I stand in the doorway for a while, long enough to finish off my orange, neither of us saying anything until I’m done. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my car keys.
“Come on,” I say, stepping out onto the porch. “Let’s take a ride.”
If the guy was smart, he’d bail right now, run like hell at the suggestion, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, taking my keys and heading for my car without questioning where we’re going. Guts.
I give him the address.
He punches it into the GPS.
It takes us about an hour to get there, night falling by the time we arrive, darkness shrouding the neighborhood. He parks just down from the place, cutting the car off. I get out but don’t approach, perching myself on the hood of my car.
White house, red door, quaint little picket fence in quiet suburbia. A stone walkway leads from the gate to the front porch, a trail of outdoor landscape lights illuminating it. The place is lit up, shining bright in the night, a soft yellow glow coming from a few of the windows. I’m not close enough to hear anything, but I can sense shadows as they move around inside.
Seven climbs out of the car, coming over to stand beside me. I don’t know how long I sit here, just watching the house in silence, but it’s long enough for the lights to flick off, one-by-one, until all that’s lit up is the right top window. Scarlet’s room, I imagine. I faintly catch glimpses of her as she moves around, brief flashes of her through the break in the dark curtains.
“You going to go say hello?” Seven asks.
I shake my head.
He’s quiet, like he’s trying to make sense of why we’re here if it’s not to visit her. I hope he doesn’t ask, because I’m not in the mood to explain myself.
Just when I’m about to end this, to do what I came to do, so I can go back home and close this chapter, the phone in my pocket rings. I look away from the house, pulling the phone out to glance at it. Blocked number.
I’m not sure what compels me to press the button, to answer it, since I’ve never answered a blocked caller before, but I do.
Bringing it to my ear, I say, “Gambini.”
The line is silent.
Without a word even spoken, I know it’s her.
Call it my gut. It’s just the feeling I get. I can sense her on the line, I know she’s there, but she says nothing. Maybe there’s nothing left to say. Maybe this is all it is, all it was, all it could ever be. Maybe this is the end of the story. Yeah, my gut says it should be.
But the traitorous heart beating in my chest isn’t having that bullshit. It’s angrily banging, begging me to do something, something my brain definitely doesn’t agree with. My brain says fuck that.
“Tell me a story,” she says finally, her voice barely a whisper.
“A true story or a fairy tale?” I ask.
“Surprise me.”
“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Luke Skywalker—”
Laughter cuts me off.
I don’t finish, because I’m pretty sure she already knows how it goes. Silence falls over the line again before she says, “I have a confession to make, Lorenzo.”
“I’m listening.”
“Pretending to listen?”
“No, I’m actually listening.”
She sighs. “I don’t really know how to say this, but I need to get it off my chest, and I just... I feel like you should know, that I should tell you how I really feel...”
“Just spit it out, Scarlet.”
“I really love the prequels.”
I hesitate. “You love the prequels?”
“Yes,” she says. “The Star Wars prequels. I know a lot of people hate on them, but I really love them.”
“I, uh... I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Anakin and Padme’s story was just so heartbreakingly beautiful, you know? The Phantom Menace is probably my favorite movie.”
“Of the prequels?”
“Of the entire series.”
I grimace. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“Jesus, fuck, woman... and you call me crazy. You’re insane. I just... what the hell is wrong with you?”
She laughs again.
The genuine kind of laughter.
I don’t know that I’ve ever heard her laugh like that before, so lighthearted, like a heavy burden has been lifted off of her. I smile at the sound, even though she’s lost her fucking mind.
“I feel better,” she says, “now that I’ve confessed.”
“Yeah, well, I’m wishing I wasn’t listening,” I tell her. “You should’ve saved that confession for a priest, someone who could help you get over that shit, because I don’t even know where to begin.”
She laughs some more before it all goes quiet.
“Thank you,” she whispers after a bout of silence.
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She says nothing else, although I can tell there’s more she wants to. Whether or not she should is another question. Maybe I’m not the only one with a heart and a mind at odds.
“Goodnight, Scarlet,” I say. “Take care of yourself.”
Her voice is barely a whisper as she says, “Goodnight.”
Hanging up, I shove the phone back into my pocket before pushing away from the hood and reaching into the backseat of the car, snatching out the filthy, old teddy bear I’d thrown there days ago after cleaning out the car. I walk away, finally approaching the house, my footsteps quiet as I go through the gate and navigate the walkway. Stepping up onto the porch, I prop the bear against the door where I know it’ll be found.
Darkness falls over the rest of the house as I walk away, the bedroom light turning off. I climb straight into the passenger seat of my car, waiting for Seven to get in behind the wheel. A minute or so passes as I stare blankly at the dashboard, waiting for Seven to start the car, when I hear his voice. “Uh, boss...”
I close my eyes as I lean my head back against the seat, covering my face with my hands. “Not now.”
“But—”
“Just drive the fucking car, Seven.”
