Grievous

  “The asshole you’re taking me to.”

  A look of surprise passes across his face. “How do you know—?”

  “Oh, give me a break,” I say, cutting him off. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. Give me some credit here, officer.”

  “Detective,” he corrects me.

  “Detective. Of course. Well, detective, you’re not the only one that can detect shit, you know, and I’m detecting this little field trip we’re taking isn’t to the seventeenth precinct for a Conspiracy warrant.”

  “You’d be correct,” he says.

  “So you’re going to take me to him instead, huh? How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it. Triple it. Just let me out right here and the money is yours.”

  “Nice try, but no.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’ll kill me if I don’t come through.”

  “Yeah, well, he’ll kill me if you do.”

  He laughs at that. Laughs. “He’s not going to kill you... or, well, I don’t think so. I hope not. He said he wouldn’t, anyway. I told him I wasn’t getting involved if this was leading to a murder.”

  I sigh, exasperated, as I lean back in the seat, trying to wiggle out of the handcuffs but they’re too tight, cutting into my wrists.

  The SUV is still right behind us, riding our bumper.

  There’s a crackling then, the sound of a radio, but not the police radio, no... a fucking Walkie-Talkie.

  They’re talking off the airwaves. Of course.

  “We’ve had a car tailing us for a few minutes,” a voice cuts in. “Could be a coincidence, but we’re going to double back and run a traffic stop, to be safe.”

  “10-4,” the detective says. “We’re almost there. Meet at the spot.”

  Almost there.

  That means I’m running out of time. I need to figure out something fast. The SUV backs off, and I can see lights flashing, but before I can get a good look at what’s happening, we make a sharp turn.

  Then another.

  And another.

  A few turns later and we’re whipping into an old parking garage. We follow the arrows, going round and round and round, making our way to the very top. The unmarked Crown Vic pulls onto the roof, the cars growing scarcer with each level we navigate. There are none up here at all. The car creeps along the empty spaces, coming to a stop somewhere along the edge of the space where there are no lights.

  I’m guessing no cameras, either.

  No witnesses.

  As the detective puts the car in park, a thought passes through my mind, something I couldn’t bring myself to entertain until that moment.

  Sickness swells up inside of me.

  A lump forms in my throat.

  He said he was delivering me where I’m meant to be, but what if where I’m meant to be is... dead?

  Before I can even wrap my head around that possibility, lights flash onto the roof, cars approaching. Cars, plural. I spot the SUV but the others are a blur. Two more, I think. I can’t really tell. My vision is blurring and it’s too damn dark.

  The detective gets out, no hesitation, and opens up the back door, reaching his hand in. I pull away, shifting along the seat. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  I hear doors slam nearby, footsteps approaching. Sighing, the detective reaches further in, snatching ahold of my arm and dragging me out. Panic bubbles up inside of me. He’s right there, in the doorway. I’ve got little range of movement, but more right now than I will have in a few seconds.

  Fuck this.

  Now or never.

  Lying back, I move quickly. As soon as the man reaches for me again, trying to force me from the backseat of the car, I thrust my legs out, my feet slamming against him.

  BAM.

  He staggers backward, gasping, wide-eyed as he clutches his chest.

  I knocked the air right out of his lungs.

  I rock myself out of the car, springing to my feet. Shadows move around me. I can’t escape them, not while shackled, but I’ll be damned if I’m going down without fighting.

  Before the detective can catch his breath, I tackle him, knocking him onto his back on the parking deck. I land on top of him with a grunt, and he tries to shove me away, tries to shove me off, but I’m not giving up.

  I can’t punch, can’t kick, but hell, I can head-butt, so I slam my forehead right into his face. BAM. All that extra security he brought and I’ll still break his fucking nose like I did Gabe’s. The detective screams, and my vision blurs, the pain echoing through me, so I know he has to hurt.

