Grievous

  “Yeah, me, too,” Lorenzo says, taking a few steps toward the library before pausing, like he’s waiting for something.

  “I had fun,” I say, “and you know, while the sex was great, nothing topped getting to see The Lion King. I think the only thing that would ever be better than that is getting my daughter back.”

  I head for the stairs, needing to shower, when Lorenzo’s quiet voice stalls me. “I talked to her.”

  Turning, I look at him as he lingers in the hallway. “What?”

  “Your daughter,” he says. “I talked to her.”

  I gape at him. I’m not sure what to say, what to think, what to do, so I just repeat myself. “What?”

  “Aristov called while I was at the warehouse this morning,” he says. “She was with him.”

  “And you talked to her?”

  “He put her on the phone,” he says, “made her ask for you.”

  I feel like I’m being suffocated. It hurts to breathe. “What did you say?”

  “I said you weren’t there, but you miss her. Then I told her to put her father on the phone, because he was using her to try to get your location, and I wasn’t having that shit.”

  None of what he’s saying wants to sink in, like I can’t comprehend it. He talked to her. He heard her voice. “She was with him this morning?”

  Lorenzo nods.

  How many times have I called Kassian, desperate for a moment just like that?

  I’m going to cry. I know it. I can feel the tears building up, stinging my eyes. So I turn away, walking away, going upstairs so Lorenzo doesn’t have to watch when it happens.

  Chapter Nine

  “Seriously, bro?”

  I know, the second I hear those words, exactly what Leo’s going to say to me. I left the restaurant without paying the check. Blah blah blah whatever whatever. Sure isn’t the first time it’s happened.

  I scrub my hands over my face, groggy, trying to wake up, as I glance toward the library doorway at where my brother lurks. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s dark in the house, eerily quiet.

  I fell asleep sitting here in my chair, giving Scarlet some time to process shit after she went upstairs.

  “Did you use my credit card?” I ask.

  “You’re damn right I did,” he says.

  “Good.” I shove up out of my chair, staggering his way. “Figured you would.”

  I’m not going to stiff my little brother or fuck up the good thing he’s got going on at that place. He keeps one of my credit cards on him, for emergencies, and he always just swipes it whenever I do this shit.

  He gives me hell for it, of course, but he handles things like the respectable adult he is.

  So no dining and dashing, technically speaking, and truth be told, I would’ve even paid for The Lion King, but the show had already started and tickets were no longer on sale, so I said to hell with it, we were going anyway.

  “What time is it?” I ask, heading past him, out into the hallway.

  “Around eleven.”

  Not even midnight yet. Huh.

  I go upstairs, because I’m too tired at the moment to deal with Leo’s lecturing, but I stall when I reach the bedroom doorway.

  My bed’s empty.

  A glance toward the bathroom tells me there’s nobody in there, either.

  “Goddamnit, woman,” I mutter as I lean against the doorframe, covering my face with my hands. “Why can’t you make shit easy for a change?”

  Sighing, I shove away from the bedroom, heading back downstairs.

  Scarlet’s not here anywhere.

  She’s got a head start on me, but I’ve got a pretty good idea where I might find her.

  I hope like hell I’m wrong.

  Leo watches me from the living room as I pull out my keys. “Whoa, you’re driving?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just... don’t kill anybody.”

  “No promises.”

  He doesn’t like that answer, but I don’t stick around and make it better for him. He’s a big boy. He can deal with the shit.

  I drive south, straight into Brooklyn, only sideswiping one other car as I make my way toward Brighton Beach. Scarlet is impulsive, and she’s desperate to see her daughter, so I’m pretty sure I gave her just enough ammunition to have her gunning for these motherfuckers.

  Without a gun, mind you.

  There’s a thin line between ballsy and boneheaded, and she’s toeing that line going at this alone.

  I park far enough away not to draw attention to my car and stroll through the darkness to Aristov’s house. It’s dark, no lights on inside, no cars parked out front, so I’m assuming he’s not home.

  There’s no sign of Scarlet, though, either.

  It makes me nervous.

  I don’t like it.

  I circle the property, eyeing it, and stall when I reach the back corner, spotting a ladder leaning against the side of the house. Fuck. My gaze darts to the top of it, to the small offset roof along the second floor, seeing her right away.

  She’s just sitting there.

  Alone.

  I’m assuming that means she didn’t find what she came for, which means she’s probably upset at the moment. Part of me wants to leave her here, to walk away and give her some space, but most of me knows she’s acting fucking crazy so if I leave, I may never see her again.

  And all of me doesn’t like that thought.

  Before you ask—no, I don’t want talk about what’s up with that, because fuck you.

  Strolling over, I grab the ladder, climbing it up to join her. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t greet me. I might as well be Casper, the friendliest fucking ghost you know, with the way she doesn’t react to me at all. She just sits there, staring off into nothingness, so I let her have her silence as I sit down beside her on the roof. There’s a window behind us, and I turn, glancing through it.

  Broken crayons cover a small desk right there with a stack of blank paper and a stuffed cat toy beside it. Looks to be a bedroom. Hers, I’m assuming, but she’s not in it at the moment.

