Darhower,_J.M._-_Menace_(2017,_J.M._Darhower)

MENACEScarletScarsBookOneJ.M.Darhower
Contents
Menace
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
AlsobyJ.M.Darhower
Copyright?2017byJ.M.Darhower
Allrightsreserved.
Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinanyformorbyanyelectronicormechanicalmeans,includinginformationstorageandretrievalsystems,withoutwrittenpermissionfromtheauthor,exceptfortheuseofbriefquotationsinabookreview.ScarletScarscontainsthemesthataredarkinnature.Somescenesmaybedifficulttoread.Readerswhoaretriggeredbyviolentorsexualcontentshouldproceedwithcaution.
WARNINGToPrincessLeia,themostbadasswomaninallofthegalaxy…you’llalwaysberoyaltytous.men·ace
/?men?s/
noun
noun:menace;pluralnoun:menaces
1.apersonorthingthatislikelytocauseharm;athreatordanger.
synonyms:danger,risk,threat;jeopardy
“amenacetosociety”ChapterOne
“Wakeup,sunshine,”avoicecalledoutinafranticwhisperasthelittlegirlwasshaken,rousedfromadeep,dreamlesssleep.“Please,wakeupforme.”
Thelittlegirlpeekedherblearyeyesopen,blinkingafewtimesasshegazedupatthefacehoveringaboveher.“Mommy?”
Hermothersmiled—abig,widekindofsmile—butitwasn’tthekindofsmilethatmeanthappiness.Rainfelloutside,asteady,heavydownpour,batteringthewindowsasthetreesblewallaround.Theirshadowsdancedalongthewoodenfloor,visiblethankstotheglowofthesoftnightlightintheroom.Bangingechoedthroughthehouse,solouditreachedthesecond-storybackbedroom,comingfromsomewheredownstairs.Itsoundedlikesomethingrammingthefrontdoor,mergingwiththesoundofthunderrumblinginthedistance.
Thewindscreeched.No,wait…thatwasn’tthewind.Thelittlegirl’sheartpoundedhard.Someonewasscreaming.Hermother’ssmilewasfrozeninplaceasshegently,pushedthehairbackfromherface,caressingthelittlegirl’swarmcheek.
“It’stimetoplayagame,”hermothersaid,voiceshakyastearsfellfromherdeepbrowneyes.“Wetalkedaboutthis.Remember?Hide&Seek.Youandme.”
Thelittlegirlsatstraightupinherbed.Shedidn’tlikethis.Shedidn’twanttoplay.Sheshookherhead,hersmallhandsgrabbinghermother’sface,squishinghercheeksassilenttearscoatedthem.“No,Mommy.No!Idon’twanna!”
“Wetalkedaboutthis,”shesaidagain,hervoicefirmerasthebangingdownstairsseemedharder.“Trustme,okay?Youtrustme,don’tyou,sunshine?”
Thelittlegirlnodded.
“Thenhide,”hermothersaid.“Justlikewetalkedabout.Hidereallygood,anddojustlikeWoodyandBuzzdo,remember?Don’tmakeasound,don’tmoveatall,nomatterwhat,ifsomeonecomesnearyou,okay?”
Thelittlegirlknew‘okay’waswhathermotherwantedtohear,butshecouldn’tgetthatwordtocomeout.Hervoicedidn’tlikeit.Hermouthwouldn’tsayit.“Mommy,I’mscared.”
“Iknow,baby,”shesaid,“andit’sokaytobescared,butrememberwhatwetalkedabout?RememberwhatMommysaidaboutwhattodowhensomethingscaresyou?”
“Nameit,”shewhispered.
“Exactly.”Hermother’ssmilesoftened.“Ifyougivethemonsteraname,ittakesawayitspower,becausewe’rereallyjustafraidofwhatwedon’tknow.Ifyounameit,ifyouknowwhatitis,youcanbestrongerthanit.Sofaceyourfearsandwipeyourtears,remember?Faceyourfearsandwipeyourtears.”
Thecommotiondownstairsgrewlouder,abangrockingthroughthehouse,thisonedifferent.Hermother’ssmilefellashergazedartedtothedoorwayofthebedroom,thescreamingcloser.
Hermotherturnedbackaround,unabletohidethefearinhereyes.“Hide.I’llfindyou.Ipromise.”
Softlipspressedagainstthelittlegirl’sforehead,lingeringthereforjustamoment,notnearlylongenough,beforehermotherpulledaway.Inablink,shewasgone,runningfromthebedroom,leavingthelittlegirlalone.
Hide,shethought,soonlyMommycanfindyou
Snatchingupherteddybear,thelittlegirljumpedoutofthebed,herbarefeetquietagainstthewoodenfloorasshehurriedoutofthebedroominherfavoritepinknightgown.They’dplayedthisgamesomanytimes,butneverinthemiddleofthenight,neverwhenitwasstorming,andneverwhensomeonewasdownstairsscreaming.Ithadjustbeenpracticethen,likethefiredrilltheydidinpreschool,butthiswasforreal.
Sheranfromroomtoroom,thenoisedownstairsmakingithardforhertothink.Thingswerebreaking.Hermotherwasbegging.“Pleasedon’tdothis…please!”
Think,think,think.
Thelittlegirlcametoastopinfrontofthelinencloset,makingthesplitseconddecisiontohideinit.Sheclimbedtheshelves,notforthefirsttime,goingwayuptothetopandshovingthingsasidetocrawlontoit.Shepressedwayagainsttheback,wedgingbehindastackoftowels,toobigtocompletelydisappear.Butithadtakenhermotheralmostanhourtofindherinthatspotonetimewhenthey’dpracticed,andithadbeendaytimethen,somaybethedarknesswouldhideher.
Nosoonershesettledintoherhidingplace,acrackofthunderrockedtheneighborhood,lightblastingthroughthewindows.Therumbleshookthewholehouseashermotherletoutapiercingshriek,thenoisesilencedinablink.
Itgrewquiet.
Soquiet.
Theelectricityevenwentout,allofthelightdisappearing.
Allthelittlegirlcouldhearwasherownpanickedbreathing.
“Faceyourfearsandwipeyourtears,”shewhisperedtoherself,repeatingthosewordsagainandagainandagain,assheclungtoherstuffedbear.FaceyourfearsandwipeyourtearsFaceyourfearsandwipeyourtears
Footstepsstartedthroughthehouse,buttheydidn’tbelongtohermother—tooheavy,toomeasured.Itsoundedkindoflikearobot.
Madesense,sinceshecalledhimtheTinMan.
Thelittlegirldidn’tknowifhewasmissinghisheart,too,liketherealTinManfromthestory,buthermothercalledhimheartlessonce,soshethoughtitmightbepossible.Shewonderedifherustedintherain,sinceitwasstorming.Maybethat’llkeephimfromfindingme.
“Comeout,comeout,whereveryouare,”hecalledout,searchingthehouse.“Iknowyouareuphere,kitten.Youcannothideforever.”
That’swhatyouthink,TinMan
Shewasgoodatthis.
Hermotherhadmadesureofit.
Hewalkeddownthehallway,rightpastthecloset,drippingwaterontothefloor.Hewassoakedfromthestorm,hisdarkhairlyingflat,andhiswhitebuttondownclingingtohischest,onlyhalfwaytuckedandmostlyrippedopen.
Anhourpassedashesearchedthehouse.Itfeltlikeforevertothelittlegirl.Howmuchlongerwouldhelookforher?Whenwouldhegoaway?Ever?
“Fine,Igiveup,”hesaideventually.“Youwin,kitten.Gameover.”
Hissteadyfootstepswentbackdownstairs.Everythingremainedsilentuntiltheelectricityflashedon,thehousecomingbacktolifeasthestormoutsidefaded.Gameover
Thelittlegirlwaitedanotherfewminutes,crampedinthecloset,beforehermusclesachedandshegrewevenmoretired.Quietly,sheclimbedoutandcreptdownstairs,wonderingwhyhermotherhadn’ttriedtofindher.
Stillcarryingherbear,sheheldontothecreakywoodenbanister,findingthefrontdoorwideopen.Thelocksweretornapart,thered-paintedwoodsplintered,thehingesbroken.Shewanderedpastit,herstomachallqueasy,andstalledinthedoorwayofthekitchen.“Mommy?”
Hermotherlayonthefloor,eyesclosed,notmoving.Thelittlegirlsatdownbesideher,pushingthehairfromhermother’stear-streakedface.Hercheekswereallpuffyandherheadwasbleeding,amarkonherneck,likesomeonehadfinger-paintedonherpaleskin.
“Mommy,”shewhispered,shakingher.“Youcanwakeupnow.Wedon’thavetoplaynomore.”
“Lethersleep,kitten.”
Thelittlegirltensed,herheartracingasshelookedtothedoorway,seeingtheTinManlurkingthere.Shefrozeandheldherbreath.
BelikeinToyStory.
Shedidn’tmove,notatall,butitwasn’tworking.
TheTinManstrolledcloserandkneltdown,caressinghermother’sswollenfacebeforepressinghisfingertipstoaspotonherdiscoloredneck.Sighing,hepulledhishandawayandleanedoverher,pressingthesoftestofkissestohersilent,partedlips.Itlookedsweet,likelove,thelittlegirlthoughtasshewatched,notatallliketheangerthathadbrokendownthedoor.
Maybehedidhaveaheart.
Shecouldn’ttell.
“Comeon,”hesaid,standingup,notgivingthelittlegirlachancetoargueasheyankedherupinhisarmsandhauledheroverhisshoulder.“Wehavetogo.”
Sirenswailedinthedistance.
Scared,thelittlegirlstruggled,tryingtogetawayfromhim,losinghergriponherteddybear.Itclatteredtothefloor,rightthereinthekitchenwherehermotherslept.Thelittlegirlshrieked,panicking,ashecarriedherthroughthebrokenfrontdoorwithoutit.
Steppingoutside,intothelightdrizzle,theTinMansaid,“Itistimetogohome,kitten.”ChapterTwo
Manhattan.Deadofwinter.
It’ssocoldIthinkmyballshaveclosedupshopandgonehome.Home,backinFlorida,whereit’sabeautifulseventydegreesthistimeofyear.They’rebaskingintheglowofthewarmsouthernsunshine,whileI’mstuckhere,freezingmycockoffoutbytheEastRiver.
Twoo’clockinthemorning.Twenty-onedegrees.Itfeelsclosertozerowiththewaythefrigidairseepsthroughmythickblackcoat,thefake-assfur-linedhoodnotenoughtokeepmewarm.Myearsarefrozen.Mynoseisrunning,it’ssogoddamncold.It’sliketinyneedlesjabbingmyskin,overandover,obnoxiouslittlepinpricks,stingingandnumbingme.
I’dratherbestabbedwithaknifethandealwithfrostbite.
Snowfromarecentstormisstillspreadoutalongtheworn,woodendock,layeredoverpatchesofslickice…iceIalmostbustedmyassonnotonce,nottwice,butthreetimesasIwalkedalongit.Iwasn’tmadefortrekkingthroughslush,that’sfordamnsure.Mybootsarewet,mytoesabouttojoinmynutsackfaraway.
You’vegottobeafuckingfooltobeouthereatthistimeofday.
Fuckingfool
That’swhatIam.
That’sme.
Lorenzo‘FuckingFool’Gambini.
Sayitwithme.
BecausehereIstandonthedock,handsshovedinmypockets,fingertipstingling,strugglingtopayattentiontotheschmuckfivefeetinfrontofmeasheyammersawayaboutacardgamethatwasrobbedlastnight,likeIgiveashitaboutsomesmall-timegamblersinacityrichwith,well,riches
“So,likeIsaid,mybosssaysthedealis—”
He’sstilltalking.Myteetharechattering.
Howhasmylifecometothis?
“Areyouhomeless?”
Myquestioncomesoutinacloudofbreaththatlingersbetweenus,likethewordsarecaughtmid-air,frozeninthecoldnight.Itcutsoffhistirelessramblingashelooksatmeforthefirsttimesincearriving,hiseyeswideningwithsurprise…orhorror,maybe.
Givenit’smehe’sherewith,I’dsaythelatterislikely.
Hestaresatmyfaceforasecondtoolongandheknowsit,becausebeforeIhaveachancetosayanythingaboutit,heavertshisgaze,hiseyesgoingstraighttoapileofsnowbyhisfeetthathenervouslykicksat,likeabadlittleboythatknowshe’sabouttogetawhipping.
“Uh,no,Imean…whywouldyouthink…?”
“Becauseyouaskedmetomeetyouhere.”Pullingmyhandfrommypocket,Iwavearoundus,atthegraffiti-riddled,bum-infestedarea.“Wecould’vemetanywhere…abar,arestaurant,afuckingall-nightLaundromat…butno.Youaskmehere.Nobodycomeshereunlessthey’vegotnowhereelsetheycango.Sotellme,areyouhomeless?”
“No,”hesays.“It’sjust,youknow…saferhere.”
“Safer.”Seriously?“Youthinkit’ssafertomeetmerightbytheriver,whenit’ssodarkthatIcouldjusttossyourbodyinandnobodywouldgiveashit?”
“Butmyboss—”
“Isafuckingfool,”Isay,cuttinghimoffagain.“MoreofafoolthanIwasforagreeingtocometothisbullshitcharadeofameetingwithsomeunderlingwhenIcouldbeathome…inbed…withthegorgeouslittleblondestillridingmethatIhadtokickoutanhouragoinordertomakeithereontime,whichissayingsomething,youknow,becausethat’sstartingtorankasthesecondbiggestmistakeofmylife,andIdon’tevenlikethatwoman.Shetalkstoodamnmuch.”
Theguylooksatmeagain.It’sjustaflickeringglance,butittellsmethatsomewheredeepinsideofhim,he’sgotguts.He’sgotballsthathaven’tyettuckedtailandrun.Thekindofballsthatcanwithstandallofthisgoddamncold.Ballsofsteel.
Hecamealoneontheinstructionsofhisboss,amanbythenameofGeorgeAmello.Ol’MelloYellowasoneofmanyso-called‘bosses’tospringupafterthegreat‘MafiaMassacre’,asthemediaoh-so-poeticallydubbedit,whentheheadsofthenotoriousNewYorkcrimefamilieswereexecutedinaroomoverinLongIsland,pavingthewayformetotakeoverthecity.
Thecompetitionnowadays?Prettygoddamndismal
They’resoinexperienced,somelodramatic,thatit’sboring.Theythinkthey’replayingagameofTheGodfather,pretendingtobeMichaelCorleonewhenthey’llneverbemorethanaweakassFredo.They’repussies,andquitefrankly,I’mgrowingtiredofdealingwithanykindofpussythatdoesn’tcomeattachedtoashapelyfemaleform.Thatpussy,I’llspendmylifeworshiping,buttheseguys?Thesebuffoons?
They’renotworthlosingmyballsover.
Ihappentolikemyballs.Theyaccentuatemycockquitenicely,youknow.I’dshowyou,butwell…you’vegottoearnthatfirst.Sopayattention,okay?There’sworktodohere.
“Look,”Isay,havinghadmyfillofthiswinterbullshit.Afewflakestricklefromthecloud-coatedsky,whichismycuetotakemyassinsidesomewhere.“There’sabarrightdownthestreet,calledWhistlesomethingorwhatever.”
Athroatclearsbehindme.“WhistleBinkie.”
IalmostforgotIbroughtSevenalongtonight.He’salwaystheretoflankmewhenIneedcoverbutneveronetogetintheway.Iappreciatethat.Peopleinmywaytendtogetrunover,andI’dhatetohavetorunoveroneofmybestmen.He’sabitolderthanme,mid-forties,andhasbeencallingthesestreetshomesincehewasjustakid.Dressedinallblackfromheadtotoe,heblendsintothedarknessjustlikeheintendstodo.
Themanismyshadow.
“That’stheone,”Isay.“I’mgoingtogogetadrinkatWhistleBinkiebeforetheyclose.Youwanttofinishthisconversation?That’swhereI’llbe.Butthis?”Imotionaroundusagain.“Thisain’thappening,man.”
Theguyjuststandsthere,sayingnothing,asIwalkaway,headingbacktomycarparkednearthedock.Sevenkeepsupwithmystride,notevenwaveringasIslideontheice,damnnearfallingyetagain.Ihatewinter.
Annoyed,IclimbinthepassengerseatofmyblackBMW,notbotheringwiththeseatbelt.It’sonlyablockaway.Icouldwalk,sure,butIhaveafeelingitwouldbemorelikeice-skating,andIdon’ticeskate.
Notwillingly,anyway.
Sevendrives.Hewassmartenoughtowearglovestonight,blackleatherclingingtohislongfingersasheclutchesthesteeringwheel.Askimaskisshovedup,perchedontopofhishead,mostlyconcealedbyhishoodie,theoversizedhoodofitup,droppingdownoverhisforehead.Seven’sanaverage-sizedguy,aboutmyheightandkindoflanky,hisskinadeepolivetonethatlookslikeleather.
HestopsthecarinfrontofWhistleBinkie,double-parkingandturningthehazardson.“Youneedmetocomeinwithyou,boss?”
“Nah,it’sfine,”Isay.“Findaspot,I’llcallwhenI’mready.Don’tgotoofar.”
“Yes,boss.”
Gettingout,Isteparoundtheparkedcars,upontothesidewalk,andpausethereasSevendrivesaway.Hedoesn’tdrink.It’sagainsthisreligion,hesays.RaisedMormon,hestilladherestosomeoftheprinciples,likenotdrinkingalcoholorscrewingaround,althoughitseemsthe‘nokillingfolks’aspectismorenegotiablewiththeguy.Afterheroundsthecornerdowntheblock,Ipushthedooropenandstepinsidethebar.
It’ssomewhatbusy,butthat’snotreallyasurprise,isit?It’sSaturdaynightinthecitythatneversleepsandthebeeratthisplaceisdirtcheap.Ifindastoolalongthesideofthebarandsitdown,motioningtothebartender,ayoungguy,barelyoldenoughtodrink.
Hewandersover,eyeingmelikeI’marabidanimalthatmightmaulhimifhecomesnear.
I’musedtothelook.I’vebeengettingitforyears,eversinceIwassixteenandmystepfatherbeatmehalftodeathwithashovel.Partofmyfaceneverrecovered,ascarcoveringtherighthalf,slicingthroughmyeyeandrunningdownmycheek.I’mblindonthatside,theeyecloudy,alightershadeofbluethanI’dbeenbornwith.
SoI’musedtoit,youknow.I’vehadtwentyyearstogetusedtoit.Togetusedtothejudgment,theharshglances,therepulsion.Strangersgawk.Kidscower.Mostareafraidtolookmeintheface,likeI’msomethingoutoftheirnightmares.
ButwhileImightbeusedtoit,thatdoesn’tmeanIlikeit.Doesn’tmeanI’mnottemptedtogougetheirfuckingeyesoutandaskthemhowitfeels.
“WhatcanIgetforyou?”thebartenderasks.
“Rum,”Itellhim.
“Ashot?”
“Abottle.”
Hehesitates,likemaybehe’sthinkingaboutnotgettingitforme,whichwouldbeamistake.WiththemoodI’mintonight,I’mliabletohopbehindthebarandpersonallytakeit.Heobliges,though,unknowinglysavinghisownasssometrouble,consideringI’dbeinclinedtoknockafewteethoutofhismouthifhemademeservemyself.
Grabbingahalf-emptybottleofrumfrombelowthebar,heslidesitinfrontofmebeforehandingoverashotglass.
Hewalksawaytotendtosomeoneelse.
Icarefullypourmyselfashotandtossitback.
Ishudder.Itburns.MyinsidesarecoatedinflamesasIswallowtheliquordown.Icanfeelitthawingmeout,smotheringthecoldness.It’sthecheapshit,sobottomshelfthatitdoesn’tevendeserveaspotonthedisplayalongthemirroredwallbehindthebar.It’ssovile,infact,thatit’sprobablyeatingawayatmyinsidesaswespeak.
“You’dbebetteroffjustdrinkingpaintthinner,”avoicesays.It’splayfulandfemininewithatonethatmakesmethinkofhome.NotthatwetalkedlikeherinFlorida,no,buthervoiceremindsmeofwarmth.Itremindsmeofsunshine.Itremindsmeofstarrynightsandcloudlessdays.
That’swaytoosappy,Iknow.
Don’ttellanyoneIsaidthatshit.
Myattentiondriftstothesourceofit,diagonallyacrossthecornerofthebar,justacoupleseatsaway,meetingawoman’sgaze.
She’syoung—earlytwenties,I’dsay—withwildbrunettehair,thekindthatlookslikehandshavebeenrunningthroughit,likesomeonewrappeditaroundtheirfistandheldonfordearlifeastheyfuckedhersenseless.Herfacebetraysthat,though,withasetofwidebrowneyes,innocenteyes,andaquirkysmile,almostsheepishwiththewayonlyonesideseemstocurve.Bloodredcolorshinesfromherlips,matchingtheskin-tight,long-sleevedreddressshewears.Eitherthegirlisclassy,likeamoderndayMarilynMonroe,orshe’sthetypethat’llsuckmycockinthealleyifIbuyhersomeliquor.
I’vefoundthere’sreallynomiddlegroundforawomanwhowearsthatmuchredoutonthetown.
“Youknowwhattheysay,”Itellher.“Thatwhichdoesn’tkillme—”
“Onlymakesmestronger,”shesays,finishingthesentence.
“Iwasgoingtosayisn’ttryinghardenough,butthatworks,too.”
Hersmilegrows,genuineamusementcrossingherfaceasshelooksatme…reallylooksatme.
Sheisn’tturningaway.Huh
Maybethisnightisn’tcompletelyfucked.
Ieyeherandthedingypintglasssheholdsonto,half-filledwithwhatIassumetobewhatever’sontap.Shedoesn’tlooklikeabeerdrinker.Iwould’vetakenherforatequilagirl,ifanything.Margaritas.Bodyshots.Salt.Thewholefuckingpizzazz.
“So,what’sawomanlikeyoudoingdrinkingcheapbeeratadivebarallaloneatthishour?”
Sheregardsmeforamomentbeforesaying,“WhatmakesyouthinkI’malone?”
Ilooktoeithersideofher.Theguyonherleft,wedgedbetweenus,issodrunkhe’spassedoutinhisseat.Anemptystoolsitstoherright.It’sbeenemptysinceIwalkedin.Ifsheisn’talone,whoevershecamewithsureashellisn’tconcernedaboutherwell-being.“Becauseaguywouldhavetobeafooltoleaveyousittingherebyyourself,lookinghowyoudo,consideringhe’sliabletoloseyou.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Oh,withoutadoubt.I’dstealyouinaheartbeat.”
Colorrisesintohercheeks.Sheblushes,softpinkaccentuatedbythecrimsononherlipsasshetriestofightbackasmilebutloses…miserably.“Smooth.Thatlineusuallyworkforyou?”
“Everysingletime,”Isay,“butIwouldn’tcallitaline.It’strue.Ifyoudon’ttakegoodcareofwhatyou’vegot,someonewillbemorethanhappytotakeitaway.”
Sheletsoutalightlaugh,shakingherheadashergazegoestoherbeer.“Tellmeaboutit.”
BeforeIcantaketheconversationanyfurther,thedoortothebaropensandtheguyfromthedockstepsin.Tookhimlongenough.Iwasbeginningtothinkhewasn’tgoingtocome,thatI’dbeenwrongabouthisballs,thathisbosshadalreadyconfiscatedthem.
Asmuchfunasplayingwiththeprettybrunettewouldbetonight,there’sstillbusinesstoattendto.Iknow,Iknow…mycockismourning,too.
Slidingoffthestool,Isnatchupthebottleofrumandtheemptyshotglass,noddingtothebrunettebeforestrollingtheguy’sway.Igrabasmalltwo-seatertablebythedoor,sittingdowninaflimsychairasImotiontotheoneacrossfromme.“Sit.”
Helistens.He’sobedient.He’dprobablyrolloverandbegifIbarkedthosecommands,allinhisquesttopleasehismaster.Who’sagoodboy?
“So,uh,likeIwassaying,”hemumbles,pickingbackuprightwhereweleftoff.“Thesecardgamesareimportanttomyboss.Thepeoplewhoplayinthem…they’reimportant,too.Allthistroublethat’sbeenhappeningisscaringtheguysaway,somybosswantstomakeadealwithyou.”
“Hewantstomakeadealwithme,”Isay,pouringmyselfanothershot,splashingliquoroutontothetable.“Whatkindofdealarewetalking?”
“He’swillingtocutyouashareoftheprofits.”
“Howmuch?”
“Tenpercent.”
InearlychokeontherumasIswallowitdown,coughing,theburntakingmybreathaway.Tenpercent.Thefucknutisofferingmetenpercentofpracticallynothing.Pennies.“Letmegetthisstraight.Yourbossgotalittleproblemwiththievesbustinguphiscardgames.Soinexchangefortenpercentofwhathemakesoffofit,hewantsmeto,what?Provideprotection?Security?Thisain’tafuckingrent-a-copserviceI’mrunning.Whatdoeshewantfromme?”
Hepauses.“Hewantsyoutostoprobbinghim.”
Istareattheguy.Hard.Istareathimuntilhestartsfidgeting,andIwaitforhimtoretractthatstatement,buthesaysnothing.
He’snottakingitback.
“Youcallingmeathief?”
“I’mnotcallingyouanything.Mybossis.”
“LikeIsaid…yourbossisafuckingfool.”Iriptheplasticpouringspoutoutofthebottleofrumandtossitontothetable,givingupallsenseofpropriety.Notlikepeopleexpectit,anyway.Whoneedsmannerswhenyou’vegotafacelikemine?Theyexpecttheworst,andwhatcanIsay?Idon’tliketodisappoint.“IhavenointerestinhispettylittlegamesofGoFishwiththebratshedoesbusinesswith.”
“Yeah,Itoldhimasmuch,”hesays.“Toldhimitwasn’tyourM.O.”
Itakeaswigstraightfromthebottlebeforepointingitathim.“WhatdoyouknowaboutmyM.O.?”
“Iknowit’snotaboutthemoneytoyou,”hesays.“Themoney’saplus,ofcourse,butthat’snotwhyyoudoit.Foryou,it’saboutthepower.It’sabouttherespect.You’renotgoingtowastetheenergyonsomethingthatisn’tworthattachingyournameto.”
Huh.He’sgotmethere.Idohappentobeafanofgrandgestures.Gobigorgohome.HemighthavemoreballsthanIgavehimcreditforoutonthedock,butit’sobvious,lookingathim,listeningtohim,thathisbosstakesthatforgranted.Georgiesenthimoutheretonightknowingtherewasagoodchancehewouldn’tsurvivetoseesunrise.He’sexpendable,asimplego-between,anddespitethecliché,everyoneknowsI’mthetypetoshootthemessenger.
“Tellmesomething.”Itakeanotherswigofrum.“Whatdidyourbossgiveyouforcominghere?How’shecompensatingyou?”
Hehesitates.“He’snot.”
“No?”
“Itwasanorder…it’smyjob.I’mherebecausethat’swhatIdo.”
“Youdelivermessages?”
“Amongotherthings.”
Icanhearthehiddenmeaninginthosewords.Themessageshe’susedtodeliveringaren’tverbal.Theyaren’twarnings.Theyaren’tstupidlittledeals.Hedeliversmessagesintheformofabullettotheeye,tellingtheworld,‘Iseeyou,motherfuckers.Iseeyou.’
He’sintuitive.He’sgottobe,ifhewasabletoreadme.That’sararequalitythesedays.Nobodytruststheirgutanymore,buttheyoughtto.Sometimeswiresgetcrossedinthebrain,thingsgetalljumbled,everythinggetsconfused,andyourheart…youcan’ttrustthatsonofabitch.It’llbethefirsttobetrayyou.It’llmakeyoufeelliketheworldisabeautifulplace.It’llmakeyouforgetallthedarkness.It’llmakeyouhope,andbelieve,andthenit’lldestroyyou,justwhenyoustarttothinkmaybeit’sokaytonotbesogoddamnfrigid.
Butthegut?Thegutknows.Thegutremembers.Youshouldalwayslistentoit
Aftertakingonemoreswigofrum,Ishovethebottleasideandleanacrossthetable,closingsomeofthedistancebetweenus.HeblanchesasIdo.Ballsyandperceptive,yes,buttheguyisuneasy,nervousabouthowthisisgoingtoend,worriedthatImightkillhimforthethingshesaid.
Ican’tsaythethoughthasn’tcrossmymind.
ButI’mgoingtogivehimachance,maybebecauseI’mfeelinggenerous,ormorelikelybecauseI’maconnivingsonofabitch.Besides,I’mbored.Mightbefuntopokethebearabit.
“Here’swhat’sgoingtohappen,”Isay.“You’regoingtogobacktoyourbossanddelivermycounteroffer,becausethisdealhe’sofferingjustisn’tgoingtoworkforme.”
Hestaresdownatwherehishandsrestonthetable,claspedtogetherlikeinprayer,andisquietforamomentbeforeheasks,“What’syourcounteroffer?”
Reachingintomycoatpocket,Ipulloutmyworn,leatherwallet.Ishiftthroughthewadofcash,findingonlyhundreds,andtossoneonthetabletocoverthecostoftherumbeforeslidingmywalletbackaway.
“Tellyourbosshecansuckmycock,”Isay,shovingmychairbacktostandup.“Ifhedoesagoodenoughjob,maybeIwon’tblowhisfuckingbrainsoutforcallingmeathief.”
