“Tell me about it,” I mutter. Her skin was a kaleidoscope of injuries, but the kind of shit that is just superficial. The real damage, I think, has to be rooted deeply in her, the kind of damage that fucks up somebody mentally.
I should’ve gotten to her sooner.
I’m a fucking failure.
I wavered and waited… and waited… and waited… so not to get her hurt. A lot of fucking good that did, huh? While I sat around, biding my time, he did what he did to her.
I can imagine, you know. I don’t need anyone to tell me. I saw the way she looked.
Should’ve just tossed the grenade and ended it before it started.
“Anyway, so I booked them this suite at The Plaza,” Three says. “This little pink poufy looking place. They do tea time and shit. Figured a little girl would like that, right? Cupcakes and pink shit and... tea?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble, looking back at my puzzle, picking up a piece. “I don’t know anything about kids.”
“You raised one.”
“Pretty sure the one I raised was born more mature than me.”
Three pauses to lean against the table. “I don’t know shit about kids, either, clearly, because the little girl wanted nothing to do with it. Said some shit about it looking like another palace, said she wasn’t doing it anymore, whatever that means. So Morgan gave me some address in Long Island, told me to take them there... some house they could stay at. They seemed, well... okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
I snap my puzzle piece into place before picking up another one. “So, at what point did she hit you?”
He laughs lightly, rubbing his face again. “When I gave her the money. She didn’t want to take it, got downright pissed, but then I told her what you told me to tell her, and well... she kind of got emotional, so I jetted out of there.”
“You told her?”
“Yeah.”
Go find your picket fence.
It’s as good of a goodbye as any, I figure. She wants the fairy tale with the happy ending. All I have are bullet holes in a house with no soul. I knew she wouldn’t want Aristov’s money, but I took it for her. A million dollars for Morgan. That was the deal. I took it so she wouldn’t go back to stripping, so she wouldn’t resort to stealing, so she wouldn’t ever have to pickpocket another motherfucker like me.
I took it because she deserves a shot at the kind of life she says she wants. Nothing will erase what he put her through, but maybe it’ll ease her hurt just enough for her to move on.
“You okay, boss?” Three asks.
I cut my eyes at him. “I’m fine.”
“You need anything else from me?”
“No,” I say. “Not tonight.”
“I’m gonna head home, then. I’ll see you later.”
He starts to leave, heading toward the door, as I sit down in my chair and run my hands down my face. Fuck. “Before you go...”
He glances back at me. “Yeah?”
“The brunette from Limerence, the one you, uh...”
“Lexie?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, look, about her,” he says. “I know she was supposed to be there tonight, that she was supposed to help, but she wouldn’t have flaked intentionally, you know. I don’t know what happened, but Lexie... she’s a good girl, so if you could maybe cut her a break, I’d—”
“She’s dead.”
He stalls, his expression falling. “What?”
“She’s dead,” I say again. “When we hit the club tonight, we found her in the basement.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, just standing there, staring at me, like he’s not sure how to react. I can see it in his eyes, though. The sadness. The pain. He liked her, for whatever reason, and he’s grieving. Look them in the eyes if you want to know what they’re not saying. My stepfather used to stress that.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Is it really any wonder why mine are fucked up?
“Well... that sucks,” he says, running a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it up. “But hey, on the bright side, Bruno’s back, so I guess we have snacks again, huh?”
I don’t have it in me to tell him not to get his hopes up on that, because Seven might have shown up but I wouldn’t call him back, so I just nod. He’s deflecting. I’m not going to be a bigger asshole and call him out on it.
“Goodnight, boss,” he say quietly, walking out.
I turn back to my puzzle, mumbling, “Goodnight, Declan.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
When I get no response to my retort, my gaze turns to the library doorway, where my brother stands. He’s staring in at me, watching me, his eyebrows raised.
“It looks like you’re standing there,” he says, “doing the same thing you were doing when I went to bed twelve hours ago.”
I glance at my watch. It’s shortly past noon. Huh. “You went to bed at midnight?”
“Yes,” he says. “I said goodnight, remember?”
No. “Vaguely.”
He stares at me some more.
“I’m still working on my puzzle,” I tell him, turning back to it. “I’m almost finished.”
I only have about five hundred pieces left out of the eight thousand that make up Michelangelo’s painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
“Have you even tried to sleep?” he asks. “I’m guessing not, since you still look like that.”
I glance down at myself. I haven’t even taken my boots off. I’m covered in dirt, sweat, fuck... even some blood. It’s not very visible on the black fabric, but it still covers my hands, caked under my nails. “I haven’t gotten around to it.”
“You know sleep deprivation can kill you, right? I mean, it probably won’t, but it could.”
“I’m fine,” I say, “but if it’ll make you feel better, Pretty Boy, I’ll go to bed when I’m done.”
“When’s that going to be?”
“Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
He grows quiet, but I can feel his judgment. Seems my answer isn’t good enough for him for whatever reason. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m the adult here, that I raised his little punk ass and not the other way around.