  “Jesus, fuck!” a voice calls out as arms wrap around me, tearing me off of him. “I told the guy nobody would die tonight, so don’t kill him.”

  That voice rushes through me as I’m set on my feet. I’m dizzy, but I manage to shove away from those arms to turn around, to look at him.

  Lorenzo.

  “Seriously?” I yell, staring at him with disbelief as he stands in front of me. “This was you?”

  “Yes,” he says, grabbing the detective’s hand to help him up. “Why? Who did you think it was?”

  I just gape at him.

  “Some asshole who wants to kill her,” the detective mutters, covering his face with his hands. “At least, that’s what she said.”

  Lorenzo’s eyes widen before he lets out a laugh. A laugh. He’s laughing. What the fuck?

  “This isn’t funny!” I growl, lunging at him, slamming into him, shoving him back, nearly knocking him down.

  His guys, all present, come right at us, like it’s an instinctive reaction to protect the boss, but Lorenzo stops them with a raised hand, his other grabbing my hip. “Whoa, stand down, fellas. We’re still all friends here. Scarlet’s just a little upset. No biggie.”

  He stares at me, his hand still touching me, his face inches from mine. I kind of want to break his nose, too, while I’m at it, because of the amused twinkle in his eyes.

  But I can’t deny the relief that rushes through me at the realization that I probably won’t be thrown off this roof tonight, the realization that someone jumped through hoops to get their hands on me but that someone wasn’t Kassian.

  Lorenzo saved my ass. Again.

  “It’s still not funny,” I say. “I thought he seriously had me.”

  “I got you,” Lorenzo says. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?”

  “Probably a few more times.”

  “And I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says, scolding me. “I even asked nicely.”

  “Yeah, well, the trouble with trouble is that it doesn’t always look like trouble, Lorenzo.”

  “This was very obviously trouble, woman.”

  Woman. He flings that word at me like it’s a term of endearment. “Can’t help myself, I guess.”

  He reaches out, pushing the hair from my face, brushing the back of his hand along my tender cheek. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even really look amused anymore. No, he looks concerned. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel it.”

  His hand drifts down to my neck, his fingertips stroking a spot there. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Can you, uh... I don’t know... uncuff me first? Remove the shackles, too, maybe?”

  Lorenzo pulls his hand away, motioning for someone to help me. One of the officers in plainclothes pulls out a set of keys and removes my restraints. I flex my wrists, rubbing them, relieved to be free. The detective casts me a cautious look as he moves to lean against his car.

  He’s still breathing kind of funny.

  “Is he okay?” I ask, worried he might be having a heart attack or something.

  “You okay, Jameson?” Lorenzo calls out.

  “Fine,” the detective mutters.

  “He’s fine,” Lorenzo says. “Now tell me what happened.”

  Ugh, I don’t want to, but I know I need to tell him, so I just spill the whole shebang, starting with going to Coney Island and faltering
when I recount the confrontation in the alley.

  Lorenzo absorbs every word, waiting until I grow quiet before he says, “I’m going to kill him.”

  Matter of fact. Just like that.

  I’m going to kill him.

  The detective groans. “Really, Gambini? I wish I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Why? You gonna arrest me for it?”

  “No, but now I’ve gotta pretend you never said it.”

  Lorenzo laughs, turning to the officers, thanking them for their assistance, telling them to get on out of there. He twirls his pointer finger around in the detective’s face when the guy pushes away from the side of the car to climb in it. “Send me a bill for the nose, Jameson.”

  “You know I will,” the detective says. Oops.

  The Crown Vic drives off, followed by the SUV, leaving me here with just Lorenzo and his guys, who seem to be watching me warily for some reason. Even Seven is more tense than usual, off to the side, sort of behind Lorenzo. Standoffish.

  I’m not sure what to make of it.

  “Seven, I need you to find Detective Fuckface,” Lorenzo says. “I want his address. I want his mother’s address.”

  “Yes, boss,” Seven says.