Tinglescreepalongmyskin,thehaironmyarmspricklingfromarushofadrenaline.Ishould’veneverleftmyhouse,should’veneverbotheredwiththismeeting,should’venevergiventhoseschmucksthetimeofday.
It’spushingthreeo’clockinthemorningnow,theskypitchblackwhenImakemywayoutside,thesnowcomingdownharder.IjustwanttogethomeandforgetIwaseverstupidenoughtogoalongwiththisshit.IcurseundermybreathwhenIstepoutintotheair.Thecoldslapsmeintheface,nearlytakingmybreathaway,asIyankthehoodofmycoatbackupovermyheadtotrytoblocksomeoftheassault.
Grabbingmycellphone,IdialSeven’snumberasIpaceasectionofsidewalkinfrontofthebar,mygazeoutalongthequietstreet.
Itringsonce.Twice.Threetimes.
ThedoortothebarswingsopenjustasSevenpicksup.Hegreetsme,butbeforeIhaveachancetosayanythinginresponse,somethingramsintomefrombehind.Istumble,nearlylosingmyfooting,skiddingoniceasthephonedropsfrommyhand.
Shit.
Ithitsthesidewalkwithathud,landinginapatchofsnow.Isnatchitbackup,cursingasIwipeitoffonmypantleg.AngerrushesthroughmeasIturnaround,abouttomakesomeunfortunateasshole’snightsomethingtoremember,whenaflashofredgreetsme.
Thedoe-eyedwomanfrominside.
ThemomentIlayeyesonher,shestartsstammering.“I,uh,I’msosorry,Iwasn’tlookingwhenIwalkedout,Ididn’tseeyou…”
Flustered,shewrapsherblackcoataroundhertighter.It’sthin,notnearlywarmenoughtofendoffcoldofthiscaliber.Herreddressfallswellabovetheknee,theonlythingcoveringherlegsapairofblackpantyhose.She’spetite,shorterthanIimagined,barelyeye-levelwearingheels.
Shivering,shetakesanimmediatestepback,puttingabitmoredistancebetweenusassheclutcheshercoatcloseddefensively,likeit’sherarmor.
“It’sfine,”Isay.“Noharmdone.”
ShepausesforjustabeatafterIsaythatbeforeturningtoheaddownthestreet,scurryingaway,likeIscaredthedaylightsoutofherjustbyexisting.Figures.Shehadmoregutsinsidethebar.GuessshemightbeaMarilyn,afterall,insteadofanalleywaycocksucker.
Pity.
Sighing,Ibringmyphonebacktomyear.“Youstillthere,Seven?”
“Yeah,boss.”
“I’mreadytoleavenow.”
Iendthecallandslipmyphonebackaway,gratefulthethingstillworks.Myhandlingersinmycoatpocket,somethingoff.Ittakesasecondforittostrikeme:thepocket’sempty.Nowallet
Mygazedartstothesidewalk,andIsearchallaroundmyfeet,figuringIdroppedit,too,likethephone,butthere’snothing.
Nothingbutsnow,andice,andbatteredconcrete.
You’vegottabekiddingme.
Ipatmyselfdown,lookinglikeevenmoreofanidiot,butIknowbetter.I’mnotgoingtofindit.It’snothere.Mygazeshiftsdownthestreetatwherethewomanhurriesawayfromme.Sheturnsherhead,asifshecansensemyattention,lookingbackatwhereI’mstanding.
Andjustlikethat,itclicks.
Sheknockedintome,catchingmeoffguard,distractingmeforthemoment…
Shefuckingpick-pocketedme.
Me.
I’msodamnstunnedIalmostdon’treact.Mybrain,itjustcan’tseemtomakesenseofit.It’sdoesn’tcompute.Howthehelldidshepickpocketme?Me.It’simpossible.Unbelievable.
Nobody’sballsarethatbig.
Butyet,thereshegoes,lookingbackagain,hurryingherstepsevenmorethemomentIstarttomove.Mybrainisstillfarfromcatchingup,butgutinstinctkicksin,forcingmymusclestowork.Iheadforher,breakingintoasprint,slippingandslidingalloverthegoddamnplacebutmanagingtostayonmyfeet.Shekeepsglancingbackasshestartstorun,nearingtheendoftheblock,thatwildhairallovertheplace,whippingintoherface.
She’sfast;I’llgiveherthat.Eveninheels,shemanagestonavigatetheicewithease.ThatmightimpressmeifIweren’tsogoddamnangry.
Pinsandneedlesjabmyface,thecoldnessstinging.Irunasfastasmylegscancarryme,closingthedistance,eachstridesendinghermoreintoapanic.Assoonasshehitsthecorner,shekicksoffherheels,sendingthemflying,andrunsthroughtheslushoutinthestreetinherbarefeet.
JesusChrist,thewomaniscrazy.
She’sfuckinginsane.
Shehastobe.
Idodgeacrossthestreet,following,andcatchuptoherjustassheroundsanothercorner.I’mcloseenoughtosnatchaholdofthebackofhercoat,fistingthematerialandyankinghertoastopsohardthatshebarelymanagestostayupright.Beforeshecanthinktostruggle,Iswingheraroundandshoveherbackagainstacrumblingbrickbuilding,pinningherthere,standingrightupagainsther,socloseherbodyheatsurroundsme.
Shegasps,eyeswideasshestaresmedeadintheface,likeshejustcan’tbelievethisishappening.
Me,too,woman.Ican’tbelievethisshit,either.
“I’llscream,”shesays,hervoiceabreathlesscloudbetweenus.“IswearIwill.”
“No,youwon’t.”
“Whatmakesyousosure?”
“Becauseifyouwantedtoscream,youwould’vejustdoneit,”Isay,pattingdownherflimsycoat,feelingforsomepockets.“Nowgiveittome.”
Shetriestoblockmyhands.“Giveyouwhat?”
“Youknowwhat.”
“No,Idon’t…Idon’tknow…ugh,whatareyou…?Getyourhandsoffofme!”shegrowls,pushingme.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Mywallet,”Isay,grabbingherhandswhenshetriestopushmeagain.Ipressherhardagainstthebrick,brushingthetipofmynosetohersasIleandown,smellingahintofbeeronherbreath,butit’snotasstrongasthescentthatclingstoherskin.Vanilla.“Iknowyouswipedit.”
“Ididn’t—”
“Don’tplaydumbwithme,”Isay,anedgeofangertomyvoiceasitdropslow.“It’scoldasfuckandI’mfreshoutofpatience,sothisisn’tthetimetoplaygames.It’sinyourbestinteresttojusthandoverthewalletbeforeIdragyouintoanalleyandstrip-searchyouforit.”
Hereyesnarrow.“Youwouldn’t.”
“Justtryme.Idareyou.”
Asecondpasses.Thenanother.Andanother.Herexpressionshifts,theshockmeltingawayasthosebrightredlipsletoutanexasperatedsigh.Sheyanksfrommygraspandpushesawayfromthewall,herchestbumpingagainstmesohardthatitforcesmetotakeastepback,givingherroomtomove.Shereachesintohercoat,intoherdress,andwhipsmywalletoutfromsomewherealongherbra,holdingitupbetweenus.“Fine,youcaughtme.Happy?”
“Fuckingecstatic.”Isnatchit,alsograbbingherhand,pullinghertowardme.Hersleevemovesupherforearm,exposingatattooonherwrist.It’ssimple,nothingmorethanacursivered‘S’.“What’sthis,huh?YourownlittleScarletLetter?What’sitstandfor?Sneakythievingbitch?”
Sherollshereyes.“Funny.Ifyou’redonemanhandlingme,asshole,I’vegotsomewheretobe,soI’dappreciateitifyou’d,youknow…”Shemotionswithherheadtowardmyhand.“…letgo.”
Ihesitatebeforelooseningmyhold,lettingherslipfrommygrasp.Istarttosaysomethingabouthowshe’sgettingoffluckytonightwhenacarwhipsaroundthenearbycorner,comingtoastop.
Iturn,spottingmyBMW,beforemyattentiongoesbacktothewoman.Ibarelycatchaglimpseofherface,aflickerofasmileonherlips,beforeshe’sgoneagain,running.Sheturnsthecornerofanalley,disappearing.
Thatwaseasy.Tooeasy.
Sheseemedalmostamusedbyit.
Mygazeturnstothewalletinmyhand.Iflipitopen,findingthebillfoldempty.Nomoney.
Sonofabitch.
Afterallthat,shestillrobbedme.
Nobodydoesthat.
Nobody.
Iwalkovertothealleyandglancedownit,butit’sempty.I’mnotsurprised.She’slonggone,havingslippedintoabuildingorclimbedafireescapeorranouttheotherside.
Shakingmyhead,Ishovethewalletinmypocket,whereitbelongs,andmakethetrektomycar.IpausewhenIcrossthestreet,collectingthepairofredhighheelsdiscardedintheslush,leftbehindinherhastetogetawaywithmymoney.
“Boss?”Sevencallsout,steppingoutofthecar.“Everythingokay?”
Iseverythingokay?Hellno
IturntohimasIapproach.“Gotajobforyou,Seven.”
“Yeah?”
“Ineedyoutofindsomeone.”
“Who?”
“Awoman,”Isay.“Aboutfiveandahalffeettall.Brownhair.Browneyes.”
“ThatdescribeshalfthewomeninNewYork.”
“Yeah,well,theoneI’mlookingforistwenty-oneorso,”Isay.“She’sgood-looking,kindofcurvyforbeingsopetite…gotared‘S’tattooedonherwrist…”
Hestaresatme,likeheexpectsmoreinformation.“Whatelse?”
Ishrug,glancingatthehighheels,flippingthemovertolookattheredsoles.“Shewearsasizethirty-nineshoe.”
“That’sit?”
“That’sit.”
“Shouldn’tbetoohard,”hesays,blinkingafewtimesashelooksattheground.“Onlyacouplemillionpeopleinthecity.”
“That’sthespirit,”Isay,slappinghimontheback.“Nowlet’sgetthehelloutofheresomynutsackcanstartthawing.”
Iclimbinthepassengerseatofthecar,theheatblastingme,bringingfeelingbackintomyfingertips.IttakesSevenamomenttojoinme.Heclimbsinquietly,puttingonhisseatbelt.
Hestartstodrive.Icantellsomething’sonhismind.Hefidgets,drumminghisfingersagainstthesteeringwheel,ashiseyesflickerallaround.Itrytoignoreit.Itry.Ido.ButIwasn’tkiddingwhenIsaidIwasoutofpatience,andIdon’tlikemyshadowbeingdistracted.
“Saywhatyou’rethinking,”Itellhim,“beforeItakethewheelandshoveyououtofmycar.”
Heinstantlystills.“I’mjustcurious,youknow,whyyou’relookingforthisbroad.”
“Sherobbedme.”
Hisheadturnsmywaysofastthatheaccidentallyswervesintoanotherlane.“Sherobbedyou?How?”
“Itdoesn’tmatterhowshedidit.Allthatmattersisthatshepulleditoff.SoIneedyoutofindher,soIcandosomethingaboutit.Yougotme?”
“Absolutely,”hesays.“Justonemorequestion.”
“What?”
“Areyougoingtokillherforthat?”
Ishrug.“Guesswe’llfindout.”ChapterThree
Athousanddollars
Icountitout—tencrisp,newone-hundreddollarbills—asIslipinthebackentranceofMystic,passingthroughthemetaldoorsomeoneproppedopenwithabrokencinderblock(yeah,becausethat’ssafe…).Thumpingbassrattlesthedark,windinghallway,musiccomingatmefromeverydirectionasIpassbyadozenrooms,afewwiththedoorsclosed.Everyroomhasadifferentvibe,adifferentsongplaying,anditallkindofconvergesouthereinthemiddle.Lightsflash,amultitudeofcolors,sointenseastheymeldwiththemusicthatit’salmostlikeyoucanfeelthemrunningthroughyoursystem.
Fromthecornerofmyeye,Icanseeshadowsmoving,butIdon’tpurposelylookinanyoftherooms,givingthemprivacy.It’samatterofrespect.Nobodyreallylikesbeingbackhere,sotheleastIcandoisletthemkeepwhatevershredofdignitytheymanagetodigup.
Imakemywaytothefront,tothewide-openclubspace,themusicfromthehallwaydrownedoutbywhatevervulgarrapsongisplaying.
Somethingaboutpoppingpussies.
Idon’tknow.Don’tlookatme.
Ididn’tpickit.
Thecrowdisthinatthishour(orreally,mosthours…)andthewomenareweary,countingdownthesecondsuntilfouro’clockstrikessotheycanputtheirclothesbackonandvacatethepremises.Gohometotheirlives,wherethey’remothers,andwives,andsisters,wheretheyrunerrandsandtakeclassesuntilit’stimetocomebacktothishellhole.
It’sexhausting,youknow,entertainingandsatisfying.Peopleturntheirnosesupatthebusiness,judging,likesnobbylittlefuck-sticks,butit’sadecentjob,andnobodywilleverconvincemeotherwise.It’shonestwork…notlike,well,pickpocketing
Whatever.
Iheadthroughtheplace,notstoppingtoacknowledgeanyone.Theyalltoweroverme,thewomenwearingsix-inchheelstokeepeye-levelwiththemen,whileI’mcurrentlybarefoot.
Barefoot.
Inastripclub.
Yeah,Ihaven’tseenmydignityinalongtime.
Theofficeisinthecorner,nearthefrontentrance,tuckedinbeneaththeDJbooth.Iapproachthecloseddoor,hesitating,beforetappingonit.
Thedooropensacrack,andIslipinrightaway,hearingitclosebehindme,lockssecuring.Itmakesmyskincrawl.Locksarethesoundofimprisonment.
Twoyoungguyssitalongthesideoftheroom,attentionfixedtoawallfullofsurveillancemonitors.Iavertmyeyes,notwantingtosee.It’seasiertopretendnobodyiswatchingthosethings.Theysayit’sforoursafety,thattheywatchustokeepusfromharm,butI’dwagerthethousandbucksI’mholdingthatifsomeonestartedmutilatinganyofthosewomen,thosetwodickwadswouldjustsithereandjerkoff.
“I’msurprisedtoseeyou,”avoicesaysbehindme.“Figuredyouhadotherplansthisweekend,sinceyousaidyouweren’tcomingin.”
“Idid,”Isay,turningtofacehim.GeorgeAmello.He’sinhislatefifties,aclean-shavenItalianmanwithawidesmileandthinninghair.“Imadesomemoney.”
“Youmademoney,”hesays,sittingdownbehindhisdesk,hisdarkeyesonme.“How?”
“Doesitmatter?”
Helaughs,abig,boisterouskindoflaughthatmakespeopleuncomfortable.“No,Iguessitdoesn’t.Howmuchyougotforme?”
Isteparoundthesideofhisdesk,overtowhereheis,andpullmyselfontoit,sittingonthecorner,facinghim.Mydressridesup,thetopsofmylacythigh-highsvisible.Ihandhimthestackofcash,andhetakesit,hisgazelingeringonmythighsforamomentbeforehestartscounting.
Whenhefinishes,heopensadeskdrawerandtossesthecashintoit.Hesaysnothing,justtakesit.Notlongago,heusedtoofferpromises,wordsofencouragement,butthesedayshisbrandofhelpismorelikeextortion,likeI’mpayingforhissilence.
Well,Ikindofam,butthat’sbesidethepointhere…
Hishandfindsitswaytomykneebeforerunningupmythigh,slippingbeneaththebottomhemofmydress,hiscallousedfingertipscaressingmyskin.He’shandsy,sometimescoppingafeel—inspectingthegoods,hecallsit—buthenevertriestotakeitanyfurther.Somemightsayhe’sadecenthumanbeingforit.Isayhe’sjustembarrassinglyimpotent.
Noamountoflittlebluepillswillgetthatgearshiftoutofpark,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.
SoItolerateit…fornow…untilthedaycomeswhenIdon’tneedthisplaceorhishelpanymore.
There’sanotherknockonthedoor,andGeorgegetsupwithasigh,pullinghishandawayashestrutstothedoor,unlockingitandyankingitopen.
“Boss,”aquietmalevoicesaysassomeonewalksin.Ilookthatway,tensingwhenIseeavaguelyfamiliarguy.Young,withabuzzedheadandsofthazel-coloredeyes.Hewasatthebartonight,theoneafewblocksaway.
He’dbeenwiththatguy,theonewiththescaronhisfaceandalotofmoneyinhiswallet,theonedrinkingcheaprumstraightfromthebottle.
Ohshit.
Iturnaway,mybacktotheguyashesitsbehindme,ontheothersideofthedesk,hopinglikehellhedidn’tnoticemetonight.Georgeretakeshisseat,hishandrightbackonmythigh,tracingthelacewithhisfingertips.
“So?”Georgesays.“HowdiditgowithScar?”
Scar?Seriously?Howclichécansomeonebe?
Theguyclearshisthroat.“Hesayshehasnothingtodowithwhat’sbeenhappening.”
“Horseshit,”Georgesays.“It’sgottabehim.Whoelsewouldhavetheballstostealfromme?”
Everyone,Ithink,keepingthattomyself,pretendingI’mnotlisteningsoGeorgewon’tkickmeout.Hell,I’dstealfromhimifIdidn’tcountonhisgenerositytostayafloat.Itwouldn’texactlybehard.Hedoesn’tevenlockthedrawerhetosseshiscashinto.
“Idon’tknow,”theguysays,“buthewasinsistent,evengotmadattheinsinuationthathewasathief.”
“Heisathief!”Georgesays,raisinghisvoice,hishandstillingonmyknee.“Heextortshalfthisfuckingcity!”
“Buthesayshedidn’tstealfromyou,”theguysays.“Istillpresentedyouroffer,though,thatyou’dbewillingtocuthiminifhe’dknockitoff,andhetoldme,well…hetoldmetobringyouhiscounteroffer,instead.”
“Whichis,what?Fifteenpercent?Twenty?I’mnotgoingovertwenty-five,there’snoway.”
“Hedoesn’twantyourmoney.”
“Whatdoeshewant?”
“Anapology,I’mguessing.”
“What?Isthatwhathesaid?”
“Well,no.”Theguypauses.“Hesaidforyoutosuckhiscock,butI’mprettysureanapologywasthesentimenthewasgoingfor.”
MylipstwitchasIforcebackasmile.Ohgod,don’tlaugh.Iseemtobetheonlyoneintheroomthatfindsitfunny.George’snostrilsflareashegripsmyknee,squeezingit.
“Hesaidthat?”Georgeasks,hisvoicealowgrowl.“Formetosuckhiscock?”
“Yes,”theguysays.“Saidhewon’tkillyouifyoudoagoodenoughjob.”
Oh,wow,thisjustkeepsongettingbetter.Ibitemycheek,hard,tryingtokeepastraightface,butI’mfindingthathardatthemoment.George’scheeksglowbrightred,hiseyesbuggingoutoftheirsockets,likethosewordshavehimsomesseduphe’sabouttoblowagasket.
George,heisn’texactlythescariestguyontheplanet,buthecertainlyintimidatesalotofpeople,withhisin-your-faceattitudeandhisfierytemper.Oh,andhe’salsogotonehellofaninflatedego,likehe’sinvincible,whichIguesscompensatesforthewholeflaccidpenisdeal.Idon’tknow.WhodoIlooklike,Dr.Phil?
Thepointis,Georgestrugglestokeephiscool,whichisshowingatthemoment,ashisgriponmylegstartstohurt,likehe’sabouttoripoffmykneecap
“Thesonofabitchthinkshecanthreatenme?”Georgespats.“HethinksI’mafraidofhim,thatI’mgoingtoapologizetohim?Hethinksthisisallajoke?ThatI’majoke?”
Theguydoesn’tanswer.Maybeit’srhetorical,Idon’tknow.Butit’sdamnsuregotmecurious—doeshe?Iknownothingabouthim,excepthecarriesalotofcashandhecaughtontomygameprettyfast.
“I’llkillhim,”Georgecontinues,standingup,finallylettinggoofmylegsohecanpacearoundthesmalloffice.“Suckhiscock?I’llcutitoff!I’llcutitoffandshoveitdownhisthroat,makehimchokeonitfortalkinglikethat!Thenerve!”
Theguyisstillquiet.Iturnmyhead,chancingapeekathim,andseehe’sstaringatme.Shit.Idon’tknowwhoheis.IstayfarawayfromthatsideofGeorge’sbusinessforgoodreason.Oneofhislittlethughenchmen,I’mguessing.
“Gobacktohim,”Georgesays.“Yougobacktothatmotherfucker,andyougivehimamessage.”
“Whatkindofmessage?”theguyasks,finallylookingaway.
“Thekindthatcomeswithabullet,Ricardo.Thatkind.”
Ricardo—ashisnameseemstobe—letsoutthequietestsighbeforesaying,“Ihearyou.”
“Goon.”Georgewavestowardthedoorashethrowshimselfbackdowninhischair.“Getthehelloutofhere.”
Ricardoleaveswithoutanotherword,closingthedoorbehindhim.Isithere,notmoving,waitingforGeorgetocalmdown.MovetoofastandImightspookhim;lingertoolongandhemightthinkI’meavesdropping.
Well,Imean,Ikindofam,butraisinghissuspicionisn’tmyintention.I’mtryingtolaylowthesedays,justsqueakbyundertheradar.
Georgerunshishandsdownhisfaceinfrustration,grumblingunderhisbreath,beforehiseyessettleonme.“Istheresomethingyouneed?”
“Nope,”Isay,offeringhimasmile,onehedoesn’treturn.“Justtakingcareofbusiness.I’llgetoutofyourhairnow.”
“Youdothat,”hesays.
Shovingoffthedesk,Itugmydressdown,coveringmyselfupbeforewalkingout.Themusicisstillgoingstrong,thebassvibratingthefloorasIheadthroughtheclub,navigatingthedarkhallwaytothebackdoor.
AcloudofsmokegreetsmeasIstepoutside,thekindthatmakesmyeyesburnandmynosetwitch.Ricardolurksthere,rightoutsidethedoor,franticallypuffingonacigarette,lipswrappedaroundtheendofitlikeapornstarsuckingdick.Heturnswhenhehearsme,tensing,alarmed,andletsoutastreamofsmokemydirection.
Iwaveitaway,grimacing.Gross
“Sorry,”hemutters,puffingonthethingafewmoretimes,back-to-back,beforethrowingitdownandstompingitout,twistinghisboot-cladfootonitsofeverishlythathetearsittoshreds.
Sorryisn’tawordIhearoften,especiallynotfromanyofthemenIencounterinlife.Ikindoffeelbadfortheguy.Something’sgothimfrazzled,andreally,whoamItojudgesomeone’svices?
“It’sokay,”Isay.“Roughnight?”
“Youcouldsaythat,”hesays,eyeingmewarily.“YouoneofAmello’sgirls?”
“Youcouldsaythat,”Itellhim,repeatinghiswords.
Henods.“Howmuch?”
“Howmuchwhat?”
“Howmuchdoyougofor?Howmuchtotakeyouinoneofthosebackroomsrightnowandturnyououtforanhour?”
ThesympathyIfeltjustasecondago?Gone.“I’mnotoneofthosegirls.”
Helaughsdryly.“Comeon,nameyourprice.”
“Nothappening,”Irepeat.“Soifyou’relookingforpussy,looksomewhereelse,buddy.”
Igotowalkaroundhim,buthegrabsmywristtostopme.Isnatchmyarmaway,scowling,andturntohim,steppingrightuptohim.“Don’ttouchme.”
“Sorry,”hesaysagain,thisapologynotatallgenuine,asmallsmiletugginghislips,likeIamusehim.Likemebeingupsetthathetouchedmeisinsomewayfunny.Iwanttosmackthatlookoffhisface,butitwouldn’tmakeadifference.
Wouldn’tchangewhatIknowhe’sthinking.
Wouldprobablygetmyasslockeduponanassaultandbatterychargetonight,really,whichwouldleadtoawholehostofotherproblemsforme.
Bigproblems.
Can’triskit.
ItakeafewstepsawaywhenIhearhimchucklingunderhisbreath,mumbling,“Pussyprobablyisn’teventhatgood,lady.”
“Niceone,SlickRick,”IcallbackathimasIkeepwalking.“Yourbitternessisn’tshowingatallthere.”
“Fuckyou,”hesays.
“Yeah,youwish,asshole.”
IhearthemusicinMysticcutoff,theDJ’sincoherentmumblingreplacingit.Closingtime.Fouro’clock.Shovingmyicyhandsinmypockets,Iwalkaway,myfeetpainfullytingling,inthatplacerightbeforenumbnesswhereeverythingjuststings
It’sonlyafewblocksbacktomyapartmentbuilding,onthesamestreetasthecheapbar,WhistleBinkie.MyfootstepsarehurriedasIwatchovermyshoulder,makingsureI’mnotbeingfollowed.MyshoesaregonewhenIreachthecorner,nolongerwereIkickedthemoff.Figures
WhatthehellhaveIgottenmyselfintothistime?ChapterFour
“There’snoplacelikehome.”
Thelittlegirlswungherfeetasshewhisperedthosewords,tappingherbareheelstogether,butitwasn’tworking.MaybesheneededapairofRubySlippers,likeDorothy.Thehousewasbiglikeapalace,soitmight’vebeenOz,eventhoughtheroadhadn’tbeenyellowbricksleadingtoit.No,theyhadbeennormalstreets,withsomanycars,andsomanypeople,noneofthemMunchkinssingingsongs,notevenaprettypinkwitchinabubble.
Justabunchofflyingmonkeys.
TheybelongedtotheTinMan.Hedidn’thavethemonkeysinthestory,buthedidinreallife.Hermothercalledthemthatsometimes,whichconfusedthelittlegirl,sincetheydidn’thavewings.Butwhatevertheywere,shedidn’tlikethem.Theywereallloud,andtheylaughedlikeeverythingwassofunny,butitwasthekindoflaughingthatsoundedmean.Theysaiduglywordsandcalledpeoplebadnames,andtheydidn’tlikegirls,althoughtheyclaimedtheydid.Theykissedthemonthemouth,liketheTinManhadkissedhermother,butthentheypushedthemaroundliketheymeantnothing.
Thelittlegirldidn’tlikeitthere,inthatbigpalace,sittingonthestoolatthebarinthekitchen,herlegssoshorttheyjustdangled.
“There’snoplacelikehome,”shewhisperedagain,barelyhearingherselfovertheloudchatter,knockingherfeettogether.
Stillnotworking
“Whatareyoudoing,kitten?”
Thelittlegirlraisedherhead,eyesliftingfromherlap,meetingtheTinMan’sgazeacrossfromher,theonlyotherpersonsittingdown.Hiseyeswerelikemetal,coldandgraylikeclouds.
“Iwannagohome,”shewhispered.
Hestaredather.“Youarehome.”
Sheshookherhead.
“Youare,”hesaidagain.“Thisisyourhome,kitten.Thisiswhereyoubelong.”
“Idon’tlikeit.”
“Youwillgetusedtoit.”
“IwantMommy.”
“No.”
Hisvoicewassharpashebarkedthatword,silencingeveryoneintheroom.Noonelikedthesoundofit,noteventheflyingmonkeys,whodidn’tthinkitwasfunnywhentheTinMangotangry.
Tearsstungthelittlegirl’seyes,hergazeonherlapagainasherbottomliptrembled.“Please.”
Shecouldfeelsomanyeyesonher,everyonewatching,waitingtoseewhatwouldhappen.Amomentpassed,wherenobodyreacted,beforetheTinMancrookedhispointerfingerbeneathherchin,raisingherheadupwithittomakeherlookathim.
“Youdonotneedher,”hesaid,notahintofemotioninhiswords.“Iamallyouneed.”
“But—”
Beforeshecouldargue,hishandenclosedaroundherchin,palmingherface,hisstrong,inkedfingersdiggingintohercheeks,squishingthem.
Hegrippedhertightly,leaningcloser.“Youwillnotspeakofhertomeagain.DoImakemyselfclear?”
Thelittlegirlnodded,tearsstreamingfromhereyes.
Heshovedherfaceaway,nearlyknockingherfromthestool.
“Andstopcrying,”hedemanded,standinguptowalkaway.“Sheisworthyourheartachenomorethanshewasworthmine.Wewillbothgetoverit.”
Thelittlegirldidn’tbelievethat.Shecouldn’t.Wouldn’t.Shemightfaceherfearsandwipehertears,likehermotherhadtaughther,butshewouldnevergetoverit.ChapterFive
Awhitesplit-levelhouseinsouthQueens.
There’sevenapicketfencesurroundingit.
It’sfitforapicture-perfectfamily:Mom,Dad,two-point-fivekidsandagoldenretriever,livinghappilyinquietsuburbia.Fourbedrooms.Threebathrooms.There’salibrarydownstairs.It’sinaneighborhoodtypicallyfreeofcrime.
Nomurders.
Norobberies.
Nofunatall,quitefrankly.
JustcallmeWardCleaver.LeaveittofuckingBeaver.Thehouseisallmine.I’vefoundtheAmericanDream.
I’vegottosay…theshitisn’tallit’scrackeduptobe.
Snowcoversthesidewalkthatrunsalongthefrontofthehouse.Thestreetshavebeenplowedsinceitstartedsnowing,buteverythingelseisdousedinalayerofstarkwhite.Standingatthefoggyfrontwindowofthehouse,Istareoutintothecoldmorning,watchingthickflakesfallfromthecloudysky.
ThemonochrometoneisprettyconsistentwithhowI’mfeeling.
Monotonous.Drab.Tedious.