  “You followed me,” Scarlet says quietly, “again.”

  “It’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?” I pull out my tin, grabbing the last joint from it. “You run from me; I track you down. Wash, rinse, repeat...”

  “How long is that going to go on?” she asks. “How long until you stop coming for me?”

  Look, I know that’s a sex joke waiting to happen, but now isn’t the time for it, so keep it in your fucking pants.

  “I guess when the story’s over,” I say. “When we hit the blah blah blah picket fence bullshit.”

  “What if we never do?”

  “Then I guess we spend the rest of our lives being the coyote and the fucking roadrunner.”

  She laughs. It’s a sad kind of sound, like the shit isn’t funny, but it’s either laugh or cry and she’s cried enough tonight.

  I light the joint, passing it to her, and we smoke it in silence. It burns too quickly, gone in what feels like a blink, which means our little moment is over and I’ve got to get her out of here while I still can.

  “Happy birthday, by the way,” I say. “Or hell, it’s probably after midnight now.”

  She turns her head, eyes wide. “You knew?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Kind of pissed you didn’t mention it, though, that you were just going to let it go by without acknowledging the shit.”

  “Didn’t seem important.”

  “Fuck that,” I say. “My birthday’s August the ninth. I expect a cake and some presents.”

  She laughs... again... but this time, it’s more genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

  “I’ll even let you throw me a party,” I tell her, standing up. “First, though, we need to get you the fuck out of here before Aristov shows up.”

  “But what if he shows up with her?”

  “And let whatever’s going to happen go
down in front of your little Pearl? Not a good idea. It’s going to require some coordination, Scarlet, and this shit?” I wave all around us. “This isn’t coordinated.”

  “But—”

  “The only ‘but’ I want right now is your butt getting the fuck off this roof.”

  She just stares at me.

  “Chop-chop,” I say, grabbing her arm, yanking her to her feet. “Your princess is in another castle, Scarlet. Time to keep going.”

  She’s still staring at me.

  “What?” I ask. “Why all the fucking staring? Do I got something on my face?”

  Ha-ha.

  Fuck you.

  “That whole thing sounded almost fatherly,” she says. “It was kind of hot.”

  Seriously?

  “Look, as much as I’d love to fuck you in Aristov’s bed, too, I’m going to need you to control your hormones. We’ll deal with your daddy issues later.”

  She rolls her eyes, looking quite annoyed, but my obnoxiousness gets her ass down the ladder and off the roof, so I’m calling it a win.

  I follow her down, leading her off of the property and to my car down the block.

  “You drove?” she asks, surprised, stalling on the sidewalk.

  “Yes,” I say. “The quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line and not taking trains C, J, F, and a fucking cab like a dumbass, you know?”

  “I know,” she says, holding out her hand. “You want me to drive?”

  “Unless you maybe want to die tonight, it’s probably a good idea.”

  I drop the keys right in her palm.

  She drives in silence, away from the Aristov residence, straight to my house back in Queens. She cuts the car off after she parks and starts to say something, but her stomach cuts her off.

  It growls. Loudly.

  It sounds like an angry lion.

  She clutches her stomach. “Guess I’m still hungry.”

  “Come on,” I say. “There’s plenty of food in the kitchen. No need to starve.”

  “You’re not sick of me eating your groceries?”

  I turn, looking at her, scanning her. “Getting close, but not quite yet. Ask me again tomorrow.”

  She laughs.

  Scarlet heads straight for the kitchen once we’re inside, scouring through cabinets, snatching up a fresh bag of trail mix and chowing down on it as she says, “Can I ask you a question?”

  If there’s one question I hate most, it’s that one. Can I ask you a question? What a waste of fucking words... “Just ask.”

  “All this stuff we did today,” she says, motioning around with the trail mix bag. “Was it just because you knew it was my birthday and you didn’t want me to spend it alone?”

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  “I never said it wasn’t,” she says, pulling herself up onto the counter. “I’d still like an answer, though.”

  I stroll over, sitting down in a chair at the table, and glare at her as she swings her legs, her heels banging against a cabinet below her. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would just humor someone?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “You look like you might enjoy toying with people,” she says, “in the playing with your food before you eat it kind of way.”

  “That’s different,” I tell her, my muscles coiling as her heels continue to hit the cabinet. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. “I’m not going to spend an entire day doing shit with somebody if they’re not somebody I enjoy doing shit with.”

  “So you enjoy being with me?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She’s still kicking her feet.

  “Just sometimes?”

  “Well, right now, I’m getting pretty fucking aggravated,” I tell her. “Is there a reason you’re banging against my cabinet like it’s a goddamn bass drum?”

  She stops, just like that, jumping down from the counter to shove the trail mix back away. “I wondered how long you’d tolerate it.”

  “Seriously?”

  She shrugs, looking at me.

  Playing with her food.

  That’s what she’s doing.

  Taking a page right out of Leo’s book and pressing my buttons intentionally, like she thinks I won’t shoot her.