  “The rest of you... I want you on Aristov. I want to know where he goes, what he does, and who he talks to. I know where he lives, and I know where he works, but I want to know everything else the man does. You got me?”

  They murmur in agreement.

  “Good, get out of here,” Lorenzo says. “Report back when you’ve got something.”

  The guys disperse without another word, piling into the cars and leaving us here all alone, up on the roof of the parking garage with no car.

  Lorenzo reaches into his back pocket once they’re gone, pulling something out and holding it up.

  The DVD I tossed under the dumpster, Aristov written on it in faded black marker.

  “You found it?”

  “I did,” he says. “Took me a minute to riddle out what you were babbling about, but I put the pieces together and there it was.”

  “I wonder what’s on it,” I say, reaching for the DVD, but Lorenzo pulls it back from my grasp before I can get my hands on it.

  “Something you don’t want to see.”

  My stomach sinks. “You’ve looked?”

  He nods once.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Tell me.”

  Lorenzo says nothing for a moment, just staring at me, before carefully holding the DVD out so I can take it this time.

  “Watch it, if you feel the need,” he says, his voice quiet. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Scarlet.”

  Chapter Six

  I’ve always preferred getting lost in silence, but people, I’ve found, like to hear their own voices. Blah blah blah, just spewing bullshit; doesn’t matter what it is, since nobody hears it.

  You see, people don’t really listen anymore, no... they just sit around waiting for everyone else to shut up, waiting until it’s finally their turn to talk. Back and forth, an endless cycle that gets us nowhere, because nobody really gives a shit about what’s being said.

  Silence, though... silence speaks in ways that words just can’t.

  We’ve been in my library for well over an hour now, just me and Scarlet, the room cast in light from the glow of the lamp. No sound, unless you count the soft whirling fan from the laptop in Scarlet’s lap, one she borrowed from Melody.

  White noise.

  The silence speaks volumes.

  I warned her. I told her she didn’t want to see, but against my advice, she popped the disc into the drive and looked at the little home movie.

  A fucking horror flick, really.

  A young Scarlet—maybe sixteen or so—being tormented by the Russians, the men taking turns brutalizing her. A baby cries in the background, screaming bloody murder, but Scarlet doesn’t make a sound.

  No, she’s faded out. Gone.

  I could barely sit through a minute of it. It turned my fucking stomach, and that’s saying something, because I’ve watched men be slaughtered before without flinching.

  What do you say to that? It’ll be okay? Chin up, buttercup, at least you’re alive? Fuck that. Words don’t mean shit, they won’t erase what’s on that DVD, so I just stand here, working on my puzzle, pouring myself into it.

  “Boss?”

  I look to the doorway. Seven stands there, clutching my phone, waving it toward me.

  “The guys are on their way over,” he says. “Just wanted to give you the head’s up.”

  “I appreciate it,” I say, looking back away. “Any luck on that address yet?”

  “Still working on it,” he says.

  I nod, picking up a puzzle piece, trying it a few more places. Silence again takes over the room when Seven walks away.

  “Did they watch it?” Scarlet’s words are quiet as she breaks her silence. “The guys... did they see?”

  I snap a piece into place before grabbing another. “I didn’t let them watch it. I stopped it when I realized what it was.”

  “But they saw.”

  “They saw.”

  She’s quiet for another moment before asking, “Did you watch it?”

  “I didn’t pop some fucking popcorn and make a night of it, if that’s what you’re asking. I saw enough to know that it’s not something I care to ever watch happen to you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  I turn, looking at her with disbelief. She sounds genuinely grateful, sure, but there’s something else in her tone, a dejected note. I don’t like it. That’s not the woman I’ve come to know.

  “You’re thanking me,” I point out, “for not making a movie night out of your borderline snuff film. You realize that, right? You’re thanking me for not getting off watching you be fucking violated.”

  “I’m thanking you for being a decent human being.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Scarlet.”