Fiftyotherfuckingwordsyou’llfindinathesaurus.
I’veonlylivedhereforafewmonthsbutI’malreadyitchingtomoveagain.SincecomingtoNewYorkjustafewyearsago,I’vestayedinelevendifferentplaces,mostofwhichIhadn’texactlyhadpermissiontomoveinto.IseeanopportunityandItakeit,whetherit’sacquiringahouseor,well,ajobposition.
WhatcanIsay?I’mresourceful.
Can’tfaultmeforthat,canyou?
“Isitstillsnowing?”
Iturnatthesoundofthevoicebehindme,watchingasmylittlebrotherstepsintothelivingroom.Leo—orPrettyBoy,asI’vealwayscalledhim—issixteenyearsyoungerthanme,inhisearlytwenties,whilethethirtiesknockedonmydoorlongago.We’renothingalike.He’syoungandhopeful.IgrowbitterasIage.He’sgotalotofheart.I’vebeentoldatimeortwothatI’mabitofacallousprick.
Helovesthishouse,thisneighborhood,andthisdream…
TheonlythingIloveis,well,maybehim.
EverythingelseisjustaficklefondnessthatItendtogrowtiredofrealfuckingquick.
“Ofcourseit’ssnowing,”Isay,strollingovertotheblackleathercouchtositdown.“I’vegotthingstotakecareof,sonaturallyit’sgoingtosnowalldamndayandmakeeverythingasdifficultaspossible.”
Leostepsbymetotakethespotinfrontofthewindow.“Suchoptimism.”
“Yeah,well,notallofuscanbesunshinyallofthegoddamntime.”
Truthfully?I’minapissymood.I’vebeenhomeforhours,longenoughtowitnessthesunrise,butthat’snothingnew.I’vebeenaninsomniacmostofmylife,whichisprobablywhyI’msoparanoid.Sleepevadesmeandpeopleaggravateme,makingmytriggerfingeralittletwitchy,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.
Usually,Ihandleitbetter,thelackofsleep,buttodayithasmeonedgeforsomereason.
Myattentionshiftstothecoffeetableinfrontofme.Theredhighheelssitinthecenterofit,side-by-side.Ipickoneup,runningmyfingertipsalongtheredsole.Theheelislongandthin,curvedabit,maybesixinches,andsharpenoughthat,inapinch,shecould’veeasilytakenmygoodeyeoutwithit.
Afterall,everything’saweaponifyoulookatittherightway,andI’mtheMacGyverofmurder.Icouldkillamanwithashoelikethis.Wouldn’tevenfazemetohavetodoit,either.
“DoIevenwanttoknowwhyyou’vegotthose?”Leoasks.
Iglanceathim.“Longstory.”
“Doesitendwithyourfeetshovedintoapairofredpumps?Becauseifso,I’dreallyliketohearit.”
“I’mafraidit’snotnearlythatinteresting,”Isay.“Metawomanwhowaswearingthese.Shegotaway,lefthershoesbehind.”
“HowveryCinderella.”Heshakeshishead.“Andwhat,you’regoingtotrythemoneverywomaninthekingdomuntilyoufindheragain?”
“IfIhaveto,”Isay,settingtheshoebackdownbesidetheotherone.BeforeIcanelaborate,there’sanoiseupstairs,aloudthumpabovemyhead.Mygazedriftstowardtheceilingasmybackstiffens.
“It’sfine,”Leosays.“JustMel.”
“Who?”
“Mel,”hesaysagain.“Youknow…mygirlfriend?”
“Ah,Firecracker.”
Heletsoutadramaticsigh.“We’vebeendatingforoverayear…you’dthinkmyownbrotherwouldrememberhernamebynow.”
“Please,”Isay.“Ibarelyrememberyourname,PrettyBoy.Namesmeannothingtome.They’reirrelevant.Theydon’tdefineaperson.Theyjustlabelthem.Andwell,ifI’mgoingtolabelpeople,I’mgoingtolabeltheminawaythatdefinesthemtome.Like…Firecracker.”
“AndhowexactlydoesFirecrackerdefineher?”
“She’sloud,”Isayasfeetstompacrossthefloorabovemyhead,headingforthestairs.“She’skindofbangin’.”
Heletsoutasharpbarkoflaughterashemovesawayfromthewindow,steppingtowardme.“Areyouhittingonmygirlfriend?”
“Wouldn’tdreamofit,”Isay.“She’snotmytype.”
“Could’vefooledme,”Leosays.“Thoughtyourtypewasbreathing.”
“Ha-ha.I’llhaveyouknowI’vegotstandards.”
“Like?”
“Likeawomanthatdoesn’texpectmetohaveaconversation.”
Helaughsagain,likehefindsthatgenuinelyfunny.“Oh,thehorrorofhavingtotalktoafemalelikeshe’sactuallyapersonandnotjustawarmbody.”
“Areyoumockingme,PrettyBoy?”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“IthinkI’veshotpeopleforlessattitude.”
“Doesn’tsurpriseme,”hesays.“Soundslikesomethingsomeoneallergictofeelingswoulddo.”
“I’mnotallergictofeelings.I’vegotthem.”
“Doyou?”
“Yeah,andrightnowI’mfeelingprettyfuckingannoyedbythisconversation,soI’dratherwedidn’thaveit.”
“Oh,soit’snotfemalesyouavoidtalkingto…it’sreallyfeelingsyoudon’twanttotalkabout.Gotit.”
He’spushingmybuttons.
Leomightbetheonlypersonaroundwhoisn’tafraidtodothat.Helooksmeinthefacewithouthesitation,neverbalkingatwhathesees,andhecallsmeonmyshit,likeaparentlecturingachild…whichiskindoffunny,youknow,sinceIraisedthatlittlesonofabitch.
I’msupposedtobethematureone,therolemodel,butinsteadIthinkhemightbetheonlythingstoppingmefromblowingupthewholegoddamnworldandeveryoneinit.
Yousee,Ilearnedlongagothatthemostvaluablethingyouhaveisyourreputation.Itgetsyouthingsmoneycan’tbuy,openingupdoorsthatareusuallysealedtight.Don’tlistentothat‘fuckwhatpeoplethink’SesameStreetbullshittheyspoon-fedyouasakid.Youshouldcarewhatpeoplesayaboutyou.
Rumorandgossip…itmatters.Becausewhileyoumightbeproudofyourcharacter,whileyoumightbethekindofpersonwhodoesn’tyield,itdoesn’tmeanadamnthingifthejackasscomingupbehindyoubelievesyou’regettingoutofhisway,becausehe’sjustgoingtorunyouover.
Ifmystepfathertaughtmeanything,itwasthatthekeytosurvivalismimicry.Youbewhatyouneedtobeforsomebody.Weartheskinofarattlesnakeevenifthere’snotasingledropofvenominsideofyou,becauseifyoumakethembelieve,theywon’tcomecloseenoughtogetbit.Theywon’tgetcloseenoughtoseethatmaybeit’sadisguise;maybeyou’renotasdangerousastheythink.Andiftheydogetthatclose,well,thenyou’vegotachoice:youeithersurrenderoryoubecomethethingtheyfearmost.
Idon’tsurrender.
Butnoteveryoneneedsthesamething,andthat’sthetrick.Youcan’tjustbeallonething.Ifyou’vegottabeamonster,youbeafuckingshapeshifter
Andmybrother?He’snotapredator,soIdon’thavetobeonewithhim.WhatLeoneedsissomeonetodependon,someonetobelievein,someonewhowillprotecthim,sothat’swhatIam.I’mhisfamily.I’mhisfriend.I’maharmlessgophersnakewithoutarattleinmytail.
WhoamIreally?IliketothinkI’msomewhereinbetween.MaybedeepdownIdon’twanttohurtyou,butgoddamnit,Iwill,andI’lldestroymyselfdoingitifIhaveto.I’llgetyouevenifitkillsme.I’mlikeahoneybee.
I’malsoapparentlysomeonewholikesanimalmetaphorswhenIneedsomedamnsleep.
Soblahblahblah,whateverwhatever,thepointhereisfuckfeelings,theygetyounowhere.
“I’mgoingtobed.Ifyouwantsomeonetotalkto,PrettyBoy,yourgirlfriendwillbeinterruptinginaboutthreeseconds.Talktoher.”
“Aboutwhat?”
Thebubblyvoicechimesinrightatthethree-secondmarkasLeo’sgirlfriendwaltzesin.MelodyCarmichael.LeocallsherMel.OfcourseIknowhername.ImadeapointtolearnitwhenIrealizedhewasseriousabouther.Young,blonde,andgood-looking,sure,butthegirlhasamouthonher.SometimesshetalkssomuchIwonderhowshe’sbreathing,howshe’snotsuffocatingonallthewordssheinsistsonspeaking.
Andshecries.Jesusfuck,thegirlcries.Shesatrighthereonmycouchandsobbedtwonightsagowhilewatchingsomemovieaboutamandying.Leoconsoledher,holdingher,whileIstoodinthedoorway,wishingitweremethatwasdead.Me,justsoIwouldn’thavetolistentoherblubberingforonemoresecond.
“AboutLorenzo’slackoffeelingforfemales,”Leotellsher.
Melodylaughs.“Idon’tknow…basedonthenoisescomingoutofhisbedroomataroundmidnightlastnight,I’dsayhewasfeelingsomethingwithawoman.”
“Hewasmakingherfeelsomething.Bigdifference.”Leoturnsbacktome,cockinganeyebrow.“Whatwasthisone’sname?”
“Barbie,”Isay.
“AndisBarbieherrealname?”Leoasks.“Oristhatjustwhatyou’recallingher,sinceshewasplatinumblondeandplastic?”
Okay,he’sgotmethere…
“That’swhatIthought,”hecontinueswhenIdon’tanswer.Nopointwastingmybreath.Heknows.“Betyouprobablydon’tevenrememberherrealname.”
“ItwasTina.”
“Really?”
“No,Idon’tknow,”Isay,standingup.“Ididn’tpayattentiontoawordshesaid.”
HislaughterfollowsmeasIsnatchupthepairofheelsandstrolltowardthedoorway.MelodyeyesmecautiouslyasIpassher.Shedoesn’tflinchaway…anymore…butIwouldn’texactlysaysheletsherguarddownaroundme,either.Hergazeshiftstotheshoes,herbrowfurrowing.“ArethoseLoubitons?”
“That’swhattheysay.”
“Whydoyouhavethem?”
“Whydoyouasksomanyquestions?”
Shehasnocomebackforthat,whichisforthebest,consideringLeoprobablywillholditagainstmeifIsuckerpunchhisgirlfriendformeddlinginmybusiness.IhearLeochimein,explainingtoheraboutCinderella,butIjustwalkaway.PrinceCharming,Iamnot,norwillIeverbe.No,yousee,peoplecallmeScarforareason,anditdoesn’tentirelyhavetodowiththefactthatmyfacegotfuckedup.I’mthevillain;I’mthelionthatswoopedonin,destroyingtheirpridelands.IkilledthekingandsentSimbapacking.ButunlikethefictionalScarfromthecartoon,Idon’tintendtoloseattheendofmystory.Everythingthelighttouchesinthiscitybelongstome.I’mthefuckingLionKing.
Iknow,Iknow…anotheranimalmetaphor.
Man,Ineedsomesleep.
Trudgingupstairs,Imakemywaydownthehall,tothebedroominthefarback.Everythingaboutitisimpersonal,nodistractions—plainwhitewallsandaCaliforniakingbedwiththebestmattressmoneycanbuy,thekindofmemoryfoamthatjustcradlesyou,thatembracesyoulikeitlovesyou,cloakedinexpensiveEgyptiancotton,butnoneofthatmakesabitofdifferencewhenitcomestimetofallasleep.
Aftersettingtheshoesdownontopoftheonlydresser,Ipeeloffallofmyclothes,discardingthemonthefloor,andfallrightintothebedonmyback,naked.Theceilingfanabovemelightlyspinsaroundandaroundandaround.Itrackitwithmygaze.Ithelpsmerelax,likesomestrangeversionofcountingsheep,ormaybeIjustgetsodizzythatIeventuallypassout,butregardless,Iusuallycatchsomesleepthatway.
Butnottoday.
No,evenasIwatchthespinningblades,insteadofshuttingdown,mymindstartstowander,thoughtsofapetitebrunettewithwildhaircreepingin.Thesmirkonherredlipsrightbeforesheranthatlasttime,thesmug‘Igotyou,motherfucker’smile,likeshewasgloating,invadeseverypartofme,likeaninfectionsettlingin,eatingawayatmyinsides.Shehasnoideawhoshe’smessingwith,butshe’sgoingtolearn.LittleMissScarletLetterrobbedthewrongmotherfucker.I’mgettingmymoneyback,everysinglepennyofit,andshe’llbedamnluckyifIdon’ttakeherlastbreathasinterest.
Iwonderifshe’llsmilethen,withmepinningherdown,mybodyontopofhers,keepingherlockedinplace.Iwonderifshe’llsmilewhenIwrapmyhandsaroundherthroat,squeezing,pressingagainstthecarotidartery,makingherlookmeinthefaceasIwringherneck.Iwonderifshe’llsmileasthecolordrainsfromhercheeks,asthesparkdiminishesinhereyes,becauseIsureasfuckwill.
Igethardjustthinkingaboutit.
Nothingturnsmeonmorethanseeingsomeonestruggle,fightingforsurvival.It’sferal,instinctskickingin.Theygiveitallthey’vegot,becausetheyknowiftheydon’t,therewillbenothingleft.I’lltakeitall.I’lltaketheirdignity.I’lltaketheirmoney.I’lltaketheirfamily,too,ifIwantit.I’lltaketheirlifeineverysenseoftheword.Desperationatitscore,exposingthoserawnervesofself-preservation.There’snothingmorepowerfulthanholdingsomeone’slifeinyourhands,knowingthey’renotstrongenoughtooverpoweryou…knowingtheironlyhopeisyoubeingmerciful.
Closingmyeyes,Igrabmycock,roughlystrokingit.Hardandfast,nottryingtosavorit,needingthereleasetoeasemytension,hopinglikehellit’llputmetosleep.Ittakeslessthanthirtysecondsbeforemyabsclench,mycockpulsatingastheorgasmstrikesmelikeapunchtothechest.Grittingmyteeth,stiflingthegroan,Ifeelitascumspurtsout,hittingmystomachandthebedsheets.Warmthspreadsallthroughmybody,tinglescoatingmyskinasmycocktwitches.Istrokeafewmoretimes,breathingdeeplyasmymusclesrelax.
Finally.
Sighing,Iletgo,keepingmyeyesclosed,notbotheringtocleanupthemess.Heavinesssettlesintomylimbs,numbnessspreading.
Butstill…still…sleepwon’ttakeover.
“Fuckthis,”Igrumble,climbingbackoutofbed,staggering,swaying,asIheadfortheshower.“Anotherdayawaits.”
***
“Ithoughtyouweregoingtobed?”
Mybrother’sstillinthelivingroom.
Hisgirlfriendisstillwithhim,too,thetwoofthemonthecouchtogether,cuddling.That’salltheyeverseemtodo.Kiss,andcuddle,andwhisper,andfuck,alovey-doveycycle,dayinanddayout,likeanoldmarriedcouple.
“Idid,”Isay,stallinginthedoorway.
Heblinksatme.“Youdid?”
“Yes.”
“It’sonlybeenanhour,bro,”hesays,“ifeventhatlong.There’snowayyouwenttosleep.”
“Ididn’tsayIwenttosleep,”Ipointout.“IsaidIwenttobed.”
“What’sthepointofgoingtobedifyoudon’tsleep?”Assoonasheasksthat,heshakeshishead.“Nevermind.”
“Nevermindwhat?”Melodyasks,glancingbetweenus.Noseyasshit
“Don’tevenask,”Leogrumbles.
Herbrowfurrows.“Don’taskwhat?”
“Hedoesn’twantyoutoaskaboutmetuggingoneoutupstairs.”
“Tuggingone—oh!”Hereyeswiden.“Geez.”
Leogroans.“Itoldyounottoask.”
Shakingmyhead,Ileanagainstthedoorframe,mygazegoingtothewindow.Inthepasthour,asIshoweredanddressed,wakingupagain,thesnowslowedtoabarely-presentflurry,theconditionsmuchmoremanageable.“So,howlongdoyouthinkitshouldtaketofindsomeoneinthecity?”
“Uh,Idon’tknow,”Leosays.“Coupleofdays…weeks…maybe.HowlongdidittakeIgnaziotofindwhohewaslookingfor?”
“Damnneartwentyyears,”Isay.
“Well,thereyougo,”Leosays.“Twodecades.”
Twodecades
Incaseyoudon’tknowwhoIgnaziois,letmegiveyoutheCliffNotesversionofhim:guywithagunandagrudgelookingforagirltomakehimfeelbetter.Tookhimwaytoolongtocatchuptoher,andwhenhefinallydid,nothingwentaccordingtoplan,whichisreasonnumberone-hundredandsixty-ninewhyItendtoworkonthefly.I’mthekindofguywhowillrunintoaburningbuildingwithoutthinkingoftheflames…especiallysince,youknow,chancesareIsetthefiretobeginwith.
AmImakingsensehere?
Idon’tknow.
I’mstillkindoftired.
Pointbeing,Idon’thavetwentyyearstowait.“I’llgiveittwentymoreminutes.”
LeogivesmeapeculiarlookasIpulloutmycarkeys.“You’renotdrivingtoday,areyou?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?You?Driving?”
“Yes.”
“Witheverythingbeingallwhiteandicy?”
“Yes.”
“Areyoufeelingsuicidal?”
Ilaughatthatquestion.Hedoesn’twantmetoanswerit.Iseemtoforeverexistinagrayareaoflife,caughtinawebsomewherebetweenhomicidalandsuicidal,andheknowsit,nomatterhowmuchItrytoshoverose-coloredglassesovertheboy’seyes.He’snotblindtoreality.
“Astitillatingasthisconversationhasbeen,PrettyBoy,I’vegottogo,”Isay,turningaway.“Thingswon’tdothemselves,youknow.”
There’sasexjokeintheresomewhere,Iknow,butgetyourmindoutofthegutter.There’sstillworktodo.
“Goodluckfinding…whoeversheis,”Leocallsout.“Don’tkillyourself!Oranybodyelse…”
Hedoesn’tmeanthatintheintentionalsense.Don’tgetittwisted.Hejustdoesn’twantmetoskidofftheroadorplowintosomebody.
I’malreadyshiveringbythetimeImakeittomycarinthedriveway.Istartitup,crankingtheheatfullblast,beforereachingintotheglovebox,whereIstashasparepairofglasses.
ThedriveintonorthernBrooklynshouldtakefifteenminutes,butdamnnearhalfanhourpassesbeforeIpullupinfrontofthebricktownhouse.Strollingtothefrontdoor,Ibangonit.Ibang…andbang…andbang…
Whythehellisn’tanybodyanswering?
Ittakesafewminutesbeforethedoorispulledopen.Sevenstandsthere,halfasleep,darkhairamess,wearingonlyapairofredboxershortswithelvesonthem.
Elves,Christmasones,thepointy-earedlittlefuckersthatworkforSanta.He’sgotelvesonhisshorts,holdinglittlepackages,thewords‘MerryElfinChristmas’writtenallaroundthem.Itiltmyheadtotheside,staringatthem.
HaveImentionedit’snearingtheendofJanuary?
Sevenblinksrapidly.“Boss?What’sgoingon?”
MygazeflickerstomeethisasIshakeitoff.“Haveyoufoundher?”
Hisbrowfurrows.“Who?”
“ThewomanItoldyoutofind.”
“I,uh…what?”
“Haveyoufoundthewoman?”Iaskagain.“HowmuchmorecleardoIneedtomakethat?”
“Uh,no,notyet.”
“What’stakingsolong?”
HegapesatmelikemaybehethinksI’mcrazy,butI’mnottheonewearingelfboxersamonthafterChristmas.“It’sonlybeenafewhours.”
“So?”
“So…Ihaven’tevenhadthechancetolookyet.”
“You’vehadthechancetosleep,though,”Ipointout,gazedriftingbacktohisboxers.“AtleastI’mthinkingyouweresleeping,unlessthemissushasalittlepeoplefetishyouhaven’tmentioned.”
Heseemstojustnowrealizewhathe’swearing,becausehemakesafeebleattempttocoverup.“Sorry,boss.Yeah,weweresleeping.Actually,justdozedoffabitago…figuredI’dgetrightonitaftercatchingafewhoursofsleep,butifyouneedmenow—”
“Don’tworryaboutit.”
“Yousure?”
“Positive,”Isay.“TakeyourlittleKeeblersthereandgoonbacktobed.”
Hehesitantlygoesbackinside,tootiredandcoldtoinsistotherwise.IguessifIwantthisdonebeforeIgrowoldanddie,I’mgoingtohavetodoitmyself.
Headingbacktomycar,Iagaincrankuptheheatbeforepullingoutmyphone,goingrightdowntheline,callingeverydamnnumberinit.
YouknowabrunettewitharedStattooedonherwrist?
NoNopeNotringingabell,sorry.
Sameconversation,againandagainandagain.
Thedayislong,sogoddamnlong,andIspendeverywakingsecondofittryingtotrackdownthelittlethief.Nobodyinmycircleswillacknowledgeknowingher,atleast.It’sduskalready,asIsitinmycarnotfarfromthebar,justfeetfromwheresherobbedme,whenmyphonerings.
Seven
“Gambini,”IsayasIanswerit.
“I’vegotnothing,boss,”hesays.“I’vetriedeveryconnectionI’vegotandthedescriptionisjusttoovague.IevengotupwithAmello,sinceherunshisgamesoutofthatneighborhood,andhesaidshedidn’tsoundlikeanygirlhe’severcomeacross.”
“Figures,”Imutter.“Thanks.”
“Anytime.I’llkeepdigging,seewhatIcanstirup.”
“Youdothat.”
Hangingup,IslipmyphoneintomypocketbeforestrollingintoWhistleBinkie,takingaseatrightatthebar,encounteringthesamebartenderfromlastnight.Onceagain,heeyesmewithalarm.
“Rum,”Itellhim.“Justgivemethebottle.”
Heobliges,shovingahalf-emptycheapbottleontothebarinfrontofme.I’mnotevengoingtopretendtonight,rippingthespoutrightoutandtippingitback.
Therearen’tmanyotherpeoplehereatthishour.Ilookaroundcuriously,thinkingmaybeshemightshowupagain,butI’mnotthatlucky.Igazeattheemptystool,whereshesatlessthantwenty-fourhoursago,staringatitforamomentbeforesomethingstrikesme.
“Hey,youwouldn’tbychancerememberawomanthatwasinherelastnight,wouldyou?”Iaskthebartender.“Young,brunette,reddress,satrightthere…”
Thebartender’sattentionshiftstothestoolIpointatbeforehelooksatmeagain.“Morgan,youmean?”
Iraiseaneyebrow.“Maybe,iftheMorganyou’retalkingabouthasatattooonherwrist.”
“CursiveS,”thebartendersays.
Sonofabitch.“That’stheone.”
“I’vealwayswonderedwhatitstoodfor,”hesays.“Shecomesinsometimes,sitsbyherself,orderssomethingcheap,flirtsabitthenjetsbackout.Iaskedheronce,youknow,aboutthetattoo.”
“Whatdidshetellyou?”
“Shesaiditstoodfor‘stayoutofmyfuckingbusiness’.”
Okay,thatmakesmelaugh.Itprobablyshouldn’t.She’sgotamouthonher,that’sforsure.“So,Morgan,yousay?”
“Yep.”
Morgan.Idon’tlikeit.
“Tellmesomething,BarBoy.Youwouldn’thappentoknowwhereIcouldfindthisMorgan,wouldyou?”
Hehesitates,likehedoesn’twanttoanswerthat.Ding,ding,ding…thereitis.Ipulloutmywallet,figuringcashalwaysloosenslips,andtensewhenIopenit.
Shit.Stillempty.
Almostforgotsherobbedme.
Onceagain,Ilaugh,eventhoughIshouldn’tfinditfunny.Idon’tevenhaveanythingonmetopayfortheliquorI’mdrinking.Unbelievable
Thewomanisstartingtobeathorninmyside,butIhavetoadmit,asfrustratingasit’sbeen,Ihaven’thadadullmomentinthepasttwenty-fourhours
Ishovemywalletbackaway,standingupfromthebar.“Tellmewheretofindher.”
“Ionlyknowwheresheworks,”hesays.“Willthathelp?”ChapterSix
“Morgan…ohGod,Morgan,baby…you’resotight.”
Hisvoiceisnasally.Sodamnnasally.HesoundslikeacharacteroffofSouthPark.Everythingdriesupatthemeresoundofit,alldesirewitheringaway,dyinganunfortunatedeath.
Whydoeshealwayshavetotalk?
Grimacing,Ishovemyfaceintotheblackleathercouchcushion,unabletostopthecrythatescapesmythroat.Ugh,ithurts,likebeingfuckedwithaknife,painstabbingatmyinsides.Heprobablydoesn’thearthesoundImake,though.
Themusicistooloud
“Youlovethat,don’tyou?”heasks,hishandsgraspingmyhipsashethrusts,leaningoverandshoutingsoI’llhearhim.“Lovethewaymycockfeels?”
“YouknowIdo,”Igrindout,nearlychokingonthelie.Ihopehemakesthisfast.
Hewon’t,though.No,I’mnotthatlucky.He’llsavoreverysecondofignorantbliss,oblivioustothefactthatI’mnotintoit.Stubbyfingersexplore,searchingforasweetspothe’llneverfind.Icoulddrawhimamapanditwouldstillevadehim,liketheHolyGrailexistssomewherebetweenmythighs.
Squeezingmyeyesshut,Itrytodetach,trytonotthinkaboutthefactthatasleazymiddle-agedjackassinacheapsuitispoundingintomefrombehind,sweatingandpantingandhavingthetimeofhislife,whileI’mjustdesperatelywaitinghimout.
Waiting…andwaiting…andwaiting…
Aredglowcoverseverything.Theredroom.It’sacliché,Ithink,butit’safavoritehereatMysticforsomereason.Itfeelslikeaneternitypasses,eachslamofhishipsdrivingmyfacefurtherintothecouch.Hisoverpoweringcologneclingstotheair,smellingsickeninglylikepine,swaddlingmysensesuntilIgag.Gross.It’sstifling.It’ssuffocating.Ijustcan’tseemtobreathe.MychestachesforadeepbreathIhaven’ttakeninalongtime,myheartlockedinasteady,dullrhythm.
Hisgriponmetightens.IopenmyeyeswhenIfeelit,knowinghe’sclosetofinishing.Finally.Afewmorehardthrustsbeforehegrunts,stilling,droppinghisbodyweightoverontopofme.Anexhilaratedlaughescapeshim,hiswarmbreathghostingacrossmyskin.Ishiverfromdisgustwhenhislipsfindmyneck,histonguedrawingapathtowardmyear,beforehewhispers,“IwishIcouldfuckyouallnightlong.”
“Me,too,”Isay,anotherlie,becausehellno.Icanhardlystomachafifteen-minuterendezvous.
“Maybenexttime,”hewhispersbeforemovingawaytostandup.
Exhaling,Islidedownflatagainstthecouch,relievedtohavehimnottouchingme.Fornow
Iwatchashegathershisclothestogetdressed.He’sclassicallyhandsome,Isuppose,ifyoulikethatsortofthing—darkhair,bronzedskin,eyesthecolorofanafternoonsky,deepdimplesandperfectteeth.He’sevengotthemostadorablefreckles.
Hisphoneringsashepullshimselftogether,discardingthecondominthesmalltrashcanbehindasmallbarontheleftside.Pullinghisphoneout,hefrowns.“Sorry,hatetocutthisshort,butIhavetotakethiscall.”
Sorry?I’mnotsorry.Pfft,bye
Hejetsoutintothehall,headingforthebackexit.Assoonashe’soutofsight,Ibreatheasighofreliefandgetup.Mypussythrobsbutnotinthegoodway,notinthatthoroughlyfucked,fullysatiatedway.No,itscreamsangrilyatmeforallowingtheintrusion(Iknow,Iknow…ugh,ick,gross…).I’mprettysurethemandoesn’tknowthedefinitionofforeplay,andquitefrankly,thethoughtofhismouthonme,thethoughtofhimcaressingmybodyjustmakesmequeasy,sopainfullydryitwillforeverbe.
Imakemywaytothechangingroom,thelastdoorattheendofthehallbytheexit.Itlookslikeamiddleschoollockerroom.Smellslikeone,too.Hell,evenfeelslikeonesometimes.Uncomfortable.It’sempty,allofthewomenworking,butI’vehadmyfillofthisplaceforthenight.
I’mgettingoutofhere.
Igostraighttomylockerontheend,openingitandgrabbingmyblackduffelbagtogathermythings.Istripoutoftheskimpyblacklingerie,changingintoapairofyogapantsandtanktop,puttingmycoatonoverit.Runningmyfingersthroughmyhair,Ipullitbackintoaponytailastinglescreepalongmyspine,anunsettlingfeelinginthepitofmystomach.
Iglancearoundthevacantlockerroom.
It’sstrange,thesensationthatflowsthroughme.It’soneI’malltoofamiliarwith.It’sthefeelingofbeingwatched,thefeelingthatI’mnotalone,evenwhenIknowIam.
Paranoiaisabitch.
