Menace

  I don’t know what to say.

  “In my defense,” he says, not sounding like he really cares to defend himself, “they were all terrible people, so it’s not like they didn’t deserve it.”

  “So you’ve never hurt an innocent person?”

  A smile touches his lips. “Do they exist?”

  “What?”

  “Innocent people.”

  “Children,” I say. “Your brother.”

  I almost say me, but well, I think I’ve crossed too many lines to ever qualify as innocent.

  “I would never hurt a kid,” he says. “I guarantee there’s nothing in that file that says I would.”

  I look down at it, frowning, pulling out a scrap piece of paper with the detective’s handwriting on it and holding it out to Lorenzo.

  Suspected to have been involved in the death of 14-year-old Sally Walters in Kissimmee.

  He takes the piece of paper from me, looking at it for a few seconds before balling it up, crushing it in his palm. He tosses it behind him, onto the roof, and goes back to peeling his orange.

  The fact that he’s not refuting it bothers me. My stomach gets tied up in knots.

  “Is her autopsy report in there?” he asks after a moment.

  “No.”

  “So you don’t know she was strangled?” he asks. “Don’t know she was brutally raped before being put out of her misery?”

  “No.”

  But he does, and the fact that he knows it makes my head dizzy, bile burning the back of my throat. I don’t want to think he’s capable of such a thing. No, scratch that. I don’t think he is. Killing people, yes, I’ve seen him do it, but rape is different. It’s another level of cruelty inflicted by a different type of monster. I’ve met many of those monsters in my life, but he’s not one of them.

  “For the record, I didn’t do it,” he says. “She was my first girlfriend. Only girlfriend. I didn’t hurt her. I just got lucky and stumbled upon her after my stepfather was through.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he repeats as he stands up. “Anything else in the book of bullshit that I should know about?”

  “No,” I say, closing the file and holding it out to him. “You can have it, if you want.”

  “How nice of you,” he says, snatching it from my hand, clutching so tightly the folder bends, as he leaves, slipping back down off of the roof, into the bedroom, slamming the window closed.

  I touched a nerve. A bad one. And I know he’s just going to go back downstairs now, into his library, and I won’t see him again tonight. Ugh, I don’t like it. My stomach is still in knots.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but… I might’ve hurt his feelings. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

  Pushing to my feet, I quickly make my way across the roof. I scurry down the ladder, jogging around, and shove through the front door just as Lorenzo steps back into the library.

  Fuck.

  “Hey, hold on,” I say, running toward him, skidding to a stop in front of the library just as the door is about to shut. Reaching out, I push it, shoving it back open before it can latch. “Ugh, Lorenzo, wait.”

  He turns to me, still clutching the door. He looks like he wants to slam it in my face... or maybe, like, punch me. I don’t know.

  “You’ve got ten seconds,” he says.

  I take a deep breath, not sure what to say.

  “Nine... eight... seven...”

  “I didn’t think you did that to that girl,” I blurt out, because fuck it, he’s counting, and I know when he reaches ‘one’ I’ll have missed my chance. “I know that’s not the kind of man you are. I know you wouldn’t have done that to her. I know you’re better than that.”

  He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  He’s about to slam the door for real this time so I shove my way inside the room. There’s a flash of something in his expression. Anger. Something. I don’t know. I can’t pay it any mind. I’ve already crossed that threshold. No going back now.

  “I swear to fuck, Scarlet, if you don’t watch yourself...”

  “Yeah, you’ll kill me,” I mutter, grabbing ahold of him, my hands framing his face, trying to force him to look at me but he’s stubborn as shit and goes to pull away instead. “I’m serious, Lorenzo. Stop being so fucking pigheaded and just look at me.”

  He looks at me when I say that. Whoa. He actually listens.

  I’m caught so much off guard by it that I don’t say anything right away, just staring him in the eyes.

  “Times up, Scarlet,” he says quietly.

