Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(48)

“One more step and I pull the trigger,” I say as he comes to an abrupt stop, raising his hands, like surrendering might stop me from shooting. Ha. “Do you always make it a habit to enter someone’s domain without knocking?”

“I was invited,” he says. “And the door, you know, it’s open, so I thought…”

Seven appears behind the guy as he trails off. Grabbing him, Seven roughly pats him down, snatching a small gun from a holster under his clothes. Seven quickly disassembles it, taking all the bullets, before handing the gun back to him. His brow furrows as he takes it.”

“You can have the gun, but only once it’s empty,” I tell him, “Ammunition is a no-no in my house. You see, bullets don’t come with names on them, which means anyone can catch one, if you pull the trigger, and I can’t get down with that. You got me?”

He slowly nods as he eyes my gun.

I know what he’s thinking.

“Rules don’t apply to me,” I say, “so don’t get any stupid ideas. You want to kill me, Ricky, and you’re going to have to get creative, because I’ll shoot you in the f*cking heart the second you start getting twitchy.”

He slips his gun back into the holster, keeping his hands where I can see them after that.

“Now proper protocol is you knock,” I tell him. “If the door is open, knock on the doorframe. It’s not that hard. Go ahead, try it.”

He still seems confused, like he’s not grasping it, like maybe I assumed he had balls when the guy is just recklessly stupid. After a second, he raises his fist and taps on the wood beside him.

“Good boy,” I say. “Now, what do you want?”

“You, uh… you told me to come.”

“Because I assumed you wanted something.”

“I delivered your counter offer to my boss,” he says. “Figured you’d want to know.”

“My counter offer? Refresh my memory…”

“You said for him to suck your cock.”

“Oh.” I laugh. I did, didn’t I? Huh. Didn’t expect him to actually relay that message. Amello still let him live after that? “And what did your boss have to say?”

“He declined.”

“Figures,” I say, spreading my legs out, slouching. “Pity, though. Bet he sucks good cock. Probably does it enough, you know, practice makes perfect and all that. Guess you’ll just have to do it in his place. You spend much time on your knees for him, Ricky? Or do you prefer to just bend over and let him f*ck you for a bit?”

Ricardo stands there, gaping at me, like he’s trying to figure out whether or not I’m being serious. He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing, and I cock at eyebrow, purposely being dramatic about it.

“I don’t,” he starts, pausing before saying, “I mean, I’m not…”

“Come on, spit it out.”

“Or just swallow it,” Seven jokes.

I laugh. “That’s probably a better idea. You should be grateful for every drop.”

Ricardo takes a deep breath. “I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I,” I say, “and neither is Seven, for that matter, but he’d suck it if I asked him. Wouldn’t you, Seven?”

“Absolutely,” Seven says. “Anything you ask.”

Lucky for Seven, I respect him enough not to ever ask that of him. I respect his personal boundaries, because he commands it. He doesn’t just demand it, like some whiny brat with a big mouth that needs something shoved in it. He carries himself like someone to respect. But still, he’d do it if I ever asked him to, because I command respect, too.

This guy, though, he’s got balls, but they might be too big if instead of getting on his knees and saying ‘yes, please’ he’s hesitating like a little bitch.

“Come in,” I tell the guy. “Leave us, Seven.”

Seven nods before walking off. Ricardo carefully steps into the library, his approach cautious, his gaze flickering all around. He pauses, maybe two feet in front of me, unsure of what to do.

“Tell me something,” I say, too exhausted to prolong this, as much as frazzling him amuses me. “Did you come because your boss has another grievance he wants to air? Or are you looking for a new job, considering what happened to your boss’s club, you know, since people went bang-bang-bang?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“You guess? Do you? Because I don’t. I don’t guess. Either you do or you don’t. Either you’re looking for a job or you’re not. If you don’t understand your own motivations enough to not have to take a f*cking guess, then we’ve got a problem.”

He stares at me. “I’m sure.”

“Well, then.” I prop my feet up on the corner of the table, lacing my hands together at the back of my head. “Tell me about yourself, Ricky.”

He starts babbling. I don’t know. I’m not paying the words any attention. I really don’t give a shit what the guy’s saying, don’t care how he’s framing himself, but his body language tells me everything. When you spend your life tiptoeing around psychopaths, you learn to listen to what’s going unspoken. He blinks too much, fidgeting, tinkering with the watch on his wrist, playing with the clasp. Not a Rolex, I notice, not that it makes a difference in this situation, but it means he’s either tasteless or broke as f*ck, and either way, it sucks for him. Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying. Everything about him screams deception.