  Fuck you, over there, shaking your head at me. I will. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I won’t. Just because I haven’t doesn’t meant it’ll never happen.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say, shoving out of the chair.

  “Without me?”

  “Fuck you.”

  She laughs, following me out of the kitchen, not put off at all by my attitude as she joins me in bed.

  Seven is munching on a carrot.

  He gnaws away at it, like he’s goddamn Bugs Bunny, sitting on the top of a crate of guns in the warehouse. Second morning in a row, we find ourselves here, this time for a delivery of oranges.

  I should count them.

  I always count them.

  But I forgot to inform Three, to let him know to come do inventory, and I’m not in the mood to do it myself. It’s tedious work. And Scarlet, well... I left her in bed again, sleeping so hard she was snoring.

  Didn’t feel like waking her.

  I mean, part of me felt like smothering her with a pillow, maybe, but I left her snoring away, not disturbing her slumber.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and toss it to Seven without warning. He attempts to catch it, but he’s too far off. It hits the filthy concrete with a thud. My fault, since I can’t really judge distances. Could be three feet from me. Could be the whole way in fucking Tahiti. Hard to tell.

  “Call Three,” I say, “and tell him to come count these oranges.”

  Seven grabs the phone. “Yes, boss.”

  I reach into my pocket, to pull out my tin, and flip it open. Empty. I glare at it, having forgotten to roll more joints, and snap it back closed, shoving it away. “I’ll be right back, Seven. I’m heading to the car for a moment.”

  I walk out of the warehouse, leaving him there on my phone, and make it barely halfway down the alley before coming to an abrupt stop. My feet, they’re not moving any more, my gaze fixed straight ahead, right at the end of the alley where a familiar man stands.

  Aristov.

  My instinct is to reach for my gun. I grab a hold of it, but I don’t pull it out. No, something stalls me. I’m not entirely sure what that something is, but I let it go for the moment, remaining calm.

  I don’t move any closer, and he doesn’t approach me, both of us just standing here.

  “Boss, Three said he was—”

  Seven steps out of the warehouse, freezing when he sees what I see.

  “Three said what?” I ask.

  “He said he was on his way,” Seven says, his voice low. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Good.”

  I stroll away then, because fuck it, I’m not intimidated. A little put off by Aristov’s presence, wondering how he found this place, but he doesn’t scare me, personally, so I walk right up to him.

  “Mister Scar,” he says, greeting me. “I must admit... I expected more.”

  I glance at the warehouse as he motions toward it. It’s non-descript, unassuming, looking like a piece of shit, but it does everything I need it to do, and I got it for cheap, so what more could I ask for?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I was in the neighborhood,” he says. “Quite the coincidence, is it not?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “That is a shame,” he says. “I am a big fan of happy accidents, myself.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask again. “I’m not really in the mood for chit-chat, so spit out whatever it is so I can go on with my day.”

  “I am curious... were you at my house last night, Mister Scar?”

  “Why would I go there?”

  I answered his question with a question.

  The man’s not stupid. I??
?m waving the red flag of evasion over here.

  “You will not find her there,” he says, not beating around the bush anymore. “She is gone now.”

  “Where’d she go?”

  A smile tugs his lips. “I could ask you the same, could I not? Seems we are both hiding someone.”

  “Oh, I’m not hiding anyone,” I tell him. “Like I told Doodlebop, you’re welcome to check my pockets if you’d like. You see, me? I’m not a runner, nor am I a hider. I’m more of a wolf than an armadillo.”

  Another round of animal metaphors.

  Cut me some fucking slack here.

  It’s still early.

  What’s important here, in case you haven’t done the math, is the man managed to locate my warehouse, which is just a step away from finding everything else. Nothing I own is in my name, no... most of it’s under an alias. Oliver Accardi. But all it would take is a simple search of this property to stumble upon every other deed I have, including the one to my house in Queens.

  You know, where Scarlet’s at...

  “Not in the mood to strip search me, huh?” I ask. “Maybe next time.”

  “Next time,” he says. “Are you certain there will be one of those?”

  “Pretty goddamn sure.”

  Aristov glances all around me, like he’s contemplating what to do. Before he can do anything, though, Three struts into the alley, interrupting.

  “Ah, Mister Jackson,” Aristov says. “It has been a while!”

  “Not nearly long enough,” Three growls. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just saying hello to your boss,” Aristov tells him. “I thought I would give him one more chance to return what belongs to me before I start helping myself to what does not.”

  Three’s eyes narrow. “Is that a threat?”

  “Does it sound like one?” Aristov asks. “I am merely saying if I do not get what I want, I may have to settle for something else. In fact, there is a pretty brunette already on stand-by, a sexy little one we call Lexie... she is not my Morgan, but I suppose I can make do with a substitute for now.”

  Three looks damn close to snapping, about to lunge at the guy for that, which is what Aristov wants, so yeah... not happening.

  “Three,” I say, “get to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” he mutters, making his way into the warehouse.

  “Go help him, Seven,” I order, knowing the man’s still lurking behind me, “so we can get out of here.”