  Before he can try to push me away, make me leave, I reach up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. I kiss him, softly, slowly, my palms gently against his cheeks, holding his face there.

  He doesn’t kiss me back. At least, not right away. But I can feel him relaxing more and more each time our lips touch, his anger waning.

  He tastes like oranges, sweet and tangy.

  My hands shift, grasping the side of his head, as I kiss down along his jawline, brushing against the scruff on his chin. I move to the other side, kissing the corner of his mouth before my lips graze against the scar slicing through his cheek.

  The second I do that, he pulls his head back. He shoots me a strange look, I can’t really read it, before he moves away from the door, away from me. He strolls across the room, tossing his case file onto the corner of the table near his puzzle, before sitting down in his chair

  He goes back to eating his orange as if none of that even happened. The door stays open, and I’m already halfway in the room, so I take that as invitation to come the rest of the way in.

  “Senile,” he says, shaking his head. “I know that’s not what your Scarlet Letter stands for, but it sure as fuck ought to.”

  I approach him. “I’m not old enough to be senile. Besides, you know, I think I’m pretty clear-headed.”

  “You’re softhearted, Scarlet. Soft in the fucking head, too. It’s dangerous. You’re dangerous.”

  I laugh at that, pausing in front of him, pushing his hands out of the way and shoving him further back into the chair as I climb onto his lap, straddling him. He lets out an exasperated sigh, like I’m bothering him, but I wouldn’t really call him angry anymore, so I’m chalking that up to a win.

  Nuzzling into his neck, I kiss and nip at the skin, trailing my tongue along his throat, feeling it as he swallows thickly.

  He tries like hell to ignore me, cocking his head away, finishing his orange in silence. As soon as he’s done, though, I pull back, grabbing his hand, wrapping my lips around two of his fingers, lapping the remnants of juice from his fingertips with my tongue. I suck on them slowly as he watches me, cocking an eyebrow, not saying a word, but I can feel him as he grows hard.

  I pull his fingers from my mouth and start to say something, to tease him, but I don’t get the chance to say a word. He grabs me by the back of the head, pulling me to him, kissing me roughly.

  I eagerly kiss him back.

  Hands shove at clothes, pushing and tugging, doing just enough to free him as my pants are pulled down to my thighs. He strokes himself a few times before I sink down onto him, groaning into his mouth as he fills me.

  He grasps me by the ass, squeezing, but his hands just rest there, not trying to take control, letting me lead. I ride him slowly, not breaking the kiss, goose bumps coating every inch of my skin.

  Jesus Christ, he feels so good.

  His hands start roaming, squeezing and scratching, his fingers raking along the small of my back.

  “Fuck,” he growls, pulling from my mouth, but it’s only long enough to shed me of some clothes. He yanks off my hoodie, taking off my shirt, and I unhook my bra, letting it drop to the floor.

  He kisses me again, a few small pecks, before his mouth moves, leaving a trail down to my collarbones. I wrap my arms around him, lacing my hands through his hair as he buries his face into my chest, his tongue exploring.

  I hiss at a jolt of pain as he bites down on a ni
pple, closing my eyes, my toes curling. Tingles consume me, from head to toe, and I increase my pace, fucking him faster, coming down on him harder, feeling an orgasm stirring. He alternates between bites and licks, kissing and sucking at my breasts. I know he’s leaving marks. I can feel them. They sting. My skin is raw, but I pull him to me tighter, wanting it rougher, wanting to feel every part of him inside every part of me.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper breathlessly, scratching at his scalp as I tilt my head back. “Fuck me until I forget everything.”

  He pulls back, and I loosen my grip, realizing right away that might’ve been the wrong thing to say. There’s a sinister twist to his lips that sends a chill down my spine. Before I can say another word, he shoves up out of the chair, pulling out as he drops me onto my feet. Yanking me over to the table, he turns me around, shoving me flat down against it, right on top of his puzzle. My pants are forced the rest of the way down, shackling my ankles, as he kicks my legs apart as far as they’ll go.