Before he can try to lecture me, a chime echoes through the house. Instantly, I hear Melody’s shrill voice as she panics in the living room, like she’s traumatized by the sound of a doorbell.
Leo forgets all about our conversation, rushing away to console her.
I ignore it, going back to my puzzle, working on it in silence. I assume my brother answers the door, because a minute or so later, he’s right back in the doorway. “Seven’s here to see you.”
“Good for him.”
“Yeah, he rang the doorbell,” Leo says. “Seems to think his open invitation has been revoked, so he’s waiting on the front porch.”
“Ask him if he’s come up with a reason yet.”
“Uh, okay...” Leo walks away, returning a minute later. “He says because he’s sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
Leo leaves, once more returning. “He says he thinks he can still be helpful.”
“Well, I think Valet parking is helpful, but that doesn’t mean I can’t park the fucking car myself.”
And again.
“He says he’ll do whatever you say.”
“Tell him I say to come back when he’s got something real to offer, because otherwise, I’m liable to shoot him in the fucking face.”
Leo hesitates before walking away.
I focus on the puzzle, piece after piece after piece, and fall into a trance. Tunnel vision. There’s a disconnect inside of me. My mind’s working, my muscles moving, but I’m on autopilot. A fucking robot. My blinks get slower, my eyes burning, the
world around me a blur as the day drifts away, darkness falling.
Leo keeps popping in, trying to engage in conversation.
Are you hungry? No.
You sure? Pretty damn positive.
Need something to drink? I’ve got my rum.
Are you almost done? I would be, if you’d leave me the fuck alone.
I scrub my hands over my face, groaning, squeezing my eyes shut, but I instantly regret it.
Whenever I close my eyes, I see her. Scarlet.
I see her smiling. I see her crying. I hear her laughter flowing through me, sending chills down my spine. The sound of her moaning creeps through my bloodstream, the face she makes in the throes of passion the pulse that spurs it on. Whatever this is I’m feeling, I want it to stop. I want it to go away. I want to stop fucking seeing her every time I blink. I want to stop fucking thinking about her every time I pause to take a deep breath. She’s like an infection that’s settling into my chest. I would rip out my own organs if I thought it might purge her from my system.
I need a witchdoctor to break the spell this woman has on me.
“Goddamn voodoo pussy,” I mutter, snatching up the liquor bottle and tipping it back, guzzling the last of it before turning back to the puzzle. Almost finished.
You’d think it would be easier, since I’m nearing the end, most of it all filled in, but you’d be wrong.
Everything that’s left looks the same.
Or maybe I’m just drunk.
Who the fuck knows?
The world around me is lightening again as I get down to a handful of pieces, the sun rising, another day dawning. I snap the pieces in place, looking at the lone jagged hole in the center of the puzzle, right there in The Creation of Adam, probably the most important part of the entire painting.
My gaze scans the table all around the puzzle, searching for the last piece.
Nothing.
“What the hell?” Annoyed, I feel around along the edges, hands skimming along the puzzle, thinking it has to be blending in, but I find nothing. “You have gotta be fucking kidding me.”
I look around the table. I look under the table. I check my chair. I check inside the box. I search the bookshelves and all along the floor and every fucking place a puzzle piece could possibly be in this room.
“No, no, no,” I chant, double-checking half those places, even patting down my own pockets, because it has to be somewhere. I’m exhausted, and aggravated, and I just want this goddamn thing to be done, to get it over with so I can move on. For months, I’ve been working on this puzzle, weeks of my life spent putting it together, and for what? Huh? To leave a hole in the center of the goddamn picture so for the rest of my life I have to live with the fact that I never finished what I started, that I never got it done?
“Motherfucker!” I yell, kicking the chair, sending it flying across the room, skidding right into the bookshelf with a bang.
“Lorenzo?” Leo’s voice calls out from the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
“His dick is gone!”
“His... what? What’s gone?”
“His dick,” I say again, pointing at the damn hole in the puzzle, right there, cutting through Adam’s crotch, cutting it out, so there’s nothing in that spot. “God is breathing life into man, but his dick is gone, so what’s the point?”
“What’s the point?”
“Can’t fuck,” I say, anger building up inside of me, my fingers tingling, my chest burning, my face going hot. I’m sweating. “Can’t even take a piss. He’s just there, half a goddamn man... can’t do a fucking thing for Eve like that, can he? No, he can’t! Even his goddamn balls are gone. There’s just... nothing. There’s a fucking hole there, Leonardo, right where his dick’s supposed to be, and I can’t do shit about it!”
He steps into the library, carefully approaching. “You’re spiraling, bro. I think you need to go lay down.”
“Fuck you. And fuck laying down. I’m fine. Sleep isn’t going to change a goddamn thing, is it? There’s still going to be a hole, right fucking there. It’s not going to just fix itself. It’s pointless... all of it. All of this. I bust my ass trying to put it all together, but why do I bother? Fuck all of it!”