Grabbingmybag,Islidemyfeetbackintoapairofcheapblackheelsbeforeleaving.Myfootstepsstalloutside,andIglower.IhopedIcouldskedaddleoutofherewithoutenduringanawkwardgoodbye,butnosuchluck.
He’shangingupfromhiscallwhenIappear.
“Sorryagain,”hemumbles,shovingthephoneawayasheeyesme.“Youoffworknow?”
Technically,Ihadtheentirenightoff,butthisistheonlyplaceI’mwillingtomeetupwithhim.“Yep,headingoutearly.”
“You,uh…wantmetowalkyouhome?”
Iforceasmile.“Nicetry.”
“It’sjustanoffer,”hesays,raisinghishandsdefensively.“Justlookingoutforyou.It’slate,anddark,and—”
“AndIcantakecareofmyself,thanks,”Isay,cuttinghimoff.
“Youevergoingtotrustme,Morgan?”heasks.“I’mheretohelpyou.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Buttrust,well…it’snoteasyforme.Andit’snotthatIdon’ttrustyou.Ijustdon’ttrustanything.Youknowhowitis.”
“Ido,”headmits,frowning.“Anyway,Ishouldgo.Youokay?Youneedsomemoneyor,uh…?”
Hegoestoreachforhiswallet.
Iwanttohithiminthenoseforit.
“Idon’twantyourmoney,”Isay.“I’mnotaprostitute.”
“Ofcourse,”hesays.“Ijustfigured…”
“ThatIneededmoney,”Isay,finishinghisthought,“butIdon’tneedmoneyfromyou.WhatIneedisforyoutoactuallydoyourjob,detective.”
Hegrimaces.Hedoesn’tseemtoeverlikethatreminder.
DetectiveGabrielJoneswiththe60thprecinct.
“Look,I’mgoingtotalktothemagain,”hesays.“Firstthingtomorrow,Ipromise.”
“Thankyou.”
Gabeleaves,gettinginhisunmarkedblackFordwithtintedwindows.Iwaituntilhe’sgonebeforeIstartwalking,keepingmyheaddown,mystepshurried.Mygazeflickersalongtheroad,makingsureheisn’tcirclingandfollowing.
He’sdoneitbefore.
I’vecaughthimeverytime.
There’snosignoftheblackFord,butIstillcan’tshakethatfeeling,theonethattellsmesomethingisoff.Irunthelastblocktomybuilding,dartinginsideandpausingbytheentrance,staringoutthesquareglasswindow,waitingforsomebody
Nobody’saround.
“I’mlosingmymind,”Igrumble,paddingupthestairstomytopfloorapartment.
Firstorderofbusinessisahotshower.Iscrubeveryinchofmybody,washingitallaway.Everytouch,everykiss,andeverythrust—Ipurgeitfrommymemoryasifitneverhappened.Afterward,Idrymyhairandgrabatoo-big,plainwhitet-shirtfrommycloset,notbotheringwithanyotherclothes.
Iheadforthesteepwindingmetalstepsinthecornerofthetinylivingroom.Scalingthemquickly,Ipushthedooropenatthetopandstepoutontotherooftop.
Thefrigidwinterairslapsme,stingingmyfaceandassaultingmybarelegs,butIignoreit.Pullingmyselfupontotheconcreteledgealongtheside,Ipeeroutintothecity.Nine,maybeteno’clockatnight,aSundayintheLowerEastSideofManhattan,notfarfromtheEastRiver.Icanseeforblocks,abustleallaroundmeascarsfillthestreetsandpeoplewalkalongthesidewalks.
I’mbarelyouthereforaminutebeforethatfeelingrollsthroughmeagain,sointensemystomachclenches.
Ihatethesensation.
It’slikebeinghaunted,likethere’salwaysaghostaroundme,followingme,tauntingme,noteverlettingmebeinpeace.
Idon’tmove,don’tbothertolook,asachillripplesdownmyspine.Despitemybestefforttostaycomposed,Itremble,goosebumpseruptingalongmyskinasmyhairstandsonend,myreactionhavinglittletodowiththecoldnessoutside.
“Whatdoyouwantfromme?”Iwhisper,staringoutatthecity.
“Mymoney.”
Thevoiceringsoutbehindme,soclose…tooclose.Thegravellydeeptonehitsmelikeapunchtothechestasitunexpectedlyanswersmyquestion.
Someone’shere.Ohgod
AshakybreathescapesmeasIturntolookbehindmeontheroof.
ThesecondIseetheface,everymuscleinsideofmeseizes,myheartevenskippingabeat,hesitating,likeithasn’tinalongtime.Myeyesscanhiminthedarkness—sharpfeatures,strongjawline,sturdybuildandalongscarthatcutsthroughthesideofhisface,thejaggedgrooveglowinginthemoonlight.Hiseyesareoppositeshadesofblue—onedamnnearmidnight,whiletheotherismoreofanearlymorningskyline.
Classicallyhandsome,maybenot,butsomethingabouthimismesmerizing,likewatchinghimishypnotizing.It’snotenoughtoovershadowmyfear,though,becausehe’sjustasalarmingasheisalluring,maybeevenmoreso.
Scratchthat.Definitelymoreso.
Hestaresatme,notaflickerofemotionshowingonhisface.There’salmostsomethinginhumanaboutit.
I’mnotsurewhattosayorwhattodo,soIjuststareback,buthedoesn’tseemtolikethat.No,hischeektwitches,hiseyesnarrowing,soIavertmygaze,scanningtherooftoparoundus.
Think.Think.Think.
He’sblockingthewaybackinside,soIglancebehindme,overtheledge,atthebusycitystreetbelow.
Ugh,thatdropwouldhurtlikeasonofabitch.
“Idon’trecommendjumping,”hesays,“unlessyouwanttogosplat.”
Iturnbacktohim.He’sright.Theoddsofsurvivingthatfallaren’tinmyfavor.“Whatdoyouwant?”
“IjusttoldyouwhatIwant.”Hetakesanothersteptowardme,andanother,andanother,untilhe’scloseenoughtoreachoutandshoveme,ifhewants,sinceI’mstillsittingontheledge.“Iwantmymoney.”
“Whatmon—?”
Hishanddartsout,snatchingaholdofmythroat,longfingerswrappingaroundandsqueezing,literallycuttingoffmywords,silencingmypleaofignorance.Igasp,startled,panicflowingthroughmeastheforceoftheblowthrustsmeback.
Idamnnearlosemybalance.
Theonlythingkeepingmefromtippingovertheedgeishisstronggrasp,butit’salsocuttingoffmyflowofair,so…
Reachingup,Iclutchtighttohiswrist,butIdon’tfight.IfIfighthimhe’sliabletothrowmerightovertheside,soIjustholdon,clinginglikehe’smyliferaft,becauseifIgoover,I’mtakinghim,too,notashredofdoubtaboutitinmymind.
“Don’tactlikeyoudon’tknowwhatI’mtalkingabout,”hesays.“Ifyouhadenoughballstostealfromme,youshouldn’thaveaproblemowninguptoit.”
Hejerksmetowardhim,yankingmeontomyfeetontheroof.Iinhalesharplywhenhishandleavesmythroat,mykneesweak,dizzinessobscuringmyvision.I’mhalfasecondawayfromcollapsing,mylegsbuckling,whenhemovescloser,pressingintome,pinningmeagainsttheconcreteledge,keepingmeupright.Hewedgesbetweenmylegs,pryingthemapart,trappingmeinplacewithhisbody.I’mhyper-awareofthefactthatI’mnearlynaked,damnnearstraddlinghislegrightnow.I’mnotsureifherealizesit,ifheknowshiskneeispressingintomycrotch,butIhopenot,becauseugh…letmefindsomedignityhere,willyou?
“Let’strythisagain,”hesays,staringmeintheface.“IsayIwantmymoney,andyousay…?”
“Okay,”Iwhisper.
Hecockshislefteyebrow,likehefindsmyanswercurious.“Okay?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyouwantmetosay.”
“Iwantyoutosayyou’llgivememymoney.”Hishandgraspsmychin,tiltingmyfacefurthertowardhim.“AndthenIwantthoseprettylipsofyourstobegmeformercy,becausedependingonhowfastyoupaymeback,Imightbeinclinedtotakeiteasyonyouifyouask.”
BeforeIcansayanything,muchlesswhathewantsmetosay,themanstepsback,removinghimselffrommypersonalspace,likejustexpectsmetocomply.
Isuspecthe’susedtogettinghisway.
“I’llgiveyouyourmoney,”Isayquietly,takingadeepbreath.
Henods.“Goodgirl.”
IcringeatthosewordsasIshovepasthim,headingfortherooftopdoorleadingtomyapartment.Idon’texactlyknowwhoheis,orwhathe’scapableof,butifhe’sballsyenoughtothreatenGeorge,Ican’truleouthimbeingsomekindofmonster.Mymind’saflurryofthoughts,noneIcanseemtogetafirmgraspon.Scar,theycalledhim.Idon’tevenknowhowhefoundme,whichismostconcerningofall.
Howthehelldidhegethere?
Themanwalksinstepwithme,notlettingmeoutofarm’sreach.Itisn’tuntilIhitthewarmthofmyapartment,headingbackdownthosemetalsteps,thatIrealizehowcoldtheoutsideis.Myteethchatter,myskinflushed,bodytrembling.Myhandsarelikeblocksofice,andIflexmyfingers,tryingtoloosenthemupagain.
Iheadforthekitchen,havingonlyafewsecondstopullmyselftogetheranddosomething
Hestepsintotheroombehindme.
Themomenthedoes,Ilunge.
Throwingmybodyagainsthis,Iknockhimbackafewsteps,catchinghimoffguardwiththeforceofthehit.Hisshockbuysmeenoughtimetoputupafight,toswingandkickandflail,kneeinghiminthenuts.
BAM.
Heflinches,hunchingoverfromthelowblow,givingmethechancetoshovehimintothestove.Reachingintothesink,Ifranticallyfeelaround,blindlysnatchingupadirtysteakknife.Iholdituptohisneckwhenhecomesatme,thejaggedbladepressingagainsthisAdam’sapple,diggingintotheskin.
“I’llslityourthroat,”Itellhim,myvoicesteady,eventhoughmyhandisshakingsohardIalmostaccidentallycuthim.“Iswear,I’ll—”
Hereactsfast,sofastIdon’tanticipateit.Grabbingmywrist,hetwistsmyarm,grippingtight,damnnearpullingmyshoulderoutofsocket.Igritmyteethtostifleacry,painrippingupmyarm.Hisfingersdigintotheundersideofmywrist,jaggednailstearingattheskinashepressesagainstthepressurepoint,forcingmetoloosenmyhold.Heripstheknifeawaywithease,stillclutchingmywrist,staringatmytattoo.
Whichhescratched.
Whichisnowbleeding.
Ugh
“Morgan,”hesays,hisfacecontorting.“Iwassurprisedtohearthatwasyourname.Iexpectedittostartwithan‘S’.Makesmecuriouswhatthisthingstandsfor.”
Heshovesmywristintomyface,makingmehitmyself.Iscowl,tryingtoyankfreefromhisgrasp.“I’dratherdiethantellyouaboutit.”
“Thatcanbearranged,”hesays,lettinggoofmyarmbeforetossingtheknifebackinthesink.“Iwantmymoney,Scarlet.I’mnotgoingtotellyouagain.”
Iclutchmywrist,frowning,andstalkawayfromhim,myheartviciouslypoundinginmychestasIheadforthebedroom,notsurprisedthathefollows.
He’snotgoingtoletmeoutofhissight.
Afewcrumpledbillslayontopofthestandbesidethebed.Igrabthem,mystomachgurgling.Ifeelaroundinmycoatpocketsbeforescouringthroughmydufflebag,grabbingeverycentIhavelefttomynamebeforeturningtohim.“I’vegotthree-hundreddollars.”
Hestaresatme.“Threehundred.”
“Well,moreliketwo-ninety-four,butcloseenough.”
“Therewasathousanddollarsinmywallet.Whereisit?”
“Idon’thaveit.”
“Whatdidyoudowithit?”
Idon’tanswerthat,bitingmycheek.I’mnottellinghim.It’snoneofhisbusiness,andIneedhimfarawayfrommysituation.Farawayfromme
“Look,can’twejust…?”Imotiontothebed,bileburningmychestasitforcesitswayupmythroat,punishingmeformakingthissuggestion.“Youknow.”
“Fuck?”heguesses.
Iswallowthickly,nodding.
Hestepscloser,invadingmypersonalspaceoncemore.IhaveroomtomoveawaybutIstandmyground,notwantingtorecoilfromhisadvances.Idon’tlookhimintheface,keepingmyheaddown,butIfeelhisbreathagainstmycheekasheleansover,whispering,“Wecanfuck,absolutely,ifthat’swhatyouwant.Butyou’llstillowemeafterward,becauseIdon’tpayforpussy,especiallypussythathasahabitofwhoringitselfouttocops.”
Ashiverripsthroughme.
Mykneesgoweak.
Thatweirdfeelingstilllingersinsideofme,andIrealize,thewholetime,itwashim.Hewasthere.Hefollowedme.Idon’tknowhow,butmygutsayshedid.
“Idon’t—”IalmostsayIdon’twhoremyselfout,period,butthat’salie,technically.I’vedoneitbeforeoutofdesperation.Besides,lifefucksmeeverysingleday,andIjustbendoverandtakeit.Iwhoremyselfouttolifeinanattempttokeepbreathing.“Idon’tknowwhatelseIcangiveyou.Soeitherfuckmeorkillme,becauseI’vegotnothinglefttoofferbeyondthat.”
HestaresatmeasIdropdownontheedgeofthemessybed.He’scontemplatingit.Iknowheis.Iknowhistype.He’sdebatingwhetherornotthatwillbeadequatepayment,ifI’mevenworththethousanddollarsIstolefromhim.
“Youdon’tlooklikeajunkie,soI’massumingit’snotdrugs,”hesays.“Although,thatwouldexplaintheprostitution.”
Igrimace.“I’mnotaprostitute.”
“Youjustofferedtofuckmeformoney.”
“Well,yeah,technically,but…”
Idon’tfinishthatbecauseI’mnotsurehowI’msupposedto,ifit’llevenmakesensetohim.Unlikely
“Begforyourlife,”hesaysafteramoment.
Ishakemyhead.
“Begme,”hedemands.“Getonyourknees.”
Ishakemyheadagain.
Reachingbeneathhiscoat,insidehisshirt,hewhipsoutablackgun,pointingitatme,pressingthemuzzleagainstmyforehead.“Beg.”
“No.”
Thewordsoundsweak,butIknowhehearsit.Icutmyeyesathim,everythinginsideofmetaut,likeastringclosetosnappingfrombeingpulledindifferentdirections,alreadythreadbare.
Hestaresatme,hisexpressionblank,hisfingeronthetrigger.
Slowly,somethinginhimshifts,thecornerofhismouthtwitching,theslightesthintofasmirktugginghislips.Thesightofitmakesmyheartpauseforthesecondtimetonight,losingrhythmforjustamoment.Idon’tknowwhattomakeofit.Whythehellishesmiling?
“You’regoingtopaybackeverypenny,”hesays,“plusinterest.Anextrahundredforeverydayittakesyou.Yougotme?”
“Yes.”
Helowersthegun,tuckingitaway,beforesnatchingthemoneyoutofmyhand.Heturnsthen,likeheplanstojustleave,butmyvoicecallsout,stoppinghim.“Wait.”
“What?”
“Idon’tevenknowwhoyouare.HowamIsupposedtopayyouifIcan’tfindyou?”
Heshrugs.“Figureitout,Scarlet.”
***
“Figureitout,Scarlet,”IgrumblemockinglyasIshovethedoorawayfromthecinderblockatMystic,backhereforthesecondtimetonight.
Atwork.Onmydayoff.Again.Bullshit
Ikeeptomyself,notbotheringwithanyone,untilIreachtheofficeandtaponthedoor,hopingGeorgeisaround.Ihearshufflinginside,breathingasighofreliefuntilitopensandIcomeface-to-facewithsomebodywhoisn’twhoIwanttosee.Ugh
SlickRick,theassholenamedRicardo,theonewhoclearlyhasn’tyetsucceededinsendingamessagetotheguytheycallScar.
“Youneedsomething,cupcake?”heasks,eyesscanningme.I’mwearingtheequivalentofpajamas,yethestillgawksatmelikeI’mindecentorsomething.
“Ineedtoseetheboss,”Isay,pushingpasthimintotheoffice.
Idon’tmakeitfarbeforehegrabsmyarmtostopme.
“He’sbusy,”hesays.“Comebacklater.”
Iyankawayfromhim.“Icanwait.”
Georgeissittingathisdesk,onthephone.Hisraisedvoiceechoesthroughtheroom,soenrageditkeepsmefromapproaching.Instead,IlingerbytheentranceasRicardoshutsthedoorandtakesaseat,rubbinghishandsalongthethighsofhisblackslacks,likehispalmsmightbesweaty.Notgood.
“Whatthefuckdoyoumeantheysaidnothing?”Georgeyells.“Howdoyougetrobbedwhentheysaynothing?Huh?What,theywalkinandyoujusthandoverthemoney,theydon’tevenhavetoask?”
Hepauseslongenoughtotakeadeepbreath,longenoughforwhoever’sonthelinetotrytoexplain,butitdoesnothingtocalmGeorgedown.
“Idon’tcare!”heyells.“There’snoexcuse!Dosomethingaboutit!Nobodystealsfromme!”
Hedoesn’tbotherhangingup,insteadslamminghisphonedownonthedesk,overandoverandover,shatteringthescreen.Idon’teventhinkhenoticesmehere,tunnelvisionsendinghisattentionstraighttoRicardo.“Whyhasn’tthatthievingsonofabitchbeendealtwith?”
“I’mworkingonit,”Ricardosays.“Icalledhim,tryingtogetanothermeeting,andhislackeysaidhewasbusy.”
“Busyrobbingme!”
I’malmostinclinedtochimein,toaskifthey’retalkingaboutScar…becauseifso,hewasactuallybusystalkingmetomyapartment,butIremainsilentinstead.Notmyproblem.
“I’lltryagain,”Ricardosays,“rightnow.”
Ricardogetsup,slippingoutoftheoffice.George’sgazetrailshimbutstallsonme.Shit.“Youneedsomething,Morgan?”
“I,uh…wasjusttryingtoseeaboutmaybepickingupsomemoreworkthisweek?”
That’snotwhatIwanted.
IwantedtogetsomeinformationaboutScar,butI’mprettysurethat’satopicIshouldn’tbringupatthemoment.
“Comebacktomorrow,”hesays,shovingoutofhischair.“Idon’thavetimetodealwithyourschedulerightnow.”
“Oh-kay,”Imumbleashestormspastme,leavingmeintheofficealone.Iglancearound.Nocamerasinhere.Idon’tknowhowlonghe’sgoingtobegone,soImakeitfast,scoopinguphisdiscarded,shatteredphone,muttering,“Pleasework.”
DingDingDing
Itworks.
Screenlightsup,askingforthesecuritycode.Shit.Iimmediatelytrytheusualcombinations,repeatingnumbersandbirthdays,beforehitting1-2-3-4androllingmyeyeswhenitopens.Iscrollthroughhiscontacts,findinganumberlistedunderScar.Openingthetopdeskdrawer,Ipulloutapen,jottingthenumberdownonmyhandbeforereturningthephonetohowIfoundit.Idropthepenbackintothedrawer,seeingthecashstilljustlyingtherethatIgavehim.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuckit
Isnatchitup,shovingitinmypocket,beforeshuttingthedraweragainandheadingforthedoor,runningrightintosomeoneassoonasIstepout.
“Whoabuddy,”IsayasRicardoappearsinfrontofme.
Thatwasclose.
Henarrowshiseyesatme.“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Leaving,”Isay,tryingtomovewhenhegrabsmyarmforthesecondtimetonight.
“Whatwereyoudoing?”
“PrettysureIdon’tanswertoyou,”Isay,yankingaway,“sokeepyourhandstoyourself,cupcake.”
Ileave,becausethere’snowayI’mhangingaroundhere.Themoneyfeelslikeit’sburningaholeinmypocket,glowinglikeabeacon,screamingthief…thief…thief…
Oncebackinmyapartment,Iheadformyblackduffelbag,scouringthroughittopulloutmycheaplittlecellphone,flippingitopen.Dead.Pluggingitintothecharger,Iwaituntilitcomesalivebeforepunchinginthenumbersscribbledonmypalm,callingScar.
Itrings…andrings…andrings.
Voicemailpicksup.
“It’s,uh…me…whatever.I’msureyouknowwhoIam.I’vegotyourmoney,socomegetit,Iguess.”
Iflipthephoneclosed,staringatitforamomentbeforetossingitbackinthebag.I’mnotsurehowlongit’lltakehimtoshowup,butIhopehemakesitquick.
Iwanttobedonewiththis.
Ihavemoreimportantthingstodealwith.ChapterSeven
“Whereisshe?”
TheTinMan’svoicewasangrierthanthelittlegirlhadeverheardit,lacedwithbittervenomashehissedeverysyllable.Shetrembled,hidinginthebottomofthekitchenpantry,tuckedbehindsomeboxes.
Oneweek.
She’dbeenatthathouseforsevenlongdays,andeveryminutethatpassedmadeherhateitmoreandmore.Itmadeherhatehim.Shehatedhimmorethanshe’deverhatedanybody,morethanBuzzandWoodyhatedSidfromnextdoor.
Hewashorrible
Herstomachgrowledasshechewedonapieceofdrybreadthatshe’dstolenfromthecounter,hopingitwouldsoakupallofherqueasiness,butitwasn’tworking.
“Idon’tknow,”anothermansaid,oneoftheflyingmonkeys,theonewhostuckclosesttotheTinMan.HewasmoreliketheCowardlyLion,shethought,becausehewasbig,andlookedmean,butmaybehewasmoreofasoftie,becausetheTinManspookedhimsometimes.
Butthenagain,theTinManspookedeverybody
“Unacceptable,”theTinMangrowled.“Findher!Youhearme?Iwillnotdothisagain.Iwanttoknowwhereshewentandwhatsheisdoing.Now!”
“Yes,Vor,”theCowardlyLionmuttered,stompingoutofthekitchenastheTinManlosthistemper,glassshatteringagainstthewallnearthepantry.Thelittlegirlwhimpered,nearlychokingonthebread,andtriedtocrawlfurtherbackintotheshadowsasfootstepscameherway.
Thedooropened,lightblastingher.Thosecoldgrayeyesmethergaze,afrownonhisface.Guesshefoundme.Hestaredatherinstrainedsilencebeforecrouchingdown,gettingonherlevel.“Whatareyoudoinginthere?”
Sheshrugged.
Hescannedher,pursinghislips.TheTinManworeafresh,crispsuitthesamecolorashiseyes.Itmadehimlookevenmorerobotic,likehereallyhadonarmor.Hisgazeshiftedtothehunkofbreadsheclutchedashescruncheduphisnose.“Youstink.”
Herbrowfurrowed.
“Youhavebecomeferal,”hesaid,hislipstwitchingbeforeasmalllaughescaped,lightandamused,hisangergone,justlikethat.Scary.“Youhavenotbathedallweek.Youarefilthy.Youstillhaveonthesamenightgownandyourhairhasnotbeenbrushed.”
Shescowled,knowingthatwastrue.Shewasdirty,andsheprobablydidstink,butitdidn’tmatter.Shewasjustwaitingforhermothertocome.Shepromisedshewouldfindher.
“Ihavebeenpatientwithyou,”hesaid.“Youhidefromme.Youavoidme.Ihavenotpunishedyouforbreakingtherules.YouleaveyourroomwhenItellyounotto,yousnubmykindness,refusetoeatwhatIhavesentupandinsteadchoosetostealfrommykitchen.Yousteal.Iunderstandyouareupset,kitten.Yourmotherhashurtyou.Shehurtme,too.”
“Youhurther,”thelittlegirlsaid.“YoumadeMommycry.”
“IknowIdid,”hesaid,notdenyingthat,“butshegavemenochoice.”
“Why?”
“Thatisnotaquestionweask.Itdoesnotmatter.Butweareherenow,youandI,andsheisnot,sowemustlearntolivewithouther…together.”
Thelittlegirlshookherhead.
“Youwillobeyme,”hesaid.
Sheshookherheadagain.
Hedidn’tlikethatanswer.
Reachingintothepantry,hegrabbedherarm,yankingheroutofitandthrowingheracrosstheroom.Sheskiddedalongthekitchenfloor,droppingherbread,stunned,andstartedtocower,knockingastooloutofthewayasshepressedbackagainstthebar.
TheTinManmovedtowardher.
“Youwillobeyme,”hesaidagain,theangerreturningtohisvoice.“Youcaneithercooperateandbehappyhere,orIcanmakeeverymomenttortureforyou.Understand?”
Shenoddedslowly.
“Useyourwords,”hedemanded.
“Yes,”shewhispered.
“Yeswhat?”
“Yes,sir.”
Hecroucheddown,reachingforher,ignoringthefactthatsheflinched.Hegraspedherchin,histouchfirmashepulledherfacetowardhim,mereinchesofspacebetweenthem.Itmadeherheartraceandherbodyshakeandnotinagoodway.
“Yes,Papa,”hesaid,“orDaddy,ifyouprefer.Yourchoice,butchooseone,becauseyouwillcallmeasIam.”
Shesaidnothing,tryingtoholdherbreath,wishinghewouldletgo,buthewaited…andwaited…andwaited,staringather.
Hedidn’tevenblink
“Yes…?”heprompted.“Useyourwords.”
“Yes,Daddy.”
Hisexpressionsoftenedashepressedhislipstoherforehead,kissingthespothermotherhadlastkissed,takingitforhimself.Tearsfilledthelittlegirl’seyes,butsheheldthemback,knowingcryingwouldmakeitworse.
“Goodlittlekitten,”hesaid,standingbackup,turningawaywithoutanotherlook.“Gocleanyourselfup.Ihavesomethingtodo.IwantyoubathedbythetimeIreturn,andIwantthatnightgownburned.IfyoustillstinkwhenIgetback,Iwillhoseyouoffinthebackyard.”
Thelittlegirlmaynothaveknownmuch,butsheknewenoughtobelievehim.Hemeantthosewords.ChapterEight
Pickingupthecheapsquarecoasterfromthebar,Isetitonitscornerandattempttospinit,watchingasitwobblesandfallsrightover.Aclichéinakiltgrinsupatmefromit,discolored,partsflakedofffromasplashofrumdestroyingthepulpboard.
WhistleBinkie.
It’sScottish,obviously,butwhothehellknowswhatitmeans?Probablysomethingashorriblystereotypicalastherestoftheplace.Asfuckingformulaicasmylifeisbecoming.Ithinkaboutaskingthebartender,figuringifanyoneknows,itwouldbehim,butthatwouldmeaninterruptingthebabblingblondesittingtomyleft,andthat’snothappening,consideringI’msupposedtobelisteningtowhatevershe’sgoingonabout—puppiesorkittensorrainbows,Idon’tknow.
Besides,Idon’treallygiveashit.I’mjusttryingtodistractmyselfuntilBlondie’sgoodandlitandwillingtobendoverformeinthebathroom.
Which,judgingfromtheslurredgigglingthatreachesmyearsasahandslidesalongmythigh,isprobablysoon…
Ishifttowardher,justenoughtoseeher,butnotenoughtogiveherafull-onviewofmyscar.Sheknowsit’sthere,ofcourse—shesawitwhenIwalkedinafterteno’clocktonight,andshe’sspentthepasttwohoursjustbarelystoppingherselffromaskingmehowIgotit.Womenlikeabadboywithatragicbackstory.Maybeit’sthethrillofit,theexcitementofbeingwithsomeonedangerous,ormaybeit’sbiological,somethingrooteddeepwithinthem,thosemotheringgenesthatmakeswomenwanttonurturethosetheworldturnsitsbackon.
Yousee,menandwomen,we’rewireddifferently.Womenlookatmeandthink,‘poorbaby,hejustneedssomelove’,whereasmen?Mentakeonelookatmyfaceandthink,‘stayawayfromthatmotherfucker’.Butgoaheadandtellawomanthat.TellherI’mdangerous.Tellhertostayaway.
It’lljustmakeherwantmemore.
“You’rebeautiful,youknow,”IsaywhenBlondiestopschatteringlongenoughformetochimein.It’snotalie.Sheisbeautiful,butallwomenareintheirownway,aren’tthey?
Well,allofthemexceptformymother,butIdon’tknowifwomanisthewordIwouldusetodescribeher.Shewasmoreofaragingbitch.
Blondie’scheekstingepink,agrinonhergloss-coatedlips.Herpostureloosensmoreassheleansintome,givingmeawhiffofherstrong,floweryperfume.
Mynosetwitches.
“CanIaskyousomething?”sheasks,hervoicedroppinglow,thesyllableslazilytumblingfromhertongue.“Your,uh…scar.”Shewavesherfingerinthedirectionofmyface.“Howdidthathappen?”
Istarttoanswer,concoctingabullshitsobstorytoavoidspillingmytruthtosomeoneIdon’tknow,someoneI’llneverknowbeyondwhatherpussyfeelslike,whenthestoolontheothersideofmejerksout,thewoodenlegsscratchingagainstthefloor.
Thenoiseisirritating.
Icringe
Somethingslapsdownonthebarinfrontofme,ontopofthecoaster,coveringthelittleScottishman.
“Hepissedoffthewrongwoman,I’mguessing,”asugaryvoiceinterrupts,socloseit’slikeshe’sspeakingrightinmyear.“He’sgotthekindoffaceyoucan’thelpbutwanttofuckup.”