  “I would,” she says. “Think what you want about yourself, Lorenzo, but there’s decency in you.”

  I scoff, turning back to my puzzle. “I ought to shoot you for saying that shit.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “I won’t,” I agree, “because I assured Jameson tonight wouldn’t lead to murder.”

  “How decent of you.”

  Shaking my head, I try my puzzle piece in a few places, forcing it where it doesn’t belong, nearly ripping half the puzzle apart as I yank it back off. Frustrated, I throw it down, watching as it bounces onto the floor, and run my hands down my face, pulling my glasses off and tossing them onto the table, too. “I like you more when you don’t talk.”

  She laughs. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “I do,” I say, turning toward her as I lace my hands together on top of my head, surprised she can be laughing right now, with the night she’s had. “But most of them I don’t even like when they’re quiet. You, I can tolerate.”

  “You can tolerate me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, for the record, I can tolerate you, too, Lorenzo,” she says, staring at the laptop screen. “Most guys I know would’ve watched it.”

  “I’ve told you before... you surround yourself with the wrong people.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to get better about that,” she says. “I think I might’ve found a few decent ones.”

  I glare at her but don’t respond, hearing noise echo through the house as others arrive. I walk out of the library, leaving Scarlet to whatever she’s doing, and meet the guys in the living room. They’re riled up. That’s what I like most about them, why they’ve survived so long in my company... they’re just as fucked up as me. Money, sure, they love it, they want it, but the excitement and adrenaline is priceless. They’d take the chance of a thrill over the promise of a dollar in a heartbeat.

  Well, with the exception of Seven, maybe. He’s got a wife and kids, remember? He’s much more cautious than the others.

  ??
?Gentlemen,” I say, greeting them as they settle in and secure bottles of rum, noticing right away that somebody is missing. “Where’s Three?”

  “Ran off to see some woman,” Five says. “Said he had to take care of something quick.”

  “Yeah, his dick,” Four says with a laugh.

  Shaking my head, I sit down on the couch and turn on some music before retrieving a joint from the tin in my pocket. I light it, inhaling deeply, holding it in my lungs, before passing it over to Five as he sits down beside me.

  “Always letting pussy get the best of him,” I say. “Will he ever learn?”

  “Not likely,” Five says, taking a hit of the joint before passing it back. “If getting chained up in a basement wasn’t enough to stop him from fucking around with those women, nothing short of a bullet to the brain is going to teach him that lesson.”

  I laugh dryly, taking a deep drag, exhaling slowly as I say, “I could arrange that.”

  Five casts me a look. He knows I’m dead serious, but he laughs, regardless. “You could.”

  Seven slides into a chair nearby and clears his throat. “Love is blinding.”

  “Love is blinding,” I say, repeating his sappy ass proverb shit. “And what, Three loves pussy, so it excuses his behavior?”

  “Doesn’t excuse it, just explains it,” Seven says. “Declan’s a sucker for a woman in stilettos. He doesn’t think straight where they’re concerned. We’re all knocked off-kilter eventually, and usually what does it is a woman. That’s how I ended up married so long ago. Love, it makes us forget ourselves sometimes.”

  “I’ll fucking drink to that,” Four says, raising up a bottle of rum.

  “Goddamn women,” Five says, raising his own bottle. “They’re cyanide to the senses.”

  Shaking my head, I look around at these idiots toasting, my gaze stalling at the doorway, seeing Scarlet lurking.

  “How about you, Scarlet?” I ask as the guys take sips, clinking their bottles together. “You gonna drink to pussy-blindness, too?”

  She pushes away from the doorframe, strolling into the room. “Love is a terrible excuse. It’s dangerous to lose yourself in someone else.”

  “Ah, that I’ll drink to,” I say as she slides in front of me, sitting down on the coffee table, her knees touching mine. Five smacks my arm at those words, passing me a bottle of rum, and I take a swig before offering it to Scarlet.