Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(85)

She scoffs. “No way.”

“Suit yourself, then.” I wave her off. “Do whatever you want, Scarlet.”

The door is unlocked, so I walk right in. Everything has been cleaned up, the floors scrubbed, bloodstains covered, holes patched, all evidence of what happened wiped away. I hear voices coming from the office so I head that way, turning the corner and startling the men inside.

No hesitation, guns are pulled, aimed my direction.

“Hello to you all, too.”

Amello stands at his desk, surrounded by mounds of paperwork, sorting through all of it, shredding a lot of shit. “What do you want, Scar?”

“A friendlier greeting would be nice,” I say. “So would a pepperoni slice. Kind of hungry. Thirsty, too, so maybe a drink. Wouldn’t say no to having my dick sucked, either.”

He raises his gaze, meeting mine. “What do you want from me?”

I step into the office, moving past the armed men, and take a seat in a chair across from Amello at the desk. “You could tell these buffoons to do something about their guns. Use them or lose them, if you know what I’m saying.”

Amello motions for them to lower their weapons.

“No offense, Scar, but...”

He pauses.

Hesitates.

I learned long ago that when someone says ‘no offense’ there’s about a seventy-six percent chance they’re about to offend the f*ck out of you. They think those bullshit words will help them get away with it, but that doesn’t work with me. I know it, and he knows it, because it’s clearly written in the deep lines of his troubled face.

“But? Go on, I’m listening.”

“I can’t do this right now,” he grumbles, plopping down in his chair, running his hands down his face. “I’ve got the cops riding my ass, my business is in shambles... nobody wants to work with someone facing all this heat... and the Russians... the f*cking Russians!” He lets out a manic laugh that sounds strained, like he’s damn close to shedding tears. “They shoot up my place, they attack me, my business, all because of that little bitch! If I knew where she was right now, I’d wring her f*cking neck!”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Harsh? Three of my guys are dead.”

“I don’t see how that’s her fault.”

“They were after her!”

“But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew the Russians wanted her, and you used that to your advantage.”

“I helped her,” he says, his back straightening, a hint of anger in his voice. “She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, so I took pity on her. I gave her a job. I gave her a place to live. And look where it got me. I’m f*cked. I should’ve turned the little bitch over to Aristov the second I realized who she was. She’s not worth the trouble. He can have her.”

“I beg to differ,” I say. “He wants her, he’s going to have to go through me first.”

“You?” His expression flickers with surprise before he lets out another laugh. “She got you, huh? Charmed the pants right off of you, did she? Got you thinking she’s some damsel in distress that you can save? You know nothing about her. You want my advice? Wash your hands of it. Toss her out on his front porch, be done with the bitch.”

Before he can say another word, I spring out of the seat, grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head and slamming his face against the top of the desk. BAM. He cries out, blood spewing out onto the paperwork, streaming from his busted nose. Yanking his head back up, I whip out the gun from my waistband, pointing it at his neck, pressing right where the carotid is.

His men react, drawing their weapons once more, shouting, panicked, their hands shaking hard.

Makes me wonder if they’ve ever shot anyone.

“They got their guns back out, Georgie,” I say. “Are we using them this time? Because I’m not opposed to pulling the trigger if that’s where we’re going with this. Just say the word and I’ll blow this artery apart.”

He swallows thickly, raising his hands up as if in surrender, his voice again strained as he says, “Put down the guns.”

Nobody moves.

“Uh-oh, they’re not listening.”

“Drop the f*cking guns,” Amello growls. “Get out of here! All of you! Leave us!”

It takes them a moment before they lower their weapons and retreat from the office, backing up into the club, leaving us alone. Amello glares at me, blood streaked all over his face, his eyes glassy. He’s scared, yeah, but he’s furious, too. I think he might be the kind to cry when he’s angry, because he looks damn close to boo-hoo’ing.

“You owe me a couch, Georgie,” I say, letting go of him. “I came here to collect.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“A couch,” I say. “My couch. You see, it got f*cked up when I blew holes in that incompetent little * you sent to kill me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” I pull the gun away, backing up a step, but I keep it trained on him, just in case… just in case I decide to blow his head off for the hell of it. “You owe me a couch, so my guys will be here in about three minutes to collect.”