“Would I be sitting here if he did?”

“No,” he mutters. “Probably wouldn’t.”

I can’t even begin to imagine what Kassian might’ve done had he found me hiding behind that bar, how he would’ve reacted to the sight of me cowering there without a top on. Probably would’ve killed everyone. We’ve been doing this dance for a long, long time, but these past nine months have been the worst. I’m exhausted. Most intense game of Hide & Seek ever played, except it’s not a game. Not really. There’s nothing fun about what we’re doing. I want to quit, forfeit, call it a tie and walk away with my head held high, but Kassian Aristov plays to win.

There’s no negotiating with that man.

It’s his way or no way.

And I can’t let him win this one. I can’t. And he knows that. Him winning means the rest of us lose.

“Do you ever watch the sunrise, detective?”

Gabe sighs dramatically, ignoring my question, like maybe he thinks I’m being stupid. “Go home, Morgan. It’s not safe for you here.”

“Not safe in the 60th precinct?” I gasp with mock horror, clutching my chest. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m not safe surrounded by police, what makes you think I’ll be safe anywhere out there?”