  “Be very still,” he says, a slight edge to his voice. “Try not to fuck up my puzzle.”

  “No promises,” I whisper.

  He braces himself, his hand gripping my shoulder, and thrusts inside of me. I let out a deep groan as my eyelids flutter. Fuck. He wastes no time, doing exactly what I asked.

  He fucks me. It’s powerful. Brutal. Hips slam into me from behind as he fills me deeply, over and over. Skin slapping noises echo through the room as he drives me into the table so hard it starts to move. I grip onto the edge of it, trying to hold on, trying to stay still, but he makes it impossible. Pain and pleasure merge inside of me, consuming me, and it doesn’t take long before I start to grow numb. Tingles encompass me. My mind blanks out. Nothing exists except his cock inside of me, him on top of me, slamming into me from behind. I cry out with every deep thrust, incoherent noises, like everything inside of me is being purged.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Orgasm rips through me more than once. I lose track of time. I lose track of everything but him. An hour, or a minute, who knows?

  He bites down on my shoulder when he finally comes. It brings me back around, my eyes opening, and I blink slowly, feeling him spilling deep inside of me. He doesn’t pull out. Warmth flows through me, my muscles twitching, my pussy throbbing.

  I don’t know that I could ever get enough of this.

  He pulls out, but I stay there, lying against the table, watching him. He pulls his pants up, buttoning and zipping them, before plopping back down in his chair. Exhaling loudly, he scrubs his hands down his face before pulling out his Altoids tin, retrieving a joint and lighting it.

  “If you’re hoping for another round, you’ll be waiting awhile,” he says. “My head is fucking killing me today.”

  I smile softly. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He smokes in silence for a moment, his gaze scanning me before he asks, “Were you serious about what you said?”

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Do you even know what I’m talking about?”

  “No, but if I said it, I meant it.”

  He starts to say something when ringing cuts through the room. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he glances at it, brow furrowing.

  His eyes flicker back to me as he presses a button, bringing it to his ear. “Gambini.”

  There’s a brief moment where Lorenzo doesn’t speak.

  “Ah, Aristotle,” he says, sounding amused. “I see you finally grew a sack and unblocked your number. Good for you. I’m proud.”

  My smile falls. Kassian.

  I can’t see the man. I can’t even hear his voice. Miles separate us, as do thousands of people, but knowing he’s just a breath away on the phone makes it feel like he’s right in front of me again.

  My insides coil.

  My knees, they go weak. I desperately wish they wouldn’t. But Kassian is like poison. Just a tiny taste on my tongue is enough to take me down. I hate it, reacting to him, but I can’t help it. It ignites a spark, flooding me with memories, a flip-book of all the cruel things he’s done, the ways he’s single-handedly broken my reality.

  Lorenzo’s eyes stay fixed on me as he sits there, listening to Kassian. I wish I knew what he was saying, but at the same time, I’m terrified to hear what might come from his mouth.

  “That doesn’t work for me,” Lorenzo responds. “Why don’t I come to you instead?”

  My stomach sinks.

  “Got it,” Lorenzo says.

  He hangs up, slipping the phone back into his pocket, before standing up from his chair.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “What does he want?”

  Pausing behind me, Lorenzo’s hand brushes against my ass, before sliding further down, between my thighs, caressing me. My question goes unanswered, unsurprisingly. He slips a single finger inside, carefully sliding it in and out, as he leans down, trailing kisses along my shoulder blade. I’m sore, but he’s so gentle.

  I moan.

  “You’re insatiable,” he says, his mouth trailing along my spine.

  “You’re just addictive,” I whisper, “and I’m turning into a junkie.”

  He slides another in.

  I close my eyes as he finger-fucks me.

  I whimper, groaning his name. “Lorenzo.”

  Everything else is incoherent as an orgasm stirs. My body locks up, my muscles contracting at the swell of pleasure that fades away all too fast again.