“Somebody’s here.”
Somebody’s here.
I look at Seven, but he’s not looking at me. His gaze is across the neighborhood, just past Scarlet’s now darkened house, where her and her daughter are in bed, probably beckoning sleep. Somebody stands there, in the shadows, watching. I struggle to get a good look until they turn, a nearby streetlight illuminating them.
Markel. “Shit.”
I look from him to the house to him again. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Instinctively, I reach for the gun in my waistband, even though I can’t use it. I can’t go shooting all willy-nilly in front of her house. The last thing she needs is to wake up to a dead Russian in her front yard, his blood splattering her pretty little fence.
So I keep my grip on my gun, just in case I have to use it, in case he doesn’t give me any other choice, and I watch him in silence, letting him make the first move.
Ten minutes pass.
Fifteen. Twenty.
He just stands there before walking away. Leaving. I watch as he gets into a black SUV down the street, starting it up to leave.
“Follow him,” I say.
Markel drives straight to Limerence, parking out front and going inside. The place is dark, no lights on, no open sign lit. I’m not sure what Jameson did about the girl in the basement, if he did anything at all. I don’t know what happened with all of the other girls, either, the ones who worked here every night, now that the man who controlled them is gone. It’s possible Markel took over, but I don’t know...
Honestly, and maybe this makes me an asshole, but I don’t really care, either.
But I do care what happens to Scarlet.
I’m not going to let anyone hurt her.
“Wait here,” I tell Seven. “I’ll be right back.”
I get out, still clutching
my gun, and head inside the club. Dark and quiet, so quiet that the sound of my footsteps echoes through the vast space.
It feels abandoned.
I’m not sure where he went, so I start with the office, figuring that’s my best bet, under the circumstances.
The door is wide open.
Markel sits inside, alone on the couch, holding a bottle of vodka. He takes a swig from it as he looks at me, not surprised by my presence. I know he saw me there, at the house. He would’ve figured I’d follow.
“I mean them no harm,” he says.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Ah, it doesn’t matter what you believe, but it’s true.”
He shrugs me off, drinking in silence, like that’s that.
“So, if you don’t mean them any harm, why go there?”
“Why did you go?”
“Pretty sure that’s none of your business.”
He laughs. “I could say the same.”
I stroll closer. Call it curiosity. Maybe it’s boredom. But I take a seat on the edge of the couch across from him, wondering what his end-game is.
It’s silent for a moment before he says, “Limerence. Do you know what the word means?”
“No.”
“It’s obsession, compulsion, when love is not love but something more... dangerous. It is an uncontrollable need, when you cannot live without someone. I always thought it was funny Kassian named this place Limerence, because that was how he felt about her. It was a sickness. I knew, eventually, he would grow so sick that he would kill them all... that is why I helped her.”
“You helped her.”
“I was supposed to keep an eye on her the night she escaped. I saw her. I knew what she was doing. And I knew it was her only chance. So I looked the other way, and I paid for that. He ordered me to find her, and I did, but I never told him. Every night, he sent me out looking. Every night, I would go to that house and I would see her.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I was invested.”
“That’s why you went there tonight? Invested?”
He shrugs again.
“So, how’d he find her?” I ask. “If you never told him where she lived, how’d he catch up to her?”
Markel stares at me, frowning. I don’t need him to answer to riddle that one out. Kassian followed him.
“He used to offer her to me,” Markel says. “Whenever he left on business, he would have me watch her. As payment, I could take her, all night, do whatever I wanted. He just had one rule: always use a condom. That’s why he planned to kill you, you know. He didn’t care if people used her for pleasure as long as they didn’t leave any trace of themselves inside of her.”
“That’s a fucked up way to think.”
He laughs humorlessly. “The nights Kassian left on business were the only nights Morgan had peace. It was the only time she smiled. That was pleasure enough for me, so I didn’t touch her.”
He takes a drink... a long drink... like he’s a thirsty man guzzling water. He drains the rest of the bottle before sitting up, discarding it on the table between us.
“So many nights, he hurt her. Must have been hundreds of times. One night, he was worse than ever. He left afterward, and that night, instead of peace with me, she sought comfort. Maybe it was wrong, but I showed her love... and I broke my brother’s rule as I did so.” He shakes his head, looking away. “Nine months later, she gave birth.”
Son of a bitch. “You think the kid is yours.”
It suddenly makes sense why he’d look the other way, why he’d show up outside of her house night after night, why he’d do what he did to try to help them while still protecting his own ass.
“Well, this has certainly been enlightening,” I say, standing up, “but I think I’ve heard enough.”
“So you know I mean them no harm.”
“What I know is that it doesn’t matter what you mean, because you are as harmful as they come.”
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
I unload the gun, bullet after bullet, right into his fucking chest, not a second of hesitation from the first trigger pull to the very last, shot after shot lighting up the room, until the gun does nothing but click.
CLICK.