Something inside of me snaps, hitting me so damn hard it’s like a punch to the chest, right in the sternum. It hurts. I almost lose my breath. Grabbing ahold of the table, I shove it, throwing it, flipping the fucking thing over, sending the puzzle flying. It breaks apart, scattering.
Leo freezes as I pace around. It’s taking everything in me not to reach for my gun, to not put bullets through the table, to not blow holes in the fucking thing. Running my hands through my hair, gripping onto it, I kick at the puzzle on the floor, stomping on it as I pace, done... so fucking done.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
I cut my eyes at Leo. “What?”
“Morgan,” he says. “You fell in love with her.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do,” he says. “You fell for her, and you’re freaking out, because she’s not here now.”
“Fuck you.”
“You do realize it’s not too late, right?”
I turn away. I can’t even look at him right now. I’m so damn angry that I’m liable to do something I’ll regret if he doesn’t stop running his mouth. “Get out.”
“I’m serious,” he says, not shutting up, not getting out. “You push people away. You push everyone away, and you’re a real dick about it most of the time, but she’s not gone, Lorenzo. She’s still out there.”
“I swear to fuck, if you don’t get out...”
“You’ll do what? Push me away, too? Sorry, bro, it might work with other people, but I know you. So lash out all you want... yell at me, curse me, threaten me... I’m not going anywhere, ever.”
“Strong words for someone busy packing boxes to move the fuck out.”
“It’s not like that and you know it.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever,” he says, mocking me.
I turn to him, stepping toward him, getting right in his face. He doesn’t back up, doesn’t balk. He doesn’t even look afraid. “I might’ve raised you, Pretty Boy, but you’re not a kid anymore, so don’t think I won’t knock you the fuck out.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Strong words for someone busy freaking out because I’m moving out.”
The little son of a bitch is mocking me again.
I shove against him, pushing him backward, forcing him out of my way. Without saying a word, I go around him, walking out.
“I’m serious,” he says, calling after me as I head for the stairs. “You should go to her, talk to her.”
“Fuck off.”
“Get some sleep first, though,” he continues, following me, stopping at the bottom of the stairs as I trudge up them. “And take a shower, too, because, bro... you’re looking a bit like something out of a horror flick.”
I know what you’re thinking: this guy, he’s finally going to get his shit together. He’s going to wake up from a deep sleep, having dreamed about a different kind of life, or it’s going to hit him like a ton of bricks when he’s in the shower, washing up, rubbing one out. He’s going to realize his brother was right. He’s going to see that he’s in love. And he’s going to go after the woman, like some goddamn hero, and they’ll live happily ever after, always and forever.
But this isn’t some chick flick rom-com. John Hughes isn’t directing. My brother’s not fucking his girlfriend on my couch while watching this on my television.
That’s not how this goes.
I sleep. I eat something. I finally shower. I mope for days, making everybody miserable. A week passes. My house is filled with boxes. My brother finally got the keys to his rinky-dink apartment.
Three pops in every day, keeping me updated.
The house Scarlet and her little Pearl went to turned out to be hers. Her home. The house she told me about...
she still has it. You see, all along I thought men like ol’ Mello Yello were milking her out of every penny, that they were stealing everything she stole, because she had nothing that I saw, but it turns out she was just hemorrhaging money trying to keep up with two lives—the one she’d been drifting through when I met her and the one she always intended to go back to.
She already had her picket fence.
She just needed help getting back to it.
She’d been paying the rent, been paying the utilities, keeping the place going even though she couldn’t stay there, even though it wasn’t safe, because she planned to one day have that life back.
She never lost hope, despite everything.
You have to respect that.
Or well, I do.
It’s around dusk on Friday evening. The guys are out, doing what they do, making money and raising hell, everything right back to normal. My brother’s at work. His girlfriend is... well, who the hell knows, but she’s not here. It’s quiet, so very quiet... not a peep in the house.
It’s peaceful. It’s boring.
I’m back to being bored out of my fucking mind.
After peeling an orange, I stroll out of the kitchen and head down the dim hallway. Just as I make it to the foyer, a chime echoes through the house. Doorbell. I divert that way, yanking the door open, coming face-to-face with Seven.
I sigh. Loudly.
“For your sake, I hope you’ve got a good reason,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, “because it has been way too long since I shot somebody, and you’re still hanging out on the top of my list.”
He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Because we’re family.”
I take a bite of my orange, regarding him. “Because we’re family.”
“Yes,” he says. “Family’s not perfect. We make mistakes. We don’t always like each other, don’t always get along. So maybe I’m the black sheep of this family, and I deserve whatever happens to me because of it, but we’re family, and when you’re family, you deserve a chance.”
I continue to eat my orange. “You know I killed my mother, right?”
“Yes.”
I nod. “Just making sure.”
“But that’s different,” he says. “Family’s more than blood. Family is who we choose. So I’m not asking you to forgive me, not asking you to forget... I’m just asking for a chance to earn back your respect.”