  Pulling his hand away, he reaches for me, and I open my eyes in just enough time to see it as his fingers brush against my mouth. My lips part, and he pushes his fingers in, the taste of both of us on my tongue.

  He watches me, smiling.

  “He wants to have a conversation,” Lorenzo says, pulling his fingers from my mouth as he starts to walk away. “So I’m going to humor him, you know, for the moment, just to hear what he has to say.”

  I shove away from the table when he says that, moving so fast it tears apart a section of his puzzle, pieces sticking to the sweaty skin of my stomach. Ugh. I rip them off, tossing them onto the table, as I yank my pants up.

  “You can’t,” I say. “You can’t just go to him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it doesn’t work that way.”

  He stalls in the doorway. “And what way does it work, Scarlet?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, “but not like this. Not on his terms. He’s not someone you can just talk to. He’s not someone you can rationalize with. I know. Don’t you think I’ve tried? He manipulates people, and he twists things, and he uses it to his advantage, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Ever. When he makes up his mind, that’s it. You can’t appeal to his humanity because there is none.”

  “Well it’s a good thing that’s not what I’m doing.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Those words knock the breath from my lungs.

  I gasp.

  “Wait, you can’t!” I shout as he walks out, running after him. “Please, Lorenzo. You can’t just kill him!”

  He’s got his phone to his ear, calling somebody, as he reaches the front door of the house, looking back at me. That wounded look flashes in his face, like I again offended him, as he grinds out, “Don’t tell me you care what happens to the bastard.”

  “No, but—”

  “But,” he says, cutting me off. “There’s always a but, isn’t there?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t. The guy terrifies you, and for the love of fuck, I don’t know why. What’s he got on you, huh? What is it about him that has you wound so tight that you’re standing in my hallway, half naked, shaking, not wanting me to go blow his brains out so you’ll stop? I mean, do you like this? Is that it? Are you having the time of your life pissing your pants over this asshole? Because if that’s the case, carry on, baby. Don’t let me stop this game you’re playing.”


  I can feel tears welling in my eyes, my voice cracking as I say, “It’s not like that.”

  He senses it, I think, because his expression hardens, that anger rushing back into him. “So you’re just a pussy, huh? Maybe that’s what your Scarlet Letter stands for. Just a fucking scaredy-cat. But I’m not putting up with that shit. It makes no sense.”

  Lorenzo walks out, slamming the front door behind him, and I close my eyes, trying to keep tears from falling.

  Face your fears and wipe your tears.

  “Sasha,” I whisper, even though he’s gone, wrapping a hand around my wrist tightly, my palm covering the tattoo. “It’s all for Sasha.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The dice clattered along the kitchen bar top, coming to a stop in the center of it. The little girl stood up on the stool, practically climbing on top of the bar, crawling across it.

  “One... two... three...”

  She pointed, counting the dots, as a loud huff sounded out across from her, so close she could smell the stale stench of breath. Vodka. She scrunched her nose up at the Cowardly Lion. Yuck.

  He stared at her impatiently. “Well? What is it?”

  “I’m counting them,” she said, looking back at the dice.

  “Hurry it up,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”

  The little girl was pretty sure he did have all day, since all he ever seemed to do most days was hang around there, but she didn’t say that, counting the dots.

  Six on one; five on the other.

  “Six and five,” she said.

  “Which is...?”

  She hesitated, counting the dots all together. “Eleven.”

  “Eleven,” he agreed, snatching up the dice to roll them again, looking at her pointedly. “Well? What is it?”

  Around and around, again and again, he kept rolling and she kept counting. Learning.

  Footsteps headed their way, the Tin Man strolling into the kitchen, his brow furrowing as he glared at her sprawled out across the bar. “What are you doing?”

  “Counting,” she said.

  “I’m teaching her how to add,” the Cowardly Lion chimed in, taking a drink from his bottle. “She’s terrible at it.”

  The little girl groaned, sitting back on the stool. “It’s no fun!”