CLICK.
CLICK.
He slumps over, falling from the couch to the floor with a thud, no longer moving. No longer breathing.
I shove the gun away and walk out, keeping my head down. Seven still sits behind the wheel, driving away as soon as I’m beside him.
“Where to, boss?” he asks.
“Home,” I say quietly. “It’s over.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Cowardly Lion lived in a gloomy castle.
Or so it felt like it to the little girl. It wasn’t beside the beach, like the palace, although it seemed to be just as big. Maybe even bigger. This place was cold, and dark, and off on its own. Isolated.
Some of the flying monkeys stayed there, too, along with some women, a rotating door of people, which meant there was always somebody around to watch her. They didn’t act like she was invisible. No, they acted like she was a prisoner, like a princess locked away in a tower.
“Hey, sweet girl,” the Cowardly Lion said one night, appearing in the room she’d been kept in, where she’d been spending all day, every day, with nothing more than a mattress and a small television, letting her watch cartoons for the first time in months.
The people in the house were upset about something, yelling at each other about some club somewhere that maybe got raided by somebody or something. She didn’t know. She didn’t like their talking, so she just kept turning the volume up on the television.
She said nothing to the Cowardly Lion. Not because she wanted to be mean. She just had nothing to say to him.
“Are you not speaking to me?”
Nothing.
“Have I made you upset?”
Nothing.
Stepping into the room, he walked over, blocking her from seeing the movie on the screen. It was Toy Story, but part two, the one where Woody got stolen. She scowled, thinking he’d turn the volume down, but instead, he shut it off.
“Hey!” she said. “I was watching Woody!”
“Too bad,” he said. “Maybe you should not have ignored me.”
She let out a noise of annoyance that made him laugh, like he thought she was being funny. “I don’t got nothing to say.”
“You don’t have to say a word,” he said, “but you do have to get up and come with me, because it is time for you to go.”
“Go where?” she asked, her stomach in knots.
“Go home,” he said, leaving it at that.
Home. That word used to make the little girl’s heart soar, but now her insides soured.
“I can’t go. He don’t want me.”
“Who?”
“Daddy.”
The Cowardly Lion gave her a sad smile. “I’ve spoken to him. He agreed that you could come home now. In fact, there is a surprise waiting for you, one that will make you very happy.”
Buster, she thought. Maybe he saved Buster.
The little girl got up, leaving with him, quiet as they drove away from the dark castle, heading back to the palace. It was chaotic when they finally arrived, cars and people and noises all around.
“Shit, shit, shit...” The Cowardly Lion chanted, not even bothering to shut off the car, leaving it running when he pulled to a stop. “Come on.”
Before the little girl understood what was happening, he yanked her out of the car, leaving the door wide open. Her heart raced wildly as she looked around outside. She didn’t recognize the people she saw. They all watched them, frozen, like ice sculptures with wide eyes, holding guns.
Guns.
The little girl felt sick.
She thought she might throw up.
The Cowardly Lion dropped her to her feet on the porch, pushing on the front door. It was already cracked
open—no locks, no alarm. The little girl had never seen it like that before.
Noises hit her from inside, strangled noises, gasping breaths. The little girl blinked rapidly, scared by the sound. Tears burned her eyes but she tried not to cry.
“Go on, sweet girl,” the Cowardly Lion said. “Your surprise is waiting.”
She walked into the foyer, taking small steps. Someone was crying, curled into a ball on the floor. The little girl crept closer, alarmed, as something inside of her got all tangled up.
A man knelt there, his face slashed with a big scar, but the little girl only vaguely noticed he existed at all. No, her attention was fixed to the woman hunched over. She could hardly believe it. Her eyes were cloudy from tears, but she could still see her so clearly.
“Morgan,” the guy said, standing up. “Open your eyes, baby.”
The woman looked, the sight of her nearly crippling, the little girl’s knees going weak. Mommy. She was there, right in front of her, not asleep anymore. Her eyes were open, looking straight at her. “Sunshine?”
The little girl trembled. “Mommy?”
The woman opened her arms, sobbing, and that was all it took. Emotion flooded through the little girl as she launched herself right at her.
“You found me, Mommy. You found me!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Buster.
It’s the first thing I see when I open the front door. It falls over, halfway in the house, halfway on the porch, the decrepit teddy bear propped up there. The moment my eyes meet it, my insides drop. My heart stops. Breath hitching, my gaze scans the area around the house, caught off guard.
It’s near dawn, the sun slowly rising, lightening the quiet neighborhood. Nothing looks out of place.
No familiar cars.
No familiar faces.
No Lorenzo.
I left the bear at his house. I know. I saw it the morning Kassian showed up. It had been lying in the unmade bed, tangled up with the sheets.
Reaching down, I carefully pick it up before stepping out onto the porch, keeping the front door open behind me, to listen inside, in case Sasha wakes up. I just need some fresh air. I need out of there.