Blondie’seyeswiden,likeshe’shorrifiedsomeonewouldsaysomethingsocruel,likeshe’soffended,butallIfeelisaslightstirring,abattleinsideofmebetweenamusementandannoyance.
I’mnotsurewhichsensationisgoingtowinthatwar.
“Well,she’snotentirelywrong,”Isay,glancingatthebar,athickstackofcashgreetingme.“Itwasaman,though.”
Shescoffs.“Somefloozy’shusband,then.”
Ipickthemoneyup,shiftingawayfromBlondietorelaxbackagainstthestool.Myeyesflittotheright,totheexasperatedbrunette,hereyesnotsodoe-likeanymore.They’renarrowed,aimedatme,herarmsfoldedacrossherchest.
Scarlet.
Herguardedstanceonlyentertainsmemore,asmirktuggingmylipsasIsortthroughthecash,countingit.It’sbeenalmostaweeksinceIconfrontedher,whichmeanstheinterestrackedupquickly.Afewhundreds,sometwenties,andashitloadofones…moreonesthanI’veeverheldatonetimebefore.
“It’sallthere,”shesays,hervoiceturningasdefensiveasherpresence
Iignorethatandkeepcounting,absentlyrunningthroughnumbersasmygazetrailsher.Herflimsycoatcoversmostofwhatshe’swearing,leavingonlyblackfishnetsvisible.Blackhighheelspeekoutofabaghangingfromhershoulder,insteadofbeingonherfeetwheretheybelong.Thick,darkmakeupsurroundshereyesasagoldenglowradiatesfromhercheeks.Someofitissmudged,likeshe’sbeenwearingitforawhile,butherdeepredlipsticklooksfresh.
Sheshiftspositionwhenmygazelingersonhermouth,likeshe’suncomfortablewithmyattention,herskinshimmeringunderthedimbarlights,flecksofglittercoatingher.
Iturnbacktothemoney,sayingnothinguntilIfinishcounting.“There’sonlythirteenhundredhere.”
“Ialreadygaveyouthreehundred,”shesays.“Thatmakessixteenhundred…thethousandItook,plusanextrasixhundred,sinceittookmesixdays.”
“Sevendays,”Isay,glancingatmywatch.“Youmissedmidnightbyabouttwentyminutes.”
Sheblanches,jawgoingslack.“That’sbullshit.I’vebeentryingtogetaholdofyouforaweek!Youhaven’tansweredanyofmycalls!”
Huh.“Youcalledme?”
“Yes!”
Ipullmyphonefrommypocket,openingmycalllist.
Missedcall
Missedcall
Missedcall
Allblockednumbers.
“See?”shesays.“Lookatallthosemissedcalls!”
“Number’sblocked,”Isay,puttingthephoneaway.
“So?”
“So,Idon’ttakecallsfromcowards.”
Sheblinksrapidly.“Coward?Ileftyouvoicemails!”
“Idon’tlistentothose.Andbeforeyouevensayit,Idon’ttext,either.”
“That’sjuststupid,”shesays.“You’vebeennowhere.I’velooked.Andpeopleknowwhoyouare,sure,butnobodyknowsyou.Theydon’tknowwheretofindyou.Alltheyhaveisthisstupidphonenumberthatyouneverseemtoanswer.Howisthatmyfault?”
“Toughbreak,”IsayasIpullmywalletoutofthebackpocketofmyjeans.Ishovethewadofcashin,barelyabletofolditbeforeputtingitaway.“Youshouldgetbetterfriends.”
“Thatis…wow.”Shelaughs,notastitchofhumortothesound.“Idon’tknowwhatIdidtodeservethis,butImustbetheworstpersonintheworldtohavestumbleduponyou.”
Idon’trespondtothat,watchingherposturechange,outragewashingawayallrestraint.Sheyankshercoatopen,alittleblackdressgreetingmebeneath.Shepatsherselfdown,reachingintoherbraandyankingoutastackofbills.Moresingles.Shecountsthem,flickingthroughthemoneysoheatedlyI’mexpectinghertoripafew.
Shakingherhead,shetossesthecashonthebarinfrontofme.“Twenty-ninedollars.Oh,and…”Shereachesintothebagonhershoulder,pullingoutasmallzipperedpouch.Sheholdsitupsidedownabovethebar,afewcoinsspillingoutofit.Shescowls.“Like,sixty-sixcents.”
“Lookatthat,”Isay,snatchingupthemoney—eventhechange—andshovingitinmypocket,notbotheringtoputitinmywalletthistime.“Onlyseventydollarsandthirty-fourcentstogo.”
Shestormsaway,nearlyknockingoverthestoolasshegoes,chargingthroughthebaranddisappearingoutsideintothecoldnight.Iturninmyseatagain,facingBlondie,notsurprisedtoseeshe’swatchingmewarily,nodoubttryingtomakesenseofthatexchangeinherdrunkenstate.
“Wherewerewe?”IbrushacurlfromBlondie’sface,myfingertipsgrazingherwarmcheek,makingtheblushreturn.“Oh,right…myscar.”
IlaunchintoastoryaboutadoomedafternooninCentralParkwithmyfamily,howwewitnessedamobhitandbecamecollateraldamageintheprocess.Leavenowitnessesbehind.Isurvived,vowingvengeanceonthosethatattackedus.I’vegothereatingoutofthepalmofmyhand,moreherothanvillaininhermind,asIplaceahandonherkneeandslowlyrunitupherthigh.I’mabouttotakeitfurtherwhenthedoorburstsopen.Coldnesssweepsthroughthebar,footstepsloudastheystompmyway,eventhoughthewomanisinherbarefeetforsomereason.She’sfuckingcrazy
Scarletshovesinbesidemeagain,holdingablackleatherwallet.Sheflipsitopen,thedriver’slicenseofsomemiddle-agedwhiteguygreetingmefromtheplasticwindowinside.Sheraidsitforcash,countingoutloud.
“Twenty…thirty…forty…fifty…fifty-five…sixty…sixty,uh,seven.”Shegroans.“You’vegottabekiddingme.”
“Didyoujustpickpocketsomeoneelsetopayme?”
Sheshovesthemoneymyway.“Saveyourself-righteouspanderingforthefloozyoverthere.I’mthree-dollarsshort.”
“Andthirty-fourcents,”Ipointout,takingthecash.
“Andthirty-fourcents,”shemocks.“Unbelievable.”
“I’llgiveittoyou,”Isay.“Thefewdollarsyou’remissing.”
“Really?”
“It’llcostahundreddollarsforeverydayittakesyoutopaymeback,ofcourse,butsure…”
Shegroans.“Ofcourse.”
Hergazescansthebar,settlingonthebartenderasheheadsourgeneraldirection.It’sthesameonefromeveryothertime.HegavemeabottleofrumassoonasIsatdownagain.He’slearning.
IwatchasScarlet’sexpressionshifts,aflitofasmileonherlips.Sheshovesthestoolfurtherawaytogetclosertothebar,reachinguponhertiptoestoleanacrossit,gatheringhisattention.Heapproaches,lookingatmewarily,likehe’sassessingwhetherornotshe’swithmerightnow,beforefocusinghisattentiononher.There’saglintinhiseyes,apparentlydecidingshe’sfairgame.
Hesmiles.“Hey,Morgan.”
Shearchesaneyebrow,herfacelightingup.“Youremember.”
Hervoicechangeswhenshesaysthat,growingsweeter.She’sexaggeratingeverysyllable,blatantlyflirting.
Iwonderifshe’dbedoingthatifsheknewhewastheonewhorattedherouttome.
“Ofcourse,”hesays.“WhatcanIgetforyou?”
“Well,uh,actually…”Hersmilegrowssheepishasshegentlybitesdownonherbottomlip,amomentofsilencepassingbeforeshewhispers,“Iwaskindofhopingyou’ddomeafavor.It’stotallyokayifyoucan’t,Icompletelyunderstand,andIreallyhatetoask…”
“Whatdoyouneed?”
“Toborrowfourdollars,”shesays.“LikeIsaid,youcantellmeno,butit’sjustthat,youknow,it’sbeenalongnight,and…”
“Oh,don’tworryaboutit,”hesays,pullingawadofcrumpledcashfromhispocket.Tips.Hewadesthroughit,handingoverfoursingles.Hedoesn’tquestionit,justdishesoutwhatsheasksfor.
Shetakesthemoney,beamingattheguy.“Ohmygod,you’remyhero.Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou!”
Heatrushesuphisneck,flushinghisfaceashelaughsabit.“It’sjustacouplebucks,nobigdeal.”
Hewandersofftohelpanothercustomer.Thesecondheturnstheotherdirection,Scarlet’ssmiledims.Sheshovesthemoneyatme.“Nowthatguyisagentleman.”
Igrabit.“He’sadoormat.Apussy.Aparasite.”
“Saystheassholewhojustbledmedry.”
“Ididn’t,”Isay,lookingherintheeyes,myvoicelow.“Icould’ve,though.Icould’veslityourthroatandtookyourlifeinstead…could’veturnedthatredroomjustalittlebitredderwhileyourlittlecopfriendtookyoufrombehind,ifyouwould’vepreferreditthatway.”
ThecolordrainsfromScarlet’scheeksasthesparkdimsinhereyes.It’sfleeting,aflashofemptiness,likeshe’snothingmorethanashellofahumanCold.Idon’thavetowrapmyhandsaroundherthroattokillher,no…thosewordstaketheliferightoutofher.
SheknowsIwatchedthem.
SeemstheyweretoopreoccupiedtonoticemypresenceasIlurkedaroundthatnight.Andthelookthatpassesacrossherfacerightnow?Sheworeitthen,too.Sheworeitashefuckedher.Notastitchofenjoyment.Notastitchofanything.Itwasasifaswitchgotflippedinsideofher,shuttingoffherhumanity,turningherintoapuppetwithstrings.Hefuckedher,yeah,buthedidn’tfuckher.Whatevermadeupwhosheisvanishedthemomentthemanputhisfilthyhandsonher.
Thelookisshort-lived,though,liferushingrightbackintoher.Hernostrilsflare,handsclenchingintotightfists,likemaybeshewantstohitme,likemaybeshe’sconsideringclockingmerightintheeyeforhavingthenervetowitnesssomethingshewantedtogounseen.Sheshovescloser,brazenlypressingupagainstme,hervoicebarelyawhisperasshesays,“Youprobablyshould’vekilledme.”
“Andwhy’sthat,Scarlet?”
Shehesitates,likeshedoesn’tknowhowtoanswermyquestion,andturnstoleaveasshesays,“Youwouldn’tunderstand.”
Isnatchaholdofherarm,keepingherthere.
I’mnotdone.
Hereyesshootdaggersmyway,herhandsstillballedintofistsasshetriestoyankaway,butmygripisfirm.Heatradiatesoffofher,likeangerisliterallyburninguphercore,anexplosionimminent.Itmightbefuntowatchhergokaboom
“Letgoofme,”shesays,hergazeonmyhand.“Now.”
“Sitdown,”ItellherasInodtotheemptystool,looseningmyholdonherarm.
Shepullsaway.“WhythehellwouldIdothat?”
“BecauseItoldyouto.”
Shescoffs,dramaticallyrollinghereyes.Itstrikesmeaswrong.Childish.Thewomanhasasparkinher,afirerunningwild,butthatkindofimmaturityseemsbeneathsomeonewithbrassballsofhercaliber.Sure,Idon’tknowher,somaybeshereallyisjustabrat.I’vemetmyfairshareofthosesincecomingtoNewYork.Hell,I’vefuckedmyfairshareofthem.Butmyintuitiontellsmesomethingdifferent.
Besides,I’veseenherinnocentact.Sheplayspeoplelikethey’reapianoandshe’sChopin,poundingawayattheirkeys,andtheignorantfoolsdon’tevenhearhermusic.Ihearit,though.It’sprettygoddamnloudtomyears,thekindofmusicthatresonateswiththedeepest,darkestpartsofthesoul…orwhateverbitofityoumighthaveleft.HerownlittleFuneralMarch.Dun,dun,da-dun…
“Sitdown,”Isayagain,thistimeshovingthestooltowardthebar,damnnearpinningherwithit.“Youlooklikeyoucoulduseadrink.”
“DoIlooklikesomeonewhocanaffordadrink?”
Myeyesscanherwhensheasksthat,knowingshedoesn’thaveapennytohernameatthemoment.It’scurious,though,whyshedoeswhatshedoesifshe’snotrollinginmoney…
“Sitdown,”Isayforthethirdtime,“beforeImakeyou.”
“I’dseriouslyliketoseeyoutry,”shesays,butdespitethosewords,sheslipsupontothestoolbesideme,notputtingupnearlyasmuchofafightasIexpected.WhileItendtoappreciatepeoplesurrendering,it’sapity,becauseIprobablywould’veenjoyedmakingher.
Ileanherway,mymouthnearherear.“Goodgirl.”
“I’mnotsittingherebecauseyoutoldmeto,”shesaysangrily.“I’vejusthadareallyshittynight,yeah,areallyshittylife,soIcoulduseadrink.Butdon’tthinkthismeansI’mstayinghereforyou,orbecauseofyou,orthatI’minterestedinhavingathreesomewithyouandGoldilocksoverthere,becausethat’snothappening.”
“Notafanofthreesomes?”
“Notafanofyou.”
“Ah,that’scrazy,”Isay,snatchinguptheemptyshotglassthebartendergavemeearliertonight.IpoursomerumintoitbeforeshovingitScarlet’sway.“Everyonelikesme.”
Shepicksitup.“Nobodylikesyou.”
IgrinasIturnbacktoBlondie.Evenshedoesn’tseemtobefondofmeatthemoment,annoyancecrossingherfaceassheglaresinScarlet’sgeneraldirection.“Youlikeme,don’tyou,beautiful?”
Hersky-blueeyesturnmyway,nolongercloudyfromthealcoholhaze.No,thatwindowofopportunityhaspassed.Herexpressionisguarded,likemaybeshe’sseeingmeforthefirsttime,self-preservationrearingitsuglyhead.Yousee,whilewomenlikebadboys,theydon’treallylikethem.Theywantabadboyinreputation,notoneinexecution.Theydon’twanttoseeit.Theydon’twanttoberemindedwe’renotgoodpeople,thatit’snotarolewe’replaying.
Ithappenstimeandtimeagain.
YoushootonescumbaginfrontofaprettylittleblondeandsuddenlyyougofrombeingJamesDeantoCharlieManson.
Womendon’tlikeCharlieManson.
Well,thosewithanysensedon’t…
Blondieshovesherstoolbackandmutters,“Ineedtousetherestroom,”beforewalkingoff,grabbinghercoatandcarryingherpursealongwithher.She’snotcomingback.Thatmuchisobvious.
“Huh.”Iturnbackaround.“Guessnobodydoeslikeme.”
“Toldyou,”Scarletsays.
“Ah,well,thatwasforthebest,”IsayasScarletbringstheshottoherlips.“Iprobablywould’veshovedherheadinthetoiletwhenIfuckedherinthebathroom.Might’vedrownedherbyaccident.”
ThosewordscomefrommylipswhenScarlettriestoswallowtheliquor,catchingheroffguard,itseems,becauseshechokes.Rumspewsoutasshecoughs,hereyeswatering.Herfacewouldbebrightredifitweren’tforallthemakeup.Shegrabsherchest,tryingtotakeadeepbreath,asthebartenderrushesover.“Morgan?Areyouokay?”
“I’mfine,”shewheezes,notsoundingfineatall,whichmakestheguypanic.He’sthreesecondsawayfromjumpingoverthebar,fromattemptingCPR,andI’mnottheonlyonewhoseesit.Scarletholdsupherhandsinfrontofher,shakingherhead.“Really,seriously,I’mfine.Justwentdownthewronghole.”
Grabbingarag,hewipesdownthebarinfrontofher,stillmakingafuss.“Areyousure?CanIdoanything?”
“Thewomansaidshe’sfine,”Ichimein,slappingheronthebackafewtimes.“Runalongnow,BarBoy.”
Hedoesn’targue,frowningashewalksoff,offeringonlyabrieflookbackather.Scarletcatchesherbreathandscrubsherhandsoverherfaceasshemutters,“I’mstartingtounderstandwhateveryonesaysaboutyou.”
“Andwhat,praytell,dotheysay?Don’tleavemeinsuspensehere.”
“Thatthere’ssomethingseriouslywrongwithyou.”
“Oh,well,Icould’vetoldyouthat.There’salotwrongwithme.”
“Isthatright?”
“Absolutely,”Isay.“Forone,itdoesn’tlooklikeI’llbegettingmydickwettonight,thankstoyou,whichI’dsayiscertainlyaproblem,don’tyouthink?”
“Tragic,”shesays,lookingatme,hermakeupsmudgedevenmorenow.Italmostlookslikebruisesunderherbloodshoteyes.Tragic.Hervoicewastingedwithbitterness,sarcasm,clearlyadefensemechanism,becausethoseeyesthatregardmesilentlyscreamtragedy,thekindthatisn’ttobemadelightof.Thekindoftragedythatbreaksbodiesandstealssouls.Thekindthattwistsdecentpeopleintosociopathicassholes.
Thekindthatturnsbeautifulwomenintoghosts.
Someoneoncetoldmethatevilcansenseitselfinsideofothers,ourheartsbeatinginadifferentrhythmthanmost,playingamorbidsongthatonlyotherevilknows.AndwhileI’mnotsayingshe’sevil,andI’mnotsureI’dcallmyselfit,either,IknowI’vegotdemons,andthosedemonsaresniffingallaroundherrightnow,recognizingsomethingwithinher,somethingnot-very-good.
“Whobrokeyou?”Iask,genuinelycurious.
Whodesecratedsomethingmeanttobesopure?
Sheregardsme,notreactingtothatquestion,notdenyingitintheleastorpretendingtostillbeinonepiece,asshesitsbesideme,thinkingitover.Eventually,sheturnsaway,grabbingmybottleofrumandhelpingherselftoadoubleshot,whichsheswallowswithouthesitation.Sheshudders,closinghereyesandtiltingherheadback,herexpressiondamnnearerotic.
Shelikesit,Irealize.
Sheenjoystheburn.
Can’tsayI’msurprised.
Youburnalittlewitchatthestakeandshe’lllaughinyourface.
Thatshouldn’tturnmeon,Iknow,butfuckifitdoesn’t.
She’dsmile,withoutadoubt.Iknowitnow.IfIwrappedmyhandsaroundherthroat,ifIstrangledtheliferightoutofher,she’dlookmeintheeyesandsmile.Italmostmakesmewanttodoit.Almostmakesmewanttokillher,justtogetthechancetowatchherdie.Mostpeoplegooutontheirknees,whimpering,begging,pissingtheirpantsandsnot-sobbing,likethey’vegotnocontrolovertheirbodies,leakyfuckingfaucetsofdisgrace.It’srepulsive.Butshe’sgotabackbone,oneI’dgetahellofalotofpleasureoutofbending.
“WhosaysI’mbroken?”sheasks,openinguphereyesagain,herexpressioncalm,likethefiresmotheredwhateveremotionsshemight’vebeencontendingwith.
“Ido,”Isay.“Icantelljustbylookingatyou.”
“Andwhat,youthinkyoucanfixme?”sheasks,turninginherstooltofaceme,shiftingherbodycloser,socloseIcansmelltheliquoronherwarmbreathasshewhispers,“Thinkyoucanmakemewholeagain?Savemefromtheworld?Savemefrommyself?Fillmeup,maybefuckthefeelingbackintome,likethebig,strong,manyouare?Makemearealwoman,insteadofabrokenlittlegirl?”
There’sasickeningsweetnesstohervoicethatsendsachilldownmyspine.IfIneverheardathinlyveiled‘fuckyou’before,thatwascertainlyoneforthebooks.Imoveclosertoher,uncomfortablyso,cockingmyheadslightlyasIleanin,watchingasherbodytenses.ShethinksI’mabouttokissher,mymouthjustinchesfromhers,beforeIstop,myvoicegrittyasIsay,“Onthecontrary,Scarlet,Idon’tthinkyouneedtobefixedatall.”
“No?”
“No,”Isay.“Ithinkyou’reperfectthewayyouare.”
Shestaresatmeagain,notmoving.
Thiswoman,shedoesalotofstaring.
Idon’tlikeit.
Hergazeclawsatmyskin,likeshe’stryingtopeelawaylayersandfindwhatmightexistbeneathwhateversheseeswhenshelooksatme.I’musedtothehorrifiedlooks.Itoleratethepityfucks.Men,theylowertheireyes,theyneverlookatmyfacefortoolong,buther?Thislittlethief,barelyfiveandahalffeetofbatteredfleshandbone,staresmerightintheeyeslikeshehasnotafearintheworld.
Butit’sanact,Iknow,becauseeveryoneisafraidofsomething.Everyone.Eventhemostcourageousmanintheworldfearscowardice.Hell,evenIhavefears,butI’mnottellingyouwhattheyare,sodon’tevenaskme.
“Youdon’thavetotellme,”Isay,“butIbetIcanguess.”
Shearchesaneyebrow.Itlooksalotlikeachallenge.
“I’mguessingitwasaman,”Isay,“amanwhosworehewouldsaveyoufromtheworldbutonethatendedupdestroyingyourworldinstead.”
Hercheektwitches.
That’salltheconfirmationIneed.
Withoutresponding,sheshovesherstoolback,awayfromthebar,andstandsup.Shepausesthere,betweenus,lookingmeinthefaceagain.“Sixty-sixcents.”
“What?”
“Youowemesixty-sixcents,”shesays,matter-of-fact.
Iturnaroundinmystool,watchingasshewalksaway,leavingmewiththosewords.Sixty-sixcents.Thecornersofmylipstwitch,amusementfinallywinningthebattle,wipingawayallannoyanceforthemoment.Sheheadsforthedoorjustasitopens,ablastofcoldairrushingthroughthebar,carriedinsidewithagroupofloudguys.White,everysingleoneofthem,theblond-haired,blue-eyedfratboyvariety,three-sheetstothewind.Scarletslamsrightintooneoftheguyssohardshenearlyknockshimonhisass.
BAM
Hestaggersasshegrabsaholdofhim,likeshe’sattemptingtokeeptheguyupright.Herhandslipsintohispocket,yankingoutawallet,asshesays,“Ohmygod,I’msosorry!”
Hegetshiswitsabouthimanddrunkenlygrinsatherlikeshe’stheprettiestthingintheworld,throwinganarmaroundhershoulder.“Nah,it’sokay,babe!Don’ttellmeyou’releaving?Comeon,letmebuyyouadrink!”
“WishIcould,”shesays,“maybenexttime.”
Sheslipsunderhisarm,skirtingaroundhim,pushinghimtowardhisfriends,thewholegrouplaughingastheystaggertowardtheothersideofthebar.Scarletglancesinsidethewallet,scowling,beforetossingitonatablenearbyasshewalksout.
Nocash.
Shakingmyhead,Iturnbacktothebar.Thebartender’sstandinginfrontofme,staringpastme,hiseyesfixedtotheabandonedwalletbythedoor.Heblinksafewtimesasheseemstoputthepiecestogether,turningtowardthegroupofguys,hislipsparting,barelyasoundescapingbeforeIgrabhisarm.Idraghimacrossthebar,yankingsohardthathisheadalmostslamsintomine.
“Mindyourownbusiness,”Isay,“ifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyou.”
Ishovehim,andhestumbles,lettingoutashakybreath.Hedoesn’tutterasinglewordaboutthewallet,heedingmywarning.
Pity,really.
Sinceitseemsthere’snofuckinghappeningtonight,Iprobablywould’veenjoyedsplittinghisheadwideopen.ChapterNine
TheysayDisneyWorldisthehappiestplaceonearth.
Ican’tattesttothat,sinceI’veneverbeen,butI’mprettysureIdoknowwherethemostmiserableplaceis:the60thprecinctinBrooklyn.
“DetectiveGabrielJones,please.”
Thewomansittingatthefrontdesk,OfficerJosephineRimmel,leansbackinherchair,thereceiveroftheancientswitchboardphonetuckedinthecrookofherchubbyneck.Shegreetsmerevulsion,likeI’maskunkstinkingupherlobby,sprayingmyfunkallovertheplace,hermuddybrowneyespickingmeapartassheglowers,likeshe’scontemplatingcallingpestcontroltoaskthemtoexterminatetheverminscurryingaroundherprecinct.
“Hold,please.”Herlongpink-paintedfingernailhitsabuttonontheswitchboard,cuttingoffthecall,beforebarkingalonewordatme:“Name.”
Sheshouldknowmyname.
I’vetoldheritthirty-ninetimes.Notonce.Nottwice.Notevenadozentimes.Thirty-nine.Asoftenaswe’veseeneachother,startingonmyfirstvisittothisbrickandconcretehellholeninemonthsago,you’dthinkwe’dbebestfriendsbynow.Icertainlyrememberhername.IremembereveryexcruciatingdetailI’vebeenforcedtolearnaboutherovertime—likehowshecan’tgoaweekwithoutafreshmanicure,pickingoutanewpinkpolisheverytime,whichmeansI’veseenthirty-fucking-ninedifferentshadesofpussypinkcoatinghernails,butyetshecan’tbebotheredwithsomethingassimpleasmyname.
“Morgan,”Isay.“MorganMyers.”
OfficerRimmelgrabsthephoneagain,dialingtheextensionforGabe’sthird-flooroffice.Idrummychippedred-paintednailsonthetopofthecounterasIwait,mystomachtwistedintightknots,theonlythingkeepingmysicknessatbay.ItringsafewtimesbeforeIcanfaintlyhearhisvoicethroughtheline.
“Uh,yeah,thatwoman’shere…yeah,yeah…okay,surething.”OfficerRimmelhangsup,glaringatme.Itdidn’tescapemynoticethatshedidn’tevenhavetousemyname.“He’llbedownwhenhegetsthechance.”
Sighing,IwalkoverandplopdowninthefirstcheapblueplasticchairIcometointhecrampedlobby,anglingmybodytowhereIcanseetheentrance,makingsurenobodywalksinthatIrecognize.Ishouldn’tbehere.Thisisarguablythemostdangerousplaceformetoshowmyface.Ishouldn’tevenbeinBrooklyn
Mygazescanstheotherswaitinginthelobby,skimmingalongfacesI’veneverseenbefore,unguardedeyesthataren’ttheleastbitworriedaboutmypresence,foreverinsuspenseasIwaitforthatsingularmomentwhererecognitionsparks.It’sboundtohappensomeday.MillionsofpeoplemightliveinNewYorkCity,butthecirclesmostofusruninaresmall.It’sinevitable,Ithink,thatsomeday,I’mgoingwalkinhereandsomebodyisgoingtotakeonelookatmeandknowexactlywhoIam.They’regoingtoknowmystory.They’regoingtoknowmyhistory.
UnlikeOfficerRimmel,they’regoingtoremembermyname,andthenwhat?
Theelevatorpastthefrontdeskdings,opening,beforeIhavetothinkaboutthosepotentialconsequences.Death,ifI’mlucky.Gabestepshalfwayout,graspingtheelevatordoor,holdingitopenandblockingitwithhisbodyashissterneyesseekmeout.Hemotionswithasharpnodofhisheadformetojoinhim,andIstandup,gratefultodayisn’tthedayI’mgoingtobespotted.Islippasthim,ontotheelevator,mysneakersquietagainstthefloor.Gabejoinsme,pressingthenumber‘3’beforerepeatedlyhittingthe‘doorclose’button,poundingagainstit,asifthat’llmakeitworkanyfaster.Assoonasthedoorfinallycloses,theelevatormoving,heleansbackagainstthewall.
Hesaysnothing,buthiseyesspeakvolumesastheyscanme.Up.Down.Up.Down.It’sonlyafewsecondsastheoldcreakyelevatortakesusuptwofloors,butit’saneternityunderhisscrutiny,asheeye-fucksmefromacrossthestiflingconfinedspace.Evenwearinglayeruponlayerofclothes,dresseddowninsweatsandathermallong-sleevedshirtcoveredwithahoodie,ablackknithatpulleddownlow,overmyears,hehasawayofmakingmefeelexposed.Heremindsmeofsomeoneelse…someoneIonceknew,alongtimeago.
Heremindsmeofthemanwhostolemyinnocence.
HelooksatmelikeI’msomethingandnotsomebody
Theelevatordings,openingagain,andGabestepsoffwithoutacknowledgingme,knowingI’llfollow.IkeepmyheaddownasItrailhimtohisofficeinthebackcorner,glasswallssurroundingit,leavingthespaceexposed.Transparency,theyboast,butitdoesn’tmakeadifference,notwhentheygivethemblindstoshutouttheworldiftheychooseto.Andthemomentwe’reinside,Gabeclosestheverticalblind.Ofcourse
“Didyoutalktothem?”Iask.
“Who?”
“Whoeveryouneededtotalkto.Youpromisedyou’dtalktothemaboutmeagain.”
“Oh,yeah…Idid.”
“Youdid?”
“Yep.”Heoffersasmallsmileashepullsmearoundsomybackistohim.Hisarmswindaroundme,hishandsgraspingmybreastsovermyclothes,roughlykneadingthemthroughthethickfabric.“ItalkedtomySargejustthismorningaboutyou.”
“Really?Youdid?”
“Ofcourse,”hesays,leaningdown,forcingmyheadtothesideashislipsfindmyneck,kissingandlicking,nothinggentleaboutit.Hesucksontheskin,sendingsmallbitesofpainthroughme.“ItoldyouIwould,didn’tI?”
“Yes.”
Sicknessstillbrewsinsideofme,butallIcandoisswallowitbackandhopeitstaysdown.Gabe’shandsarealloverme,gropingandtuggingfabric,yankingmypantsdownasheshovesmeflatagainstthethickcherrywooddeskthattakesupmostoftheofficespace,rightontopofstacksofcasefiles.
Inhalingdeeply,Iturntowardthedoor.He’swastingnotimetoday.AsGabeunbuckleshispants,Ireachdownandtouchmyself,tryingtogetaroused.Pain,tome,usuallymeanspleasure,butthere’safinelinethere,oneGabefallsonthewrongsideof.
Peoplewalkby,ignoringwhat’shappening,asGabethrustsinsideofme,bangingagainstthedesk,notbotheringtokeepthenoisedown.Theyallknowwhat’shappeningbutnobodylooks.Nobodycares.Notasingleoneofthempayabitofattentionasheloudlygrunts,gettinghisrocksoff.
Ijustlayhereandtakeit,notbotheringtotouchmyselfanymore.It’sawasteoftime.Awasteofenergy.I’mnotgoingtoenjoyit.Mybodygoeslimp,mymindwanderingaspeoplestrollpast,goingabouttheirbusiness.Justonce,I’dlikesomeonetopeekinside,evenjustaflickeringglance,amomentofcuriositythatforcestheireyestoacknowledgeme.
Doyouknowwhatit’sliketobeinvisible?Doyouknowwhatit’sliketohavetheworldturnitsbackonyou,toturnablindeyetoyourexistence,likeyouneverevenmattered?Doyouknowwhatit’sliketoscreamuntilyourthroatisrawonlytorealizeeveryonetunedyououtlongagoandnobodyheardasingleword?
BecauseIdo.Iknow
ItonlytakesafewminutesforGabetofinish,slumpingover,panting.“Youworkingtonight?”
“Ihavethenightoff,”Isay.
“That’sashame,”hesays.“Iwasgoingtocomeby.Youwould’velikedthat,wouldn’tyouhave?”
“YouknowIwould’ve,”Ilie,becausenothanks
Hemovesawayfromme,flippantlydiscardinghisusedcondomintherecyclingbin.IstareatitasIpullmypantsup.
Islatexrecyclable?
Idon’tthinkso.
Shakingitoff,IwatchGabeashezipshispantsbackup.“So,what’stheplan?”
Heplopsdownintheofficechairbehindthedeskandstartsshiftingthroughthefileshejustfuckedmeontopof.“Theplan?”
“Yeah,theplan,”Isay.“Whatdidtheysay?Whataretheygoingtodoaboutthesituation?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Iblinkafewtimes,thatwordlikeaweightpressingagainstmychest,cuttingofftheairinmylungs.Nothing.“Whatdoyoumeannothing?Youtoldme—”
“ItoldyouI’dtalktothem,”hesays,“andIdid.”
“Butthat’snotright.It’snotfair.It’snotenough!”
Hecutshiseyesatme.“I’mdoingallIcan.”
“Butyou’vedonenothing!Youkeeppromisingmeyou’lldosomething,thatyou’reworkingonit,thatifItrustyou,it’llallworkout,butnothingishappening!”
“Thesethingstaketime.”
“It’sbeenninemonths,Gabe.Ninefuckingmonths.”
“Whatdoyouexpectmetodo,Morgan?Huh?”
“Something,”Isay.“Anything.”
“Itoldyou—I’mdoingallIcan.Andifyouwantmetokeepdoingthat,it’sinyourbestinteresttowatchhowyoutalktome,becauseIcanstop.Icanturnitovertoanotherdetective,maybeevenpassittothesquadatheadquarters,wherethey’llreallydonothing,ifthat’swhatyouwant.”
“WhatIwantisforyoutohelpme,likeyoupromised!”
“Youwantsomehelp,Morgan?”
“Yes!”
“ThenhowaboutIgiveyousomeadvice,”hesays.“Youdugyourselfahole,sweetheart,aholesobigitmightaswellbeagrave.Andthey’regoingtoburyyouinit,firstchancetheyget,unlessyougetout.Butallthisyoukeepdoing?Allthisnoiseyoukeepmaking?You’rejustmakingitallworse.Theholejustkeepsgettingbiggerandbigger.”
“WhatelseamIsupposedtodo?”
Heshrugs.“Forgetaboutit.”
Thosewordsareaslaptotheface.Iflinch
“You’restillyoung,”hecontinues.“Startover,moveon,buildanewlife.Peopledoitallthetime.”
Thoseareprobablythecruelestwordsthathaveeverbeenspokentome,andthat’ssayingsomething,consideringtheworldIlivein.LifestoppedplayingnicewithmewhenIwasjustakid,andIgrewupfastafterthat…fasterthanakidshouldevergrowup.ButIneverletitstopme,Inevergaveup,fightingtomakealifeformyself,alifeofmyown,buildingsandcastlesoutofnothingthatIcouldcallhome.Itwasallstolenfromme,though,inthemidstofastorm,andhetellsmejusttostartover?Togiveup?Tomoveon?
Idon’twanttoreact.Idon’twanthimtoknowhe’sgettingtome.I’mnotgoingtocry,that’sforsure,becauseGabrielJonesisn’tworthasinglefuckingtear.Butthelumpinmythroatkeepsgrowingandgrowing,myeyesstinging,andIknowIneedtogobeforeherealizeshegottome.
Iwalkaway,grabbingtheofficedoorandyankingitopen,slammingitagainstthewallasIstormout.Peoplestopwhatthey’redoing,eyesflickeringmydirection,likethefloorcomestoastandstillatthecommotion.Iheadfortheelevator,slappingthebuttonasIhazardaglancebackatthejudgmentalfaces.
“Oh,nowyouallwanttolook?”Ishoutastheelevatordings,opening.“Youwantmetobendoversotherestofyoucantaketurns,letallofyoubraveboysinbluefuckmeabitmore?”
Istepintotheelevatorandhitthebuttonforthefirstfloor,butbeforethedoorcanclose,whiskingmeawayfromthishellhole,Gabestepsin.Thesecondwestartmoving,heslamshispalmagainstthestopbutton,theelevatorscreechingtoahalt.Aloudbuzzergoesoff.Iknowtheycanhearitonallthefloors.Icanonlyimaginewhatthey’reallthinking.
Probablythathe’sfuckingmesomemore.
Ireachpasthim,attemptingtograbthebuttonsowe’llstartmoving,butheblocksmyhand,shovingmebackagainstthesideoftheelevator.
“Pullthebuttonbackout,”Igrowl.“Now.”
“Youneedtocalmdown,”hesays.“You’remakingascene.”
“Saystheguyholdingmehostageinanelevator.”
“Look,Iknowyou’reupset,butyou’reactingirrational.”
“Irrational?”Ishoveagainsthim,tryingtoforcehimawayfromme.“Fuckyou!”
HenarrowshiseyeswhenIkickhim,sinceshovinghimisn’tworking.Okay,maybethatwasirrational,assaultingapoliceofficer,butwhatever.Hedeservesit.
“We’rebuildingacase,”hesays.“Youknowthat.We’vebeenbuildingacasefordecades,Morgan.Yeah,you’rewaiting,butit’snothingcomparedtothetimethisdepartmenthasputintothiscase.SoIsympathize,Ido,butwecan’tjeopardizeeverythingbecauseofwhatamountstoafuckingcivildispute!”
Iblinkafewtimes.Idon’tevenknowwhattosay.Hecallsitacivildispute,likeit’snothingmorethanapettylittlesquabble.Istayquiet,refusingtolethimseehowmuchthathurtme,andhepullsthebuttonoutsotheelevatorcanmoveagain.
OfficerRimmellooksupwhenIstepintothelobby,hergazeflickeringtowhereGabelingers.Alookcrossesherface,hereyesnarrowingastheyagainseekmeout,watchingmepass.Jealousy,ormaybejustdisgust…Idon’tknow.Doesitmatter?Shedoesn’tknowwhatit’sliketobeme.Shecouldneverunderstand,soshecantakethatlookandshoveituphersnobbishass.
It’searlyevening,theairblisteringasitapproachesdusk.Ipullmyhoodupbeforeshovingmyhandsinmypockets.Keepingmyheaddown,Icutaroundthesideoftheprecinct,headingforthesubway.
Islipthroughthesmallgatheredcrowd,squeezingintoaspotalongtheback.TheFtrainapproachesafterafewminutesandIstepontoit,findinganemptyseattowardthemiddleofthecar.
ThesunissettingbythetimeImakeitbackintothecity,thetraintakingmestraighttotheLowerEastSide.Iwalkthefewblockstomybuilding,myheadstilllowered,despitenolongerbeinginBrooklyn.
Because,whenitcomesdowntoit,nowhereissafeformeanymore…ifIwaseverreallysafeanywheretobeginwith.IusedtothinkIwas,butthenagain,Iusedtobelievealotofthingsthatwerenevertrue.
Like,thatSantaClausbroughtChristmaspresents,andfairygodmotherswerereal,andgoodthingshappenedtogoodpeople,andlovewassomethingeveryonedeserved.
Iusedtobelieveinbighouseswithwhitepicketfences,inperfectfamiliesandhappyendings.Iusedtothinkwhatwasmeanttobewouldinevitablyfindaway,butasthedaysgoby,IstarttowonderifmaybeI’mjustdelusional.Maybethingsonlyhappenifyouforcelife’shand.Youcalllife’sbluffandgoallin,riskinglosingeverythingontheoffchancethatmaybeyou’llwin
Mystomachistwistedinknotsandmylungsburn,everybreathachore.Physicalpainhasnothingonemotionaltorment.Andatleastonceaweek—onceafuckingweekforthepastninemonths—Igetthatfeelinginmychest,thefeelingthattellsmeI’msomehowstillalive,thatmyheartstillexists,somewhere,continuingtobeat,despitethefactthatithadbeenbrutallyrippedout,stolen.EverytimeIgotoBrooklyn,I’mremindedofthelifeIlost,andIhateit…Ihatethefeelingofhelplessness,thereminderofthevoid,butIkeepgoing,Ikeependuring,Ikeepliving…becausetheonlythingworsethangoingtoBrooklynismenotgoingthere.
Iheadintomybuilding,trekkinguptomyapartment,everyoneofthoseone-hundredandeighty-sixstepsfeelingliketorture,darknesssettinginbythetimeIreachthetop.Thedimlightsinthehallsflicker,onlyhalfofthemlit.Iopenmyapartmentdoorandstepinside,shuttingitbehindme,andamabouttohitthelightswitchwhenmovementinmyperipheralstopsme.It’ssubtle,justashadowshifting,notmakingasoundatall,butIknowenoughtoknowit’sthesilentonesthatarethemostterrifying.
Deathdoesn’talwayscomewithascreamandabang,no…death,whenpremature,usuallycomeslikeawhisperonthewind,quietlystalkingyouuntilitcanrobyouofyourlastbreath.
Theshadowmovescloserandmyheartstallsabeatbeforefranticallypounding,echoinginmyears.Ireactfast,reachingundermyhoodie,myhandslippingbeneaththebandofmybraandgrabbingthesmallbutterflyknifetuckedthere.Whippingitout,IflickthelockoffandflipitopenasIswingtowardtheshadow,notgivingitasecondthought.Ithrustthebladeattheformlurkinginthedarkness,swingingandslashing,hittingsomething.Aloudcursecarriesthroughtheapartmentinagrittymalevoice—notthevoiceIexpected,butsonofabitch,it’stoolatetostop,becauseI’vealreadycuthim.
Noturningbacknow.
HegrabsmewhenIjabthebladeathimagain,graspingmyrighthandandsqueezinghardtodisarmme.Shit.Shit.Shit.Beforehecandoanything,beforehecanstabmewithmyownknife,Ithrustmylefthandathim,slammingtheheelofmypalmintohisnosewitheverybitofstrengthI’vegot.
BAM.
It’senoughtogethimtoletgo,catchinghimoffguard,hishandsprotectivelyshieldinghisfaceashecursesagain.Fuck.I’vegottensecondstogetmyselfoutofthisbeforeherecovers.
Ten…nine…eight…
Turning,Imovetowardthedoortorunout,thesecondstickingaway.
Seven…six…five…
Igrasptheknobwhenhegrabsme,hisgripstrong.Fuck,makethatonlyfiveseconds.Hebouncedbackwaytoofast,likeitdidn’tevenfazehim.Ispinhiswayandtrytohithimagain,flailingmyarms,whenheshovesme,throwingmeagainsttheapartmentdoor.
Hisbodyslamsintomine,forcingtheairfrommylungs,theknifesuddenlypressingagainstmythroat.Iblinkafewtimes,otherwisenotmoving,notwantinghimtohavesomeknee-jerkreactionandslitmythroatonaccident.
Orintentionally,either.
JesusChrist,hecould…
Hemight
Althoughmyvisionishazyandit’sprettydamndark,Ieasilymakeouthisface,myeyesscanninghisfeatureswithcaution,lingeringonthescar.Itglowsinthenight,likeajaggedlightningbolt,thesameshadeastheeveningmoonlightstreamingthroughthebarewindows.
Scar.Istilldon’tknowhisrealname.Theman’slikeBeetlejuice…orhell,maybehe’sVoldemort.He’sfuckingBloodyMary.Don’tdaresayhisnameorhemightshowup.Igetwhy,too.He’snotthedevilyouwanttoconjure.ButI’vedealtwithalotofevilinmyshortlife,andthismotherfuckeristheleastofmyproblems.
Or,well,hewas.He’sjustmadehiswayrighttothetopofthelistofpeoplewhowanttohurtme,andhe’scertainlyinthepositiontodoit.Bloodstreamsfromhisnose,butheeitherdoesn’tnoticeordoesn’tcareaboutit,toofixatedonstaringmeintheeyes,notahintofanythinginhisexpression.
Blank.
Myeyelidsflutterashedrawstheslickbladealongmyskin,justhardenoughformetofeelit,beforehepressesthetipoftheknifeagainstaspotonthesideofmyneck.Iwince.Stingingpainripplesfromthespotasthesharppointofthebladebreakstheskin,drawingblood.
Hecutsme.
“That’stwicenow,”hesays,leaningclosetowhisperthosewordsinmyear,pinningmybodyagainstthedoor.Theheatradiatingoffofhimswaddlesme.“Twiceyou’vecomeatmewithaknife.Therewon’tbeathirdtime,Scarlet.Youevertryitagain,I’llkillyou.I’llcutyoutopieceswhileyoubegmetostop.”
Heturnshishead,hisnosebrushingagainstmycheek,smearinghisbloodonme…bloodIdrewhittinghim.Iclosemyeyes,stillnotmoving,theknifeagainstmyneck.Itwouldn’ttakemorethanaflickofhiswristtoshovethebladein.Helingersthere,therustycopperodorofbloodgreetingmynostrilsasitmixeswithhisscent.Idon’tknowifit’ssoaporcologneorsomethingelseentirely,butthemansmellscitrusy,freshandvibrant.Bloodorange
Warmbreathghostsacrossmyskin,andIexhaleshakilythesecondIfeelhistongue.Itrunsalongmycheek,tastingmyskin,lickinghisbloodrightbackoff.Theknotsinmystomachtightenasmykneesweaken,anonslaughtoftinglescoursingthroughme,assaultingmysenses.
JesusChrist,he’sdemented.There’ssomethingseriouslywrongwiththisguy.Ishouldberepulsed,andpartofmeisterrified,butthat’sthepartthatonceusedtobeaninnocentlittlegirl.
That’snotmeanymore.
Reachingaroundhim,Ifistthehaironthebackofhishead,weavingmyfingersthroughthelocksandyankinghard,pullinghismouthawayfrommycheek.Agrimacetwistshisexpressionasaflareofrageburnsinhiseyes.ThatwaseitheragravemistakeIjustmadeoroneofthebestideasI’veeverhadinmylife.Passionemanatesfromhimlikeheatfromafire,warmingtheairbetweenussomuchIdamnnearstartsweatingashegrowls.
Ohgod,hegrowls
Thesoundpulsesthroughme,likeelectricitytomysoul.Idon’tknowwhatthehellI’vegottenmyselfinto,butwhenheslamshisbodyagainstmineagain,shovingmebackintothedoor,instincttakesover.Igowithit,grabbingontohim,wrappingmyarmsaroundhimashedropstheknife.Itclatterstothefloorbetweenus,andIconsider,forasplitsecond,divingforit,butthethoughtiswipedawaywhenhekicksit,sendingthedamnthingslidingacrossthelivingroom.Smart
“Whatturnsyouonmore?”heasks,hishandsgraspingmythighsashepullsmeup.“Thefightingorthefucking?”
Iwrapmylegsaroundhiswaist,bracingmyself,clingingtohimashethrusts,theforceofhishipsslammingmeintotheshakydoor.Sparksigniteinsideofmeassomethinghardrubsthatsweetspotbetweenmythighs,hittingmyclitdespiteallofthefabric,sendingjoltsthroughmybody.
Ohfuck.
“WhatmakesyouthinkI’mturnedon?”Iask,myvoicebreathless,earningachucklefromhim,thesoundspawninggoosebumpsacrossmyskin.
“Callitahunch.”
Agaspescapesmythroatwhenhethrusts,againandagain,likehe’sfuckingmewithourclotheson,slammingintomewithsomuchvigorIcanbarelythink.Igrindagainsthim,desperateforfriction,bangingmyheadagainstthedoorasItiltmychin,hismouthagainfindingmyflushedskin.
Histeethnipalongmyjawline,biting,scraping,nothinglovingabouthislips,nothingsweetabouthistongue,ashemakeshiswaytomyearandwhispers,“Iwoulddestroythatpussy.”
“Youthinkso?”Iask,thosewordsmakingpartsofmetinglethathaven’tcomealiveinquiteawhile,likeamatchbeingstruckandfinallyfindingaflame.
“Withoutadoubt,”hesays,notlettingup.PressurebuildsinsideofmeasIrunmyfingersthroughhisthickhair.“I’dwreckyouforanymanthatcamealongafterme,putthemalltoshame,becauseI’dgiveyouexactlywhatyouwanted.”
“HowcouldyoupossiblyknowwhatIwant?”
“Because,”hesays,grabbingafistfulofmyhairandtwistingmyhead,forcingmetoturnawayfromhim.“Lookingatyouislikelookinginamirror,Scarlet.”
Hekeepshisgriponmyhair,holdingmyheadthere,pinningmetothedoorwithhisbodyashisotherhandslidesbetweenus,slippingdownthefrontofmypants.Roughfingertipsrubmyclit,andIletoutacryatthejarringsensation.
Holyfuck,I’mclose
Icanfeelitineveryinchofmybody,allthewaydowntomybones—thetension,thetightening,thedesperateneedforunravelingasitbuildsandbuildsandbuilds.Heyanksmyheadfurthertotheside,paincreepingacrossmyscalp.Hislipsareonmythroat,histongueswipingacrossthesmallcutfromtheknife.Thestingingsensationshovesmeovertheedgeashebringsmetoorgasm.Pleasurerushesthroughme.Isqueezemyeyesshut,mylipsparting,noisecatchinginmythroatasmybodyconvulses.
Uhhhhh…
“Fuck,”Igasp.“Uhhh…fuck.”
Assoonasitfades,hestops,lettinggoofmyhair,lettingmelookathimagainasheremoveshishandfrommypants.Idamnnearfall,mylegsdroppingdown,feethittingtheflooragainashepullsaway.Istaypressedupagainstthedoor,keepingmydistance,evenasheretreatsafewsteps,givingmespace.Heretrievesmyknifefromthefloor,regardingitinthedarkness.Four-inchblade,iridescentrainbowcoloring,thedarkhandleetchedwithspiders.
Myheartpoundshard,makingmyvisionhazyashestrollstowardmewithit.
Hiseyesflickerfromtheknifetome,asasmallsmiletwistshislips.Lockingthebladeaway,heholdsitout.Itakeitcarefully,surprisedthathe’sreturningit.Heseemslikethetypetoconfiscatepeople’spossessionsandcallthemhisown.NotthatIhaveroomtotalkoranything,consideringstealingfromhimiswhatgotmeinthismessinthefirstplace,butstill…Idon’tknowwhattomakeofit.
Idon’tknowwhattomakeofanyofit.
Isliptheknifeaway,eyeinghim.“Whyareyouhere?”
“Sixty-sixcents,”hesays,reachingintohispocketandpullingoutafewcoins,tossingthematme.Idon’ttrytocatchthem.There’snopoint.Theyhitthefloorandscatter,rollingaround,adiscoloredquartercomingtorestnearmyfoot.“FiguredI’dpayyoubackbeforemidnightstruckandinterestkickedin.”
Istareatit.“Well,Iguesswe’reevennow,huh?”
“Seemsthatway.”
Pushingawayfromthedoor,Imovepasthimthroughtheapartment.I’mstillfullyclothed,butIfeelcompletelyexposedinfrontofthatmanrightnow.Waytooexposed.“I’msureyoucanletyourselfout,youknow,sinceyouhadnoproblemlettingyourselfin.”
Imakemywayuptotheroof.MyhandsareshakingandIneedfreshair.Ineedthehelloutofthere.Theplaceisastiflingcubbyholemadeofsplinteringwoodandcrumblingbrick,notmuchofanapartment,muchlessahome.Evenmostprisoncellshavefourwallsandaceiling,aplacetolayyourheadwhilecutofffromsociety.
I’velivedworseplaces,though.Alotworse.
Trysleepingchainedupinaconcretedungeon,andthenwe’lltalkaboutlivinginhell,becauseI’vebeenthere.
Acloudofbreathsurroundsme,myteethchattering,asIstepoutontotheroof,strollingovertotheledgeandsittingdownonit.Thewindisbittercold,slicingagainstmyskinlikerazorblades,butIwelcomethesensation,lettingitcoolmyfeverishskin.
It’snicejusttofeelsomething,evenifthatsomethingispain.
Mygazedriftsouttowardtheriverjustahandfulofblocksaway.Massivehousingprojectsblockmostoftheviewfromhere,butsittingontheledge,rightinthisspot,Icanseeasliverofthedarkwaterbetweenthebuildings,andbeyondthat,theskylineofBrooklyn.
JustamomentpassesbeforeIhearthenoisecomingfrommyapartment,thesoundoffootstepsontheladderleadingtotheroofbehindme.Idon’tturntolook,listeningashecomesnear.He’snottryingtogounnoticed,notsneakingaround,buthisapproachisreserved,morecasualthandetermined.
Idon’tknowwhathewants.
Idon’tknowwhyhe’sstillhere.
ButIdon’thaveitinmetoask,either.
Whatdoesitmatter?
Theicywildblastsmewithhisuniquescentashepropshimselfagainsttheledgebesideme.Icutmyeyeshiswaywhenhesniffles,rubbinghisbustednosewiththebackofhishand,thebleedingstoppedforthemostpart.Hesaysnothingatfirstashelooksoutatthecity,buthissilenceisn’tsomeformofpunishmenthe’sforcinguponme.
No,it’sararesolace,oneIfindI’mgratefulfor.
Eventually,though,hefindshisvoice.“Youshouldgofortheeyes,youknow.”
“Theeyes?”
Henods.“Youbreakanose,they’llrecoveroncetheadrenalinekicksin,butyoutakeaneyeoutandthey’refucked.Theycan’tcatchyouiftheycan’tfindyou.”
Huh.“I’llhavetorememberthat.”ChapterTen
Thepinknightgownhadalwaysbeenthelittlegirl’sfavorite.Ruffledshortsleeves,softcotton,withabigbowonthefrontofit.Hermothertoldhershewasabeautifulprincesswheneversheworeit,andshehadfeltthatway.
ButasthelittlegirlsatintheTinMan’sden,perchedinablackleatherchairwaytoobigforhersmallbody,shefeltkindoflikeCinderellabeforeshewenttotheball,theonewiththewickedstepmother,exceptthelittlegirlhadaPapa
Shedidn’tlikethenewnightgownhe’dgivenher.Itwaswhiteandmadeherskinitchy.Shekeptscratching…andscratching…andscratching.Ugh.Shestaredattheflickeringflamesinthefireplaceasitateupwhatwasleftofthepinkfabric.
“Whycouldn’tIkeepit?”sheaskedquietly,lookingtotheTinMansittingintheidenticalchairbesideher,asmalltableseparatingthetwoofthem.
Hepluckedaglassoffofthattable,filledalmosttothetopwithaclearliquid.Itlookedlikewater,buthegrimacedwhenhedrankit,whichtoldthelittlegirlitmight’vebeensomethingdifferent.
“Itstunk,”hesaid,hisvoicelazy,wordsslurring.Heslouched,longlegsspreadout,hiskneeconstantlymoving.
“Youcouldn’tcleanit?”sheasked.
Hetookanotherdrinkbeforecastingaflatlookherway,nohumorinhiswatery,bloodshoteyes.“Itstunklikeyourmother.”
Thelittlegirlstilldidn’tunderstand.Hermotheralwayssmelledsopretty
“Butifwewashedit—”
“Enough!”Hisvoicewassharpasheslammedtheglassdownonthetable,spillingsomeout,sloshingitontohisskin.Heshookhishandangrily,asprinklesplashingthelittlegirlashewavedtowardthefire.“Itisgone,kitten.Ash.Youcannothaveitback.Itisnotworthyourtearsandneitherisshe,sostopcrying.Doyouhearme?Stopcrying!”
Shewasn’tcrying,notrightthen,butashescreamedthosewords,tearsstreameddownhischeeks.Pickinguptheglassagain,hehauledhisarmback,flingingitacrosstheroom,shatteringitinthefireplace.
Thelittlegirltriedtoslinkawayastheflamesroared.TheTinManranhishandsdownhisface,wipingawayhistears.Growling,hestood,hishandsclenched.Inarage,hebeathimselfinthechestwithhisfistashesnarled,“Stopthis,rightnow!Stopit!”
Shewhimpered,hisangerscaringher,thesounddrawinghisattention.TheTinManturnedherway,flexinghisfingers.“Gotoyourroom.Icannotdealwithyou…notwhileIamstillgrievingher.”
Thelittlegirlgotup,runningfromtheroom,wantingoutofhissightbeforeherowntearsstartedtofall.Assoonasshewasinthehallway,sheheardhimscream,justlikeshe’dheardthatnightaweekago.Except,hewasalonenow.Hermotherwasn’tthereforhimtoturnhisangerintopain.
Hermotherwasgone.
Butwhere?ChapterEleven
Mystepfather,EdoardoAccardi,ex-enforcerforthenowextinctGenovacrimefamily(you’rewelcomeforthat,bytheway),hadacertainflairfortheatrics.Themanhadawayoftalking,ofsayingthings,likehewasalwaysstandingonastageinaone-manshowofhisownfucked-upproduction,andmostofthetime,onlyonepersonsatinhisaudience:yourstruly.Itwasn’tvoluntary,Icantellyouthatmuch.No,themantargetedhismonologuesrightatme,assaultingmewiththewordsjustashardasheusedtobattermewithhisfists.Thisisforyourowngood,Lorenzo,he’dsay.Toughenup.Stopcrying.Don’tbeg.Beaman,goddamnit.Beafuckingman!NevermindthefactthatI’dbeenjustaboyatthetime…aboywhocouldn’tunderstandhowbeatingmeunconsciouswasformyowngood…aboywhoheardnothingbutriddleswheneverthemanspoke.
Buthesucceeded,becausealltheseyearslater,Icanstillhearhisvoice.Hiswordsbouncearoundinmyhead,tauntingme,turningmeintothemonsterhe’dtried—andfailed—toputdownsolongago.AndwhileIcan’texactlyclaimtobefondofhismethods,I’llgivecreditwherecreditisdue—themancertainlyknewwhathewasdoing.
Thehardestpartofthebusinessismindingyourown.
Heusedtosaythatallthetime.IneverreallyunderstoodituntilIcametoNewYork.
Andhereontherooftopoftherundownwalk-up,tuckedintoashitty-assLowerEastSideblock,freezingmynutsackoffasIsitonthecoldconcreteledgebesideacrazypickpocketwithredlipsandwateryeyes,I’mhavingahellofatimemindingmyownbusiness,becausethere’sabigpartofmeitchingtodigintohers.
Womenaredistractionsandfeelingsaredetrimental,butI’mfindingmyselffeelingsometypeofwayaboutthiswomanatthemoment,andIdon’tappreciateit.There’svoodooinherblood,anditmakesmewanttoslitherfuckingthroatsoit’llallspillout,rainreddownonthecitybeneathusbeforeshovingherovertheside.
Fly,littlewitch.Don’tforgetyourfuckingbroom.
ButIdon’tdoit.Idon’tdoanything.BecauseItrytonotbethatkindofperson—thekindofpersonthatbeatsothersfortheirowngood.
EdoardoAccardimightbeinmyhead,buthe’sneverbeeninmyblood.
Scarletstaresoffintothedistance,likeshe’slostinavoidsomewherealongtheedgeoftheneighborhood.Icanseepartoftheriverafewblocksaway.Hell,fromrighthere,IcanjustaboutseethedockIstoodoninthedarknessthenightIfirstencounteredScarlet,whenImetwhatshisnametotalkabouthisboss’sproblems.
Reachingintomypocket,Ipulloutmybeatupoldmetaltinandflipitopen,takingoutajointandthebatteredbookofmatches,rippingoneoffandstrikingitagainstthebackofthepack,ignitingtheflameonthefirsttry.Lightingthejoint,Iinhaledeeply,takingthesmokeinandholdingit,beforeextinguishingtheflamewiththeflickofmywristandtossingthematchoverthesideofthebuilding.
“Didyoufuckhim?”Iask,slowlyreleasingthesmokefrommylungs.
Scarlet’sbrowfurrowsassheturnsmyway,hereyesflickeringtothetinasIcloseit.“Who?”
“Whoeverputthehickeyonyourneck.”
Ittakesheramomentbeforesheliftsherhand,fingertipspressingagainstthesideofherneck,surpriseonherface.Thepatchissmall,moreredthanpurple,whichmeansit’sfresh.Itookitasathumbprintatfirst,likesomeonehadchokedher,butthemoreIlooked,themoreIsawthebruisedlipsformingonherskin.Someonemarkedhernotlongago,probablywhileIwasalreadyhere,waitinginherapartment.Chancesare,whoeverthatisprobablyalsofuckedher,andwhilethatmightnotbeanyofmybusiness,Ifinditcurious.
Curious,becauseofthehungerIsawinhereyeswhenIhadherpinnedagainstthedoor,asshegroundagainstme,practicallyfuckingtheguntuckedinmywaistband,desperatetosatisfyanache.
Whichmeanstheymight’vefuckedher,sure,buttheydidn’tdoagoddamnthingforher
Shelooksawayagainwithoutanswering.
“Figured,”Isay,takinganotherhit,lettingthesmokeburnmylungsasthesensationssoothemymuscles,calmingthestorminmymind.“Wasityourlittlecopfriendagain?”
“Doesitmatter?”
“No,notreally.Idon’tgetdownwiththewholesloppysecondsthing,nomatterwhoitis.Notinthebusinessofpickingupanotherman’sslack.”
“Youcanleave,youknow,”Scarletsays,hervoiceflat.“Really,youcango.”
“Doyouwantmetoleave?”
Shedoesn’tansweragain,actingasifIdidn’taskthatquestion,continuingtostareoutintothecity.Icyfogsurroundsherwitheachshallowbreath,butshedoesn’totherwiseseembotheredbythecold.It’sstrangetome,consideringI’mfindingitdamnnearintolerable.Myasscheeksarelikeicecubes.
“So,whereareyoufrom?”Iask.
AmomentpassesbeforeScarletturnsmyway.“Really?Youhadyourhanddownmypantsfiveminutesago,aknifetomythroataminutebeforethat,andyouwanttomakesmalltalknow?What’snext…theweather?”
Ishrug.“Thecolddoesn’tseemtobotheryou.”
Shesighsloudlyasshelooksbackaway.“Iwasbornandraisedupstate.I’musedtothecold.”
“How’dyouenduphere?”
“Isawamoviethatmademewanttoseethecity,soIranawayandneverlookedback.”
“Ah,letmeguess.BreakfastatTiffany’s?Oh,no,wait…WestsideStory?”
Sheshakesherhead.“TheMuppetsTakeManhattan.”
Okay,thatmakesmelaugh.“Soundslife-changing.”
“You’veneverseenit?”
“Can’tsayIhave.”
“TheycometothecitytomakeitonBroadway,andIfigured,youknow,whatwasstoppingmefromdoingthat?”
“Canyousing?”
“Nope.”
“Dance?”
“Notthekindofdancingthey’relookingfor.”
“Hatetobreakittoyou,Scarlet,butthat’sprobablywhatwasstoppingyou.”
“Yeah,well,inmydefense,Iwasonlyfourteenatthetime,soIhadnoideawhatIwasgettinginto.IwasconvincedthatallIneededwasatickettoNewYorkCityandeverythingwouldworkout,thatsomeonewouldtakeonelookatmeandthink,‘yep,she’stheone,’andmylifewouldbeperfect.”
“You’vebeenonyourownsinceyouwerefourteen?”
“IranawaywhenIwasfourteen,butIwasonmyownlongbeforethat.Ididn’treallyhaveanythinghere,youknow,butIhadevenlessthere.AtleasthereIhadthefreedomtodowhateverIwantedtodo,tobewhoeverIwantedtobe.IfiguredwhatevertroubleIgotintointhecitywouldpaleincomparisontowhatIwentthroughbefore.”Frowning,hervoiceisquietassheadds,“TurnsoutIwaswrong.”
“Whattroubledidyougetinto?”
“Aguypromisedmetheworldonlytodestroymyworldinstead,”shesays,cuttinghereyesmydirection.“Orhoweveryouputit.”
“Toughbreak.”
“Yeah,well,itiswhatitis.So,whataboutyou?”
“Whataboutme?”
“What’syourstory?”
“Ihavenostory.”
“Everyonehasastory.”
Iconsiderthat,continuingtosmoke,gratefulwhenitstartstowarmmeup,fendingoffthebittercold.Theworldalwaysfeelsbetterwhenahazecoversit,hidingalittlebitoftheharshreality.“Iwasjustanormalguy…normalfamily,normallife.ButIwasatthewrongplace,atthewrongtime,andsawsomethingIshouldn’thaveseen.Themobkilledmyfamily,triedtokillme,butIsurvived,andwell…I’vebeengunningforthemeversince.Doesn’tmatterwhatIhavetodo,whoIhavetokill.I’llgetmyrevenge.”
“Avigilante?That’swhatyou’retellingme?Justaguytryingtopunishallthebadintheworld?”
“Prettymuch.”
Rollinghereyes,sheswingsaround,shovingawayfromtheledgeasherfeethittheroof.Shecomesrightatme,pressingupagainstme,asIletoutastreamofsmoke,blowingitrightintoherpaleface.
Sheinhalesslowly,glaringatme.“Bullshit.”
Icockaneyebrowather.
“That’sthePunisher,”shesays,“sounlessyourrealnameisFrankCastle,that’snotyourstory.”
“Youcallingmealiar?”
“I’mcallingyouabullshitter.”
Asmileslowlyspreadsacrossmylipsasshebacksaway,clearlydonelisteningtomybullshit.She’sright,ofcourse.That’snotmystoryatall,butmystoryisn’tforthefaintofheart,soIkeepittomyself.“You’rethefirstonetoeverfigurethatout.”
“No,I’mjustthefirstonetocallyououtonit,”shesays.“They’realltooafraidtocallaspadeaspade,butI’velongagomovedpastbeingscaredofpeoplelikeyou.Ifyoudon’twanttotellme,fine…don’ttellme.ButIdon’thavetimetoplaygames.Youcan’tevengivemethecourtesyofasimpletruth.Hell,Idon’tevenknowyourname.AllIknowisthattheycallyouSc—”
“Don’tsayit.”Icutheroff,myvoicesharpasIdropthejointtotherooftopandsmashitoutbeforesteppingtowardher,surprisedwhenshedoesn’tretreat.Bravelittlesoul.“Iknowwhattheycallme.Idon’tneedyoutoremindme.”
“Yeah,well,goodforyou,Iguess,”shesays.“I’mgladatleastyouknowwhoyouare.”
Iwatchherwalktowardtheentrancebacktoherapartment,itchingtofollowher,butmyfingertipsaretinglingandthere’sagoodchanceImightstrangleherifIgetcloseenough.She’sannoyed,andmaybeshehasreasontobe,butthatdoesn’tmakeherattitudeanyeasiertodealwith.
“Lorenzo,”Icallout.
Herfootstepsfalterasshelooksback.“What?”
“Myname,”Isay.“It’sLorenzo.”
Hereyesscanmyfaceinthedarkness,likeshe’sexpectingsomesignofdeception,butshewon’tfindit.Asimpletruth.That’swhatsheaskedfor,sothat’swhatI’mgivingher.
“Yourturn,”Isay.“Iwantaname.”
“Youknowmyname.”
“Notyourname.Iwantthenameofthemanwhobrokeyou.”
Hergazeshiftstoherfeetasshekicksatthecoldtar-coveredrooftop,likeshe’savoidinghavingtoanswer,beforeherlipspartwithalongexhale.“I’mnotbroken.”
“Savethetheatrics,Scarlet.Justgivemetheman’sname.”
“KassianAristov.”
KassianAristov
Sheblurtsitoutlikeshehadn’tmeanttotellme,apainedexpressioncrossingherface,fullofregretrightaway.Huh
Thenameisn’toneIknow,butthenagain,Idon’tmakeitahabittoremembernames.It’sfamiliar,though,likemaybeI’vehearditbefore,spokeninpassing,andIthinkImightknowwhy.“Russian,huh?Hewouldn’thappentobeoneofthoseRussians,wouldhe?TheOrganizatsiya?”
Shedoesn’tanswer.
I’vecometolearnlackofaresponsefromherisasgoodasconfirmation.ThewomangotmixedupwiththeRussianMafia.
Shewalksaway,goingbackdowntoherapartment.Ishouldleave.Mindyourfuckingbusiness,Iknow,butIcan’thelpmyself.
Ifollowher.
She’sinthekitchen,searchingthroughthefridge.There’snotmuchinit—ajugofmilk,afewtakeoutcontainers,someorangejuice,andpartofanoldchocolatebar.It’skindofpathetic.Scowling,Scarletgrabsthechocolateandgnawsonitbeforesippingorangejuicestraightfromthecarton.It’ssomegenericbullshitstorebrandjuice,nopulp,watery.Smellssickeninglysweet.Iknow.Iinvestigatedbeforeshegothome.“Howcanyoudrinkthat?”
Sheshutsthefridgedoorandleansbackagainstthecounter,regardingmeassheholdsthecarton.“Thiscomingfromaguywhodrinksrumstraightfromthebottle?”
“Rumhasitsbenefits.There’snobenefittowhatyou’redrinking.There’snotevenanypulpinit.”
“Whatareyou,theorangejuicepolice?”
“Maybe.”
“Well,MisterMinuteMaid,thisjuicehereonlycostsadollaratthebodegaonthecorner.I’dcertainlycallthatabenefit.”
“Whydon’tyouhavemoremoney?”Iask,glancingaroundtheguttedapartment.It’sbarelylivable,justthebarenecessities.“Youindebttoaloansharkorsomething?Isthattheproblem?TheAristotleassholestealingeverythingfromyou?”
Sheglaresatme,bitingoffahardcorneroftheplainchocolatebarandchewingslowly.“Whyareyoustillhere?”
Ishrug,knowingI’mstrikinganerve.“I’mjustsaying…you’regorgeous.Sellingpussy,yououghttobeabletoaffordmorethanthis.Fuckingyoushouldcostaprettypenny.Godknowsthatpussy’sprobablyworthit.”
Herglaresoftenstojustastare.She’squiet,likeshe’sgettingherthoughtsinorder,beforeshesays,“I’mnotsurewhetherthat’sacomplimentoraninsult.”
“It’swhateveryoumakeit,Scarlet,”Isay.“Idon’tpaytoplay,butmyguysdo,andyou’rehighercaliberthanthewomentheyusuallyslideoninto.Soyoulivinglikethismakesnosense.”
“Yeah,well,it’sreallynoneofyourbusiness,isit?”
“No.”
“Thereyougo,then,”shesays,wavingherjuiceatmebeforetakinganotherswig.“Unlessyou’replanningtolickitorstickit,Lorenzo,keepyournoseoutofmybusiness.”
Asmiletouchesmylips.Touché
Openingthefridgeagain,sheshovesthecartonbackin,tossingwhat’sleftofthechocolatebarinanearbytrashcan.Shestrollstowardme,hereyesscanningmyface.Igrabherbeforeshecanwalkoutofthekitchen,pullinghertome,catchingheroffguard.Shegaspssoftly,thesoundrushingthroughmeasIcupherchin,pullingherfaceup.
Nohesitation,Ipressmylipstohers,kissingherhard.It’sonlyafewsecondsbeforeIpushherbackaway,breakingthekissalready.Sheinhalessharply,eyeswideassheregardsme,likesheisn’tsurewhatthefucktothinkaboutwhatjusthappened.
Ilickmylips.“Ittastescheap.”
Sheblinks,facecontorting,likeI’veoffendedher.“What?”
“Theorangejuice,”Isay.“Icantasteitonyourlips.”
“Oh,I,uh…oh.”
Isweepmythumbalonghermouthasherlipspart,likeshewantsmetokissheragain,eventhoughwebothknowI’mnotgoingto.“Ipreferitwithmoreofabite.Maybenexttime.”
“Maybe,”shewhispers.
Ipullmyhandawayandturnaround.ShesaysnothingasIleave.
Maybethatmeansshewantsmegone,afterall.
Ormaybeshejustknowsshe’llseemeagaineventually.
***
There’sthisplaceoverinBrooklyn,aclubcalledLimerence.Onpaperit’sjustanotherstripclub,butinreality,it’stheoneofthebiggestwhorehousesaroundAcouplehundredbuckscangetyouthebesthalf-hourofyourlifewithagorgeousbendybrunettewhocantakeeventhebiggestsinnerstraighttoheavenwithjusttheflickofhertongue.
OrsoI’veheard…
Theguysoccasionallyswingthroughwhenthey’renototherwiseoccupied,splurgingonthestrongestliquorandthesweetestwomenmoneycanbuy.I’veneverbeen,sincepayingforpussyisn’tmything,andI’mcertainlynotthererightnow.
No,thisplaceistheoppositeofLimerence.
Mediocrebuildinginalow-rateareaneartheriver,skirtingtheslums,fullofhoodlumswithjustafewbucks,shovinglonedollarbillsinG-stringsastheynegotiateforaquick,cheapfuck.
Mystic
Nothingmysticalabouttheshithole.
Asitturnsout,GeorgeAmelloownstheplace.Whowould’vethought?ThatmakeshimScarlet’sboss,whichisfunny,youknow,consideringhetoldSevenhe’dneverheardofthewoman.
“CanIhelpyou?”
Iturntowardthesoundofthatvoice,totheguystandingrightinsidethemainentranceatMystic.Sixfeettall,armsasthickasthighs,adarkbaldheadshiningundertheflickeringcolorfullights.He’sscowlingthekindofwaythatmakesmethinkhedoesn’tknowwhatit’sliketosmile—thatallbusiness,pantiesinafuckingtwistkindofscowl.Heprobablythinkshe’sintimidating,butakneeinhisshrivelednutscouldeasilytakehimdown.
“I’mheretoseeyourboss,”Itellhim,flickingmywrist,wavinghimaway.“Runalongandgethimforme.Makeitquick.”
Hestandsthere,raisinghiseyebrows,andhesitatesamoment,delayingsolongI’mclosetolosingmytemper.Musicisthumpingwildlynotfarfrommyhead,someeightieshair-bandsong,pouringsugaronacherrypieorsomeequallymetaphoricalfood-inspiredbullshit.
“Ithinkyououghttoleave,”themansays.“Amellodoesn’tentertainfolksthatdon’thaveappointments.”
“He’llmakeanexceptionforme.”
“Whatmakesyousosure?”
“Becauseheisn’tgoingtolikewhathappensifhedoesn’t.”
Itmustsoundlikeathreat,becausetheguyreactsassuch,uncrossinghisbulgingarmsashetakesasteptowardme,likeheexpectsmetobalk.Iraiseaneyebrow,justdaringhimtolayafingeronme,whenavoicecutsthroughthetension,shoutingoverthemusic.“Darrell,itsfine.I’llseehim.”
Ah,ol’MelloYello,theyellow-belliedmotherfucker.Iturn,seeinghimstandinginthedoorwaytoanofficebeneaththeDJbooth.Heeyesmewarily,probablywonderingwhyIcamehere.
Iwaltzpasthim,rightinside.Amelloclearshisthroat,saying,“leaveus,”toapairofguys.TheyvacatetheofficeandAmelloshutsthedoor,hesitatingthere,likehe’snervoustobealonewithme.Probablyoughttobe
“GeorgiePorgie,Puddin’andPie,”Imutter,strollingacrosstheoffice,aroundhisdesk.There’sawallfullofmonitorsbroadcastinglive,showingeverynookandcrannyoftheclub,womenperformingactsnotmeantforinnocenteyes.“Kissedthegirlsandmadethemcry.”
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heasks,sittingdownbehindhisdesk,ignoringmyteasing.Smart
“Why?AmInotwelcome?”
“Didn’tsaythat.Iwasjustwonderingwhatbroughtyouheretonight.”
“Goodquestion,”Isay,mygazescanningthemonitors,stallingononenearthetop,aviewofadimhallway.Awomansauntersthroughit,leadingamantowardanisolatedbackroom.Ican’tseeherface,butIrecognizetherestofher.
“Well?”heasked.“Whatdoyouwant,Scar?”
Ikindofwanttokillhim.Notevengoingtolie.ButatthemomentIjustwanthimtoshutthefuckupsoIcanwatchherinsilence.That’snotgoingtohappen,though.No,he’stoonervous.Hefidgetsandhuffsandshiftsaroundinhischair,waitingforanexplanationformypresence.
“Ithinkwegotoffonthewrongfoot,Georgie,”Isay,watchingasScarletleadsthemanoutofthehallway.IscantheotherscreensuntilIfindheragain.
It’saperfectlysquareroom,asmallplatforminthecenter,apolejuttingoutofitandconnectingtotheceiling.Adeepleatherloungingcouchtakesupthebackasmirrorslinethewallssurroundingit.Besidesthat,afewwaywardleatherchairsareshovedaside,andasmallbarrunsalongtheleft,redlightingconsumingtheroom.
Scarletglows…well…scarlet.There’snootherwaytodescribehowthecolortintsherskin.She’sstunning,bathedinred,justlikeIknewshewouldbe.
AsmileliftsmylipsasIturntoAmello.He’slucky,sodamnlucky,andthesonofabitchdoesn’tevenknowit.
“Idon’ttakewelltobeingcallednames,”Isay.“NordoIappreciatehavingmyreputationcalledintoquestion.Ididn’trobyou.Yourmoneydoesn’tmeanshittome.Soyoucantakeyourtenpercentandshoveitupyourass,becauseI’vegotnouseforyourmeaslypennies.ButIliketothinkI’mareasonableman,soI’vedecidedtoletitgothistime,becauseIfigure,youknow,maybeyoujustdon’tknowanybetter,butyou’lllearn,ifyouknowwhat’sgoodforyou,anditwon’thappenagain.Yougotme?”
Heglaresatme.Heisn’thappy,that’sfordamnsure,buthe’sgotme.He’snotacompleteidiot.
“Whatwouldyouthink,”heasks,“ifyouwereme?”
“I’dthinkIhadsomethingsomebodywanted,”Isay,mygazeflickeringbacktothesurveillancemonitor.Howtruethatis…butit’snothismoneyI’mafter.
Ifindmyselfwantingthebeautifulbendybrunettethat’sworkinginthisshithole.
“Wecanbefriends,youandI…butthat’sachoiceonlyyoucanmake,”Itellhim.“Ifyoudon’twanttobemyfriend,youdon’thavetobe.ButIlearnedlongagothereareonlytwokindsofpeopleinthisworld,soifyou’renotmyfriend,Georgie?IguessI’llhavetocountyouamongmyenemies.”
Iwalkout,sayingnothingelse.Heglaresatme,havingnorebuttal.What’stheretosay,anyway?Nothing
Theclubisloud,themusicstillthumping,sometechnobassbullshitwithoutanywordsnow.Blindingdiscolightsflash,thegirlonthemainstageswingingaroundapole,wearingreflectivematerial,likeacracked-outgymnast.
I’vegotnothingagainststrippers.Really,Idon’t.
I’vegotnothingagainstprostitutes,either.Youdoyou.
ButIdohavesomethingagainstpeoplewhocan’tevenfunctionwithoutshootingsomethingintoavein,withoutsnortingsomethinguptheirnostril.Ispentthefirsthalfofmylifeunderthecareofsomeonemorecocainethanwoman.Theagitation,theerraticbehavior,thenosebleeds.MymotherblewoutherseptumwhenIwasjustakid,hadplasticsurgerymorethanoncetotrytohidetheevidence.Icanspotanaddictamileawaythankstoher,andthewomanonthestage?Cracked-out,withoutadoubt.
IavertmyeyesasIstrollthroughtheclub.Insteadofheadingfortheexit,wherethebouncerstilllurks,watchingme,Iveertowardthebackoftheplace.Halfwaydownthehall,myfootstepsfalter,andIpauseinanopendoorway,thesoftglowofredlightsspillingoutallaroundme.
I’mnotsupposedtobebackhere.Theglareswomengivemeastheystrutpast,leadingguystoandfromtheserooms,tellsmeso.Nosexinthechampagneroom.We’veallheardit.Theysayitdoesn’thappen,butIknow,insomeplaces,insomesituations,sexisnegotiable.
Flashenoughcashandpussycanbeyours.
Iknowithappenshere.
ButScarlet?She’snotevennaked.
Notrightnow,atleast.
She’sdancing.Shelookssoutterlybored.Doesnobodyelsenotice?Althoughshesmiles,there’snofireinhereyes,herstaredamnnearvacant.I’llgivehercredit,though—she’sgotrhythm.Herhipsswayperfectlyintunewiththemusic,likeherbodyisfeelingitevenifshe’snot.
Thelittlered,lacysee-throughget-upshe’swearingleaveslittletotheimagination,evenlessassheslowlyunfastenshertop,teasingtheguyasthestrapsfalldownherarms.
Shepullsitoffafteramoment,tossingitaside,exposingthemoststunningsetoftitsI’veeverlaidmyeyeson.They’resmall,barelyahandful,butfuckifthey’renotperfect—perky,andnatural,withthekindofnipplesthatbegtobetasted.
Themanreachesforherwhensheturnstowardhim,hishandsmovingontheirown,likeit’sinstinctaroundasetoftitsthatbeautiful,butshegrabshiswristswithoutmissingabeat,stoppinghimassheshakesherhead.Notouching
Heobliges,droppinghishandstohisside,shouldersslumpingwithdisappointment.Can’tsayIblametheguy.Sheteaseshimforamoment,shovingtheminhisfaceasshedances,straddlinghislapandpushinghimuntilhe’slyingontheloungecouch.Hiseyesdriftclosed,hishandslinkingtogetherbehindhishead,asScarletturnsaround.
Herexpressionglazesover.
Bored.Bored.Sofuckingbored
Hereyesarefixedtotheceiling,tothelightsshiningdownonher,asshehalf-heartedlygrindsherassagainsthiscrotch.Iwatchherforamomentbeforetakingastepintotheroom.She’squicktosensemymovement.Herheadlowers,andahintofpanicsparkinginhereyes.Alarmed.Hergazemeetsmine,theguynotnoticingadifference,butIcansenseit.Iseethewayherposturechanges,herbreathinglabored,shakyexhalesescapingherlungsasshewatchesme.Islowlyapproach,myfootstepsundetectableoverthesoundofthemusic.
Ifshe’strulybotheredbymypresence,shedoesn’tletitshow,notmissingabeatasshedryhumpstheguy.It’snotlikeinherapartment,notlikewhenIhadherpinnedtothedoor,thrustingagainsther,drivinghertothebrink.
No,she’sgettingnothingfromthis.Noarousal.Noexcitement.
Fuckingboredom
Ipauseinfrontofher,cockinganeyebrow,asshecontinuesgoingthroughthemotions.Asmallsmiletwistsherblood-redlips.Itdoessomethingtome,thatsmile.Idon’tknowhowtoexplainit.Peopledon’tgettomethewayalookfromthiswomanclawsitswayundermyskin.
Nudgingherchin,Itiltherheadupfurther,watchingherthroatflexassheswallows,likeImightbemakinghernervous.Good.Herlipsareparted,herwarmbreathgreetingmeasIleandowntowardher,tiltingmyhead.Mythumbslowlyswipesalongherbottomlip,smearingherlipstick,justabreathawayfromhermouth,whenshewhispers,oh-so-shakily,“Kissingisgonnacostyou.”
Ilaughundermybreathandpressmylipstohers—once,twice,threetimes—soft,barelyapeck,butshebitesmybottomlipthelasttime,sendingasharpstabofpainthroughit.Iwince,lickingmylipasIstandbackup,aslightcoppertasteonmytongue.Shedrewblood.
Sheknowsit,too.
There’sthespark.
Itlightsuphereyes.
Squeezingherchin,Ileandownagain,kissingheroncemore,rougherthistime,beforewhispering,“Youtastebetternow.”
Shestillhasn’tmissedabeat.
Thewomanisgoodatwhatshedoes,that’sfordamnsure.
Lettinggo,Iretreatafewsteps,myeyesscanningher,mygazelingeringonthosetits.There’smoreI’dliketostickaroundanddo,butIknowdamnwellAmelloiswatchingmyeverymove.
I’mgoingtohaveher,though.
Nodoubtaboutit.I’vemadeupmymind.
MenlikeAmellogettheirpantiesinatwistwhenyoustealfromthem.Hecalledmeathief,sothat’swhatI’llbe.LikeIsaid,ifyoudon’tappreciatewhatyou’vegot,someonelikemewillbemorethanhappytotakeit.
Scarlet’scheeksflush,visibleeventhroughthethicklayersofmakeup,hereyestwinkling,everyounceofboredomgoneinablink.
Definitelynottheonlyonegettingathrilloutofthis.
Istrolltowardthedoorwayjustasthesongchanges.It’sbarelyasecondofsilencebeforethemusicstartsupagain,butsomethinghappensinthatmoment,ashiftintheairwhensomeoneoffinthedistancescreams.Myfootstepsfalter.Turningmyhead,glancingback,IwatchScarletcometoastop.Shespringstoherfeet,alarmed,snatchinghertopoffofthefloorandfumblingwithit,desperatelytryingtoputitbackon,butthere’snotime.
Notime.
Chaoserupts.Morescreaming.Running.Voicesshoutoverthemusic,incoherentwordsIdon’tunderstand,butScarletseemsto.Eyeswide,herbodytremblesasshemouthssomething,buthervoicedoesn’tseemtoworkrightnow.
Uh-oh.
Theguyshe’dbeenstraddlingsitsstraightup,realizinghislapdanceisover,inadrunkenstuporashisbloodshoteyesnarrowatme.
“Whothefuckareyou?”heasks,butIdon’thaveachancetoanswerbeforeadistinctrat-ta-tat-tatsoundechoesthroughtheclub,theharrowingrattleofincessantgunfire.
AR-15,I’mguessing.Mychesttightens.Sonofabitch.Ishebeingrobbed?Again?
“Ohgod,”Scarletsays,finallyfindinghervoice.“No,no,no…”
There’satremortothosewords.Terrorcoatseverysyllable.Nevertookherforthekindtobuckleinthefaceofdanger.Shesureasfuckdidn’tbalkwhenitcametome.Thecommotiongetslouder,peoplefleeingfromtheclub,racingdownthehalltowardthebackexitbeforedoublingback,likethatwayisblocked.
Whoeveritishastheplacesurrounded.
Sittingducks
Scarletretreatsdeeperintotheroom.It’sonlyseconds.That’sit.Meresecondsofpandemonium.Shejumpsbehindthebartothefarleftoftheroom,coweringthere,shieldingherselffromview.Itakeafewstepsthatway,notcompletelyapproaching,justcomingcloseenoughthatIcanseeher.
No,it’snotarobbery,andit’sclearshesensesit,too
It’smorelikeamassacre.
Iknowathingortwoaboutthose.
Istandthere,shovingmyhandsinmypockets,staringatthedoorwayassomeoneburstsin.Amandressedinallblack,wearingaskimask.Huh.Thedrunkfromthelapdancefreaksout,yelling,“Whothefuckareyou?”
Unlikewhenheaskedme,thisguyiskindenoughtorespond.Heanswersrightawaywithabullettotheface,nohesitation.
Whothefuckareyou?
BANG.
Scarletdoesn’tmoveatall,doesn’tmakeasound,asthegunshotechoesthroughtheroom,abig,burlymotherfuckerpullingthetrigger,droppingthescumbagwithasingleshot.
Heturnstomenext,pointingthegun,fingerstillonthetrigger,butthistime,hepauses.Eyesnarrowing,hestudiesmyfacebeforeshoutingsomethingoutinaforeignlanguage,asinglewordstickingoutofthegibberish:Scar
MyhandsclenchintofistsinmypocketsasIforcemyselfnottogoformygun.“Iguessmyreputationprecedesme,huh?”
Helookslikeabear,Ithink,theburlymotherfucker,asheshovestheskimaskup,offeringmeaglimpseofhisface.Hedoesn’trespondwithwordsorabullet,whichIthinkisanswerenough.
Someoneelsejoinsus,abitshorterandsmaller,otherwisesimilarinfeatures.Noskimask,thisone.Nogun.He’snotevendressedinallblack,insteadwearingadarkgraysuit.Hecarrieshimselfdifferently,too,anairofconfidencesurroundinghim,muchofhisskincoveredindarktattoos.
Thatwouldmakehimtheleader.
That’sprettyeasytosee.
It’speculiar,though,almostsurreal,astrangesenseofdéjàvuassaultingme.IfIweren’twitnesstothis,Isweartofuck,I’dprobablysuspectmyself,too.Itfeelstoofamiliar,likewatchingacheaprebootofaclassic.Eitherthisisacaseofgreatmindsthinkingalike,orthisguyhasbeenstudyingmyplaybook.
Themomentthenewcomeryells,spoutingoffsomethingforeigntohisguys,Scarletreacts.Iseehertensefromthecornerofmygoodeye.Shepressesagainstthebar,tryingtofadeintotheshadows,asshemouthssomethingtoherself,overandoverandover,stillnotmakingasound.
Look,itdoesn’ttakeageniustoputfourandsixtogetherandcomeupwithten,yougetwhatI’msaying?Coweringwoman.ForeignMcFuckFacewithhisownlittlemassacresquad.It’slikeI’minthemidstofyetanotherDieHardsequel.
DoesthatmakemeBruceWillis?Idon’tknow.
ButIamwillingtobetthatmakesol’BebopandRocksteadyhereourdastardlyvillains.Anddoingthatbasicmathinmyhead,I’msayingitalladdsuptotheRussians
ThemenchatterbackandforthasIobservethembeforesomeonesaysthatdamnwordagain.Scar
Heturnstomethen—theirleader,ol’Bebop—andstaresmedownashestepscloser.“ThenotoriousScar.Ihaveheardmuchaboutyou.”
“Goodthings?”
“Horrificthings.Murder.Mayhem.”
“So…goodthings,”Isayagain.
Helaughs.“Thebestthings.”
“Goodtoknow,”Isay.“I’mnotsureIcansaythesameaboutyou,though.”
“Youhavenotheardofme?”
IwasgoingforIhadn’theardanygoodthings,butwe’llgowiththat.“Afraidnot.”
“Oh,butIamsureyouhave,”hesaysashesmiles.“Youjustdonotknowitwasmetheyspokeof.Reputationisnotimportanttome.IdonotcarewhatanyonethinksaslongasIgetwhatIwant.”
“Andwhatisityouwant?”
“Dependsonwhichdayitis.”Helaughsagain.“Today,likemostdays,Iamlookingforagirl.Maybeyouhaveseenher?”
“Maybe,”Isay.“Doesshehaveaname?”
“Morgan,”hesays.“Sheisaveryprettygirl.Youwouldnotforgetherifyousawher.Shehasthesweetestsmile.”
Thatshedoes.
“Doesn’tringabell,”Itellhim.
“Thatisashame,”hesaysasheglancesaroundtheroom.Hecan’tseebehindthebarfromthere,butifhecomesanycloser,Scarletisfucked
Hisgazeshiftsthatway,andheseemstoconsiderit,beforegunshotseruptinthehallway,amanshouting,“Vor!”
ItcapturesBebop’sattention,andheglancesthatway,mutteringunderhisbreathbeforeturningbacktome.“Ihaverespectforyou,MisterScar.Iadmireamanwhotakeswhathewants,becauseIdothesame.SoIwillleaveyouinpeace,sincemyfightisnotwithyou.”
Hewalksoutwiththat,leavingtheroom,butRocksteadylingersbehind,hisgunstillaimedatme.Heonlylowersitwhensomeoneshoutsfromthehallway.“Markel!”
I’mguessingthat’shisname,sincehereactstoit.Notthatitmatters.Nothingaboutthemmatterstome,personally,butitclearlymatterstoScarlet.
Rocksteadyvacatestheroom.Thechaosintheclubdiesdownastheintrudersleave.Everyoneelsehasfled,orhell,maybethey’realldead.Again,notthatitmatters,butIjuststandhere,handsstillfistedinmypockets.
“Don’tmove,”Isay,knowingScarletcanhearme.“I’llletyouknowwhenit’sclear.”
Iquietlystrollfromthered-tintedroom,crunchingonglassasIwalkdownthehall,passingbullet-riddenwalls.It’snottheworstsceneI’veeverbeeninvolvedin,butit’snotexactlypretty,either.Imakemywaythroughthemainclub,lookingaround,eyesskitteringpastthebounceratthefrontdoor,deadinapoolofblood.
Callingthatonekarma.
Istallinthedoorwaytotheoffice,lookingatthewallofmonitors,mostofthemdestroyedbytheAR-15.Amelloisnowheretobefound,probablythefirsttorunlikealittlebitchwhenthebulletsstartedflying.
“Whentheboyscameouttoplay,”Imumble,“GeorgiePorgieranaway.”
Aftercheckingtherestoftheclub,ImakemywaybacktoScarlet.Thepolicewon’tbefarbehind,whichmeansIneedtogetthehelloutofhere.Scarletisstillinthesamespot,behindthebar,kneespulleduptoherchest,armswrappedaroundthem.
Ipause,regardingherasIpullmycoatoff.She’swearingverylittle,stilltopless,tryinghardtocoverherself—notoutofsomesenseofpropriety.She’sjustnervous.Iwordlesslyholdthecoatouttoherandshetakesit,slippingiton,zippingitup.She’ssopetiteitalmostgoestoherknees,longerthanthedressesI’veseenherwear.
“Comeon,”Isay.“I’llwalkyouhome.”
Iholdmyhandouttoher.Shelooksatit,likesheisn’tsureifshewantstotouchme,butsheconcedesafteramoment.
She’srattled.Icantell.Herkneesarepracticallyknockingtogether,herhandshakinginmineasIhelphertoherfeet.Shepullsawayfrommeassoonasshe’supright,shovingherhandsinthepocketsofmycoat.
Scarletkeepsherheaddownasshequicklywalksdownthehall,towardthebackexit,butinsteadofgoingoutside,sheveerstothelockerroom.
“Whoa,whereareyougoing?”Iask,grabbingherarmtostopher.“Weneedtogo.”
Sheyanksawayfrommyclutch.“Ineedmystuff.”
“Justleaveit,”Isay.“Fuckit.”
“Youdon’tunderstand,”shemutters,ignoringmeasshegoesaboutherbusiness,headingovertoalockertopulloutaduffelbag.Itonlytakesherafewseconds,doesn’tslowusdownmuch,soIdropit,eventhoughit’sabsurd.
It’sjuststuff
Shehurriesoutthebackdooroftheclub,eyessurveyingtheneighborhood,onguard,likeshefullyexpectstheboogeymantoleapoutatherfromsomewhereinthedarkness.
Mycockisaniciclewithinminutesofsteppingoutside.Everyinchofmeisfrozensolidexceptmyfeet…myfeetkeeponmoving,keepingupwithScarlet.Sheonlylivesafewblocksaway,soitdoesn’ttakeuslongtogetthere.NobodyfollowedusthatIcouldtell,andI’mprettydamngoodatgaugingwhensomeoneiswatching,soIthinkshe’llbesafefornow.
Butstill,there’ssomepartofmenotyetokaywithlettingheroutofmysight.
Curiosity,maybe.
Mindyourownbusinessandyou’llliveahundredyears.Problemis,youknow,ahundredyearsisalongtime.DoIreallywanttolivethatlong?
Mycuriositysays,‘Idon’tthinkso’.
SoIfollowherinside,andItrailherupthestairs,watchingassheturnstheknobtoherapartmentandwalksrightin.Theplacehadn’tbeenlockedanyofthetimesI’veshownup.
“Locksbroken?”Iaskcuriously,steppingintotheapartmentassheleavesthedoorwideopenbehindher,probablytheclosestthingtoaninvitationI’mgoingtogetfromthewoman.Ilingerthere,flickingthedeadbolt,watchingasitslidesoutjustfine.
Shedoesn’trespond,whichdoesn’tsurpriseme,sinceshehasn’tsaidasinglewordsincebackattheclub.Shekickshershoesoff,leavingthemlyinginthemiddleoftheflooronherwaytothebedroom.Shedoesn’tshutherselfinthere,doesn’tevenattemptanyprivacyassheunzipsthecoatandtakesitoff,snatchingupawrinkledplainwhitet-shirtfromontopofthemessyunmadebedandpullingiton,coveringherself.Shewalksbackout,luggingthecoatalong,andshovesitatme,punchingmeinthechestwiththedamnthing.Sheletsgoofitandturns,headingintothekitchen.
Ifshecomesbackwithaknife,Isweartofuck,I’mgoingtoslaughterthewoman…
“You’rewelcome,”Icallout,puttingmycoatbackon.Itsmellslikeher,andIturnmyhead,inhalingalongthecollar.Huh
“Thankyou,”shesaysquietlyasshereappearsinthedoorway,clutchingaclearbottleofsomething.Rum…vodka…something.Shetakesadrinkofit,lingeringthere,leaningagainstthedoorframe,hereyesquestioningastheyregardme…astheywatchmesmellingmycoat,likesomepanty-sniffingpervert.
Ishrug,zippingitup.“Itsmellslikeyou.”
“WhatdoIsmelllike?”
“Likesexandshame,”Isay,smirkingatthescowlshedirectsmywayasIinhaleagain.“Andsomethingdistinctlyvanilla.”
“It’llfade.”Shetakesanotherlargeswigoftheliquor,grimacing,beforecontinuing.“It’sjustmylotion…vanillaorchid.Thesex,well,I’mafraidyou’llhavetowashthatoff.”
“Andtheshame?”Iask,strollingtowardher.“Howlonguntilthatfades?”
Shelaughsdryly.“I’llletyouknowifiteverhappens.”
Itaketheliquorfromher,glancingatthelabel.Rum.Thebottle’smadeofflimsyplastic,utterlycheap,thekindofrumthatputshaironchestsandcanputamotherfuckerthroughpubertyagain.It’snotforthefaintofheart,no,butneitherisshe
She’sgrittyandraw,butgoddamn,thewomanisbeautiful.ThemoreIlookather,themoreIseeit.
Itakeaswig,notreactingtothebitterness,andhanditbackasIstaredownather.“Whydon’tyoulockyourdoor,Scarlet?”
“Nopoint,”shesays.“Lockswon’tstopsomeonedeterminedtogetin.”
“Soyoumakeiteasyforthem?”
“I’mjustrealistic.Icouldsealmyselfupinheretight,withahundredlocksonthewindowsanddoors,butallthat’lldoistrapme,likesomecagedanimal,andIrefusetodoit.Besides,youknow,allofthis?”Shewavesaroundtheapartment.“Noneofitmeansanythingtome.Ifpeoplewanttohelpthemselvestoit,sobeit…theycanhaveitall.”
Shetakesanotherswigbeforepushingawayfromthedoorframe.Shovingbyme,shestrollsacrosstheroom,thatvanillascentwaftingtowardme.
“Ihatetobreakittoyou,”Isay,glancingaround,“butIdon’tthinkyoucouldgivehalfofthisshitaway.Nooffense,butitallkindoflookslike,well…shit.”
“That’sbecauseitis,”shesays,pausingatthewindowtolookout.“MostofitIfoundorstole.”
“Whatdoyoudowithallofyourmoney?”
“Isthatyourbusinessnow?”
“No.”
“Sowhyareyouasking?”
WhyamIasking?Idon’tknow.Idon’tevenknowwhyI’mhere,whyI’mbotheringwiththiswomanatall.“Justtryingtoriddleyouout.”
“Don’tbother,”shemuttersasIstrollcloser,pausingbehindher.“Myproblemsaremyown.”
“Ah,comeon.Youcanspillallyoursecretstome,Scarlet.I’mgoodatpretendingtolisten.”
Shelaughs,agenuinekindoflaugh,asshetiltsherhead,regardingmyreflectioninthegrimy,crackedglassofthelivingroomwindow.“I’msureyouare,butIlearnedlongagonottobaremysoultojustanyone.Itseemstomakepeoplethinkthey’reentitledtoeverypartofme,likeIowethemeverythingandcankeepnothingformyself.”
“Yeah,well,I’mnotjustanyone,”Itellher.“Besides,it’salittlelatetotrytokeepeverythingunderlockandkey,consideringwhatwentdowntonight.SohowaboutyoushowmeyoursandI’llshowyoumine?”
Sheturnsaround,eyebrowraisedassheleansbackagainstthecoldglass.It’schillyintheapartment,theheatbarelyworking,butthatdoesn’tseemtobotherher.Notmuchdoes.
“Goon,”shesays.“Youfirst.”
“Mefirst?”
Shenods.“ExcusemeifIdon’ttrustyoutoliveuptoyourendofit,consideringthebullshityoutriedtofeedmelasttime.Soyeah,youfirst.”
“Fairenough.”Ipause,tryingtothinkofsomethingtotellher,somethingdarkenoughtoenticeherownlittledemonstowanttopeekoutandjoinmetoday.“I’vekilledpeople.”
“You’vekilledpeople.”
“Yes.”
Shestaresatme.Hard.Shedoesn’tlookhorrified.Hell,shekindoflooksboredagain.“That’syourbig,darksecret?Thatyou’reamurderer?”
Ishrugashoulder.“Notdarkenough?”
“It’splentydark,”shesays.“It’sjustnotexactlyasecret.”
Well,damn.
“Ilie,cheat,steal,rob,pillage,plunder,slaughter…seventy-fiveotherfuckingwordsyoufindinadictionaryassociatedwiththeword‘criminal’.”
“That’snice,thatyouknowhowoneofthoseworks,”shesays.“That’skindofvague,though.”
“Youwantdetails?”
“IwantsomethingIdon’talreadyknow.”
Pressingmyhandstothewindowpaneoneithersideofher,Ileancloser.Herbreathhitches,hereyesfixedtomine,backflatagainsttheglass.She’sflustered,havingmesoclose.
“Iwantedtokillyourbosstonight,”Itellher.“Ishowedup,walkedintohisoffice,wantingtoendhislife,butthenIsawyouwereworking.Youwereononeofthescreens,leadingthatmanintotheback,andjustlikethat,Ichangedmymind.Becausewhilekillinghimwould’vebeenathrill,itwasn’tnearlyasenticingasyou.Helivedtoseeanotherdaythankstothelittleheroinredfishnetthigh-highs.”
Sheblinksafewtimes.“Didhe?”
“Didhewhat?”
“Live?”
Ittakesasecondformetorealizeshe’saskingiftheRussiansgothimafterIlefthimalive.“Ididn’tseehimlyingaroundanywhere,soI’massuminghe’sfine.”
Shenodsslightly,likethatdoesn’tsurpriseher.“Youshould’vekilledhim.”
“Why’sthat?”
“Becauseheorderedsomeonetokillyou.”
“Didhe?”
Shenodsagain.
Huh
MaybeI’msupposedtobeworriedaboutthat,butIletoutalightlaugh,amusedthathehadtheguts.Iftheratbastardwantedmedead,hehadampleopportunitytotryithimselftonight.
“I’llhavetorememberthat,”Isay.“Yourturn,Scarlet.TellmesomethingIdon’tknow.”
“Ijustdid.”
“Somethingaboutyou.”
Shehesitates.
ShehesitatessolongIknowshe’snotgoingtosayaword.
Ileandown,slidingmynosealongherskin,inhalingthatwarmvanilla,beforesaying,“Comeon,Ishowedyoumine,didn’tI?”
“Youdon’tunderstand,”shewhispers.
“Thenmakeme.”
AssoonasIsaythat,shepushesawayfromtheglass,shovingagainstme,forcingmetotakeastepback,butIresist,refusingtomove.Wehadadeal,goddamnit,andifshedidn’twanttomakeit,well,thensheshould’vethoughtaboutthatbeforeItoldhersomething.
Isteptotheside,infrontofher,whenshetriestogoaround,blockingherpathonceagainwhenshedodgestheotherway,pinninghertherebythewindow
Frustrationcloudsherface,andIhalfexpecthertohitme,toswingthatfistsheclenchesandpunchmerightinthejaw,butinsteadshecomesatme,shovingagainstme,beforethrustinguponhertiptoes.Hermouthisonmine,thoseredlipsforcefulastheykissmehard,furiouslymoving,likemaybeshecouldn’tfindthewordstospeaksoshe’stryingtostealthemfromme.
Figures
Fuckingthief.
AchillrunsdownmyspineasIroughlygraspthebackofherneck,holdingherthere,andkissherback.Mytongueslidesintohermouth,meetinghers.Thewomantastesasgoodasshesmells,sofuckinggoodthatIgroan.Myotherhandslidesupbeneaththeedgeofherwhiteshirt,grabbingherhip,yankinghercloser.
“Thisishowyouwantit?”Iaskbetweenkisses.“You’dratherfuckthantalk?”
“Shutup,”shegrowls,makingmestumblebackassheshovesmetowardthebedroom,droppingthebottleofliquortothefloor,discardingit,notgivingashitasitsplashesout,poolingalongthewoodandsplatteringthetwoofus.Frenziedhandsunzipmycoat,tuggingatit.“Just…shutup.”
Ioblige—forthemoment,atleast—andletherpushmetowardthebedroom,kissingherthewholewaythere,evenlettinghertearatmyclothes.Everysecondthatpasses,herfrustrationseemstogrow,thewomanclosetoHulking-outandjustsmashingeverygoddamnthing.Sheyanksatfabric,likeshethinksshe’sstrongenoughtoripitapart,soIhelpherout,tossingmycoatasideandbreakingthekisssoIcanpullmyshirtoff.
Herhandstrembleastheyfumblewithmypants,likeshe’snervous,orexcited,orfuck,maybeboth.I’mhavingahardtimegettingareadonher,especiallywhenIreachforhershirtandsheblocksmyattempttostripher.Avoicedeepintherecessofmymindscreamssomethingaboutthisisoff,butthatvoiceissnuffedoutquickerthanagunshottothetemplewhenherhandslipsintomyboxersandgrabsmycock.
BAM,allpussyfootinggone.
“Fuck,”Igroan,myvoicegritty,myeyesclosingasItiltmyheadback.Herhandiswarm,herskinvelvetysoft,buthertouchisfirmasshestrokes,hittingjusttherightplacestosetmeoff.Herthumbmassagesthesweetspotontheundersideofmycock,thesensitiveouterridgesofthehead,rightwherethosenerveendingsarebundled.
Jesus,thiswomanknowsheranatomy.
A+
Topmarks.
Summacumlaude.
Valedictorianofhermotherfuckingclass.
Icouldstandhereandfeelitforever,justgetlostinthesensationsrollingthroughmybody,butifshe’sthisgoodatahandjob,herpussywillwithoutadoubtblowmymind.Mypantsslidedownmylegs,droppingtomyankles,andItrytokickmybootsoff,butthey’renotbudging,andyouknowwhat?
Fuckthis.
Icanfuckherwithmyclotheson.
Grabbingherwrist,IpullherhandawaybeforeIexplodealready.Wouldn’ttakelong,that’sforsure,notwiththewayshe’stouchingme.Ipullherontoherbed,damnnearfallingfrommyshacklingpants,myhandstillclutchingherwrist.Mythumbpressesagainstherpulsepoint,feelingthethump-thump-thumpingfromherheartracing.
Twistingaround,sheusesherfreehandtoreachovertoabedsidestand,yankingadraweropentoretrieveacondom.Sheripsthegoldenfoilwrapperwithherteeth,andIletgoofherwrist,watchingassherollsthecondomonme.
Idon’tundressher.Ifshedoesn’twantmeto,hell,Iwon’t.Shovingherlegsapart,Isettlebetweenthem,hitchingherkneesup.Herthongisbarelyapieceofstring,easytoshoveasideasIreachbetweenus,caressingherbarepussy.
Hermouthfallsopen,asoftsighescaping,whenIpushmymiddlefingerinsideofher,pumpingitinandout.Mythumbroughlyrubsherclit,thesimpletouchmakinghermoan.Itdoesn’ttakelonguntilshe’ssoakingwet,writhingbeneathme.
Graspingmycock,Irubtheheadalongherwarmpussy,strokingherclitwiththetip,beforeliningupandpushingin.Fuck,shefitsperfectly,likealeatherglove.Herbreathhitches,andsheclutchesaholdofme,wrappingherarmsaroundme,herred-paintednailsdiggingintotheskinofmyback.
Ipoundintoher,ontopofher,coveringherwithmybody,diggingmybootsintothecheapmattressfortractionwitheachhardthrust.Thosenailsrakeacrossmyskin,leavingstingingtrailsassheclawsherwaythroughmewitheachwhimper,andmoan,andcry,herlegswrappingaroundmywaist,welcomingmeinside.
Fuck,thiswoman…
Yeah,I’mactuallyfuckingthiswoman.
Shegrowsquiet,hergriploosening,scratchesbecomingbarely-theretouches,herbodyshiftingeverytimeIthrustintoher.
She’slimpinthebed.
Pullingback,Ilookdownathertuckedbeneathme.She’sstaringoffintothedistance,gazefixedtoanearbywall.Dazed.Zonedout.Gone
“Oh,no,no…”Graspingherchin,Iturnherhead,forcinghertolookatme.“You’renotdoingthatblankslateshitwithme.”
Sheblinksafewtimesbeforehereyesnarrow.
“Goahead,getmad,”Isay,continuingtothrust.“ButwhenI’minsideofyou,Scarlet,youdon’tgettofade.”
“I’mnot,”shesaysdefensively.
“Liar,liar,pantsonfire…”
Shegrowls,handsrunningupmybackbeforeshefistsmyhair,tuggingonit,yankingmebackdowntowardher.“I’mnotfading.”
“Damnrightyou’renot,”Isay,brushingmynoseagainsthersbeforeIkissher.
Shedoesn’tfadeagain,thosemoansreturning,turningtosharpcriesasIstrokeherclit,bringinghertoorgasm.
Again.
Andagain.
Andagain.
IholdmyselfbackforaslongasIcan,watchingherasshecomesapartattheseams,thesoundsescapingherprimal,likeawildanimal,beforemybodyjustcan’ttakeanymore.IfIdon’tcomesoon,myballsaregoingtorevolt.They’reseriouslygoingtocloseupshopandgothefuckhome.Grunting,Ithrusthard,knockingtheflimsybedintothewall,asaswellofpleasurerunsthroughme.
“Fuck,”Igroan,grippinghertightly,fishnet-coveredlegsstillwoundaroundmeasIspillintothecondom.Stilling,Ipressmyforeheadtohers,catchingmybreath,inhalingherscent.Thevanillaisstillthere,yeah,butthesmellofsexovershadowsitnow,andtheshame?
Yeah,that’sstillalloverher.
“Satiated,”Isay,stillballs-deepinsideofher.“IsthatwhatyourScarletLetterstandsfor?”
SheshovesmewhenIaskthat,pushingmeoffofher.“Stupid.”
Ipulloutwithagroan.“Stupid?”
“That’swhatyourswouldstandfor,”shesays.“Stupid.Andsmug.”
“Satiated,”Isayagain,standingup,findingmyselfinquitethepredicament,consideringmypantsarewoundaroundmyankleslikeshacklesandIneedtomakemywaytothebathroomtodisposeofthecondom.Myassisonfulldisplay,andI’mnotexactlymodest,youknow,butI’mkindofhopingIdon’tfallflatonmyface.
It’spossible.
Plausible.
Probablygoingtohappen.
SoIsitbackdownontheedgeofthebedanduntiemyboots,yankingthemoff.Afterdroppingthemtothefloor,Ipulloffmypants,wearingnothingbutmysocksasIseekoutherbathroom.
It’ssmall.
I’mtalkingtiny
Fuckingminuscule.
Ihavetobecarefultakingapiss,mydickpracticallybiggerthanthewidthoftheroom.Acan’t-walk-into-the-shitcloset.Aholeinthedamnwall.It’scompletelyridiculous.
WhenI’mfinished,Igobacktoherbedroom.It’slate,andI’mexhausted,whichmeansIprobablyoughttogiveSevenacalltocomepickmeupsoIcantrytogetsomesleeptonight,getmyheadbackonright.MaybenowthatI’vebeeninsideofher,it’llpurgeallthesegoddamnthoughtsofherfrominsideofme.
Scarletissittingonherbed,herkneespulleduptoherchest,hershirtstretchedaroundthemasshehuddlesbeneathit.Notforwarmth,no…moreliketryingtoshieldherselffromtheworldaroundher.Nervousagain.Isitdownontheedgeofthebed,eyeingmydiscardedclothesonthefloor.
“It’sbeenninemonths,”shesaysquietly.
“Ninemonthssincewhat?”
“SinceIlastcameface-to-facewithKassian.”
Ah.“I’massumingthatwashimtonight?”
“Yes.”
“Andyou’vebeenhidingfromhimforninemonths?”
Shelaughsdryly.“I’vebeenhidingfromhimalotlongerthanthat,butit’sbeenninemonthssincehelastfoundme.I’vemanagedtoevadehimforfortylongweeks.”
“Almostbrokeyourstreaktonight.”
“Almost,”sheagrees.
“Whatdoeshewantfromyou?”
Sheshrugs.It’snotanevasion.Icantellthereactionisgenuine.Shedoesn’tputitinwords,butIknowwhatshe’ssaying…shedoesn’tunderstandwhathewants.Maybesheknows,inherhead,butshe’slisteningwithherheart,adangerouspathtogodown.
“Whateveritishewants,youprobablyshouldgiveittohimsohe’llgoaway.”
“Butwhatifhewon’t?”sheasks.“Whatifthisiswhathewants?”
“What,mayhem?”
“Yes.”
“Well,then,yougetridofhimadifferentway.”
Idrawalinealongmythroatwithmyfingers,makingmypoint,asIlaybackonthebed.It’suncomfortable,butI’mexhausted,toolazytoputonmypantsyet.Shit.Myeyesareburning,myheadstartingtopoundwiththebeginningofaheadache,thankstotheadrenalinerushfinallyfading,mediocritycreepingbackin.
“That’snotanoption,”shesaysquietly.“Murderisn’talwaystheanswer.”
Laughing,Iclosemyeyes,coveringmyforearmwiththem.“Hell,andhereIthoughtitwas…”ChapterTwelve
Thesunrisesintheeast.
I’mnotsurehowoldIwaswhenIlearnedthat.Tothisday,I’mnotevensurewhyithappensthatway.Although,itdoesn’treallymatter,doesit?It’sjustanundeniablefact,oneIthinkaboutthosemorningswhenIsituphere,onthisrooftopandwatchthesunpeekingoutovertheBrooklynskyline,bathingtheboroughinanorangeglow,likethestreetsareonfire.
Somedays,itfeelsliketheymightbe.
ItfeelslikeBrooklynisburningandI’mjusthere,sitting,watchingitdisintegrateasIbreatheinthesmokyair,mylungsscorchingandchestaching,notdoingagoddamnthingtostopit.Because,seriously,whatthehellamIsupposedtodo?Huh?I’veyelled‘fire’somanytimesthatnobodyevenlooksmywayanymorewhentheyhearmescreaming,likeI’vebecomenothingbutwhitenoiseinacrowdedcityfullofoverpoweringvoices.
I’mprobablynotmakinganysensetoyou.It’sokay.Idon’tunderstandmyselfanymoremostdays.Ijustsitonthisledgeandstareoutatthefieryhorizonasanotherdaydawns,toostrong-willedtoeverflingmyselfoffthesideofthisbuildingbutyettoodamnpowerlesstowardoffmyinevitablefall.SoIsit,andstare,andwait,andclingtothelittlebitofhopeIwakeupwitheveryday,butIdon’tstopdoingit,Idon’tjustgiveup,becausemaybe—goddamnit,maybe—I’llfindmywingsagainandgettosoar
Flythefuckawayfromallofthis.
Butuntilthen,I’mjustgrounded.
Taggedandtracked.
Mywingsgotclipped.
I’malittlecagedbirdie.
Sighing,Ibringthejointtomylipsandinhale,takingapuffofscorchingsmokeintomylungs,holdingit,lettingitsoothethepainawayasitmakesmyheadjustabitmorefoggysoIstopagonizingaboutalifeontheothersideofthattoo-deepriverthatI’mneversupposedtocross.
“Youknow,Ididn’tkillyouwhenyoustolemywallet.Didn’tkillyouwhenyoustolemymoney.Butmymedicine?That’scrossingafuckingline,Scarlet.Imightthrowyouofftheroofforthat.”
Thatvoicemakesmyskinprickle,placesinsideofmetingle,asitcallsoutbehindmeontheroof.Lorenzo.Thetinyhairscoveringmybodystandonend,likesparkedbyelectricity,asIhearhisfootsteps.Iwouldn’tclassifymyselfas‘frightened’,becauseI’mprettysurehe’snotreallygoingtokillme,butIwouldsayit’skindofalarming,because,well…I’monlyprettysure.There’sstillthatchancehemightactuallythrowmeofftheroofandmakemegosplat
“Yourmedicine,huh?”IglanceatthehorriblyrolledjointIgotfromtherepurposedAltoidstinIswipedfromhispocketwhilehesnoozedinmybed.
“Yes,”hesays,pullinghimselfupontheledgebesideme,swingingaroundsohisfeetaredanglingovertheedge.He’sdressednow,fromhead-to-toe,likehetookanicelittlenapsohe’sreadytogo.“It’smedicinal.”
Itakeanotherhitofit,holdingthesmokeforasecondasIofferthejointtohim.Or,well,relinquishit,Iguess.Notreallyminetooffer
Lettingoutthesmoke,Iplayfullyask,“Sowhat’syourailment,huh?Glaucoma?”
Wordlessly,hetakesitfromme.“Close.”
Close
MystomachdropswhenIseehe’sstaringatmepeculiarly.Hemotionstowardhisinjuredeye.Shit.He’sbeingserious?
“I,uh…Ididn’trealize…”
“Youdidn’trealizemyeyewasallfuckedup?”heasks,takingahit,lettingthesmokefilterrightbackoutashesays,“Kindofhardtomiss,Scarlet.”
“No,Imean,Iknowit’smessedup.I’mnotblind,Icansee,butIjustdidn’trealize…”Itrailoffashecurvesaneyebrow,continuingtostareatme.I’mnotblind.Icansee.DidIseriouslyjustsaythatshit?“Wow,Ishouldprobablystoptalking.”
“Mightbeagoodidea,”hesays,takinganotherhitbeforeholdingthejointmyway,likehe’sactuallyofferingittome.Itakeitfromhim,watchingasheexhalesslowly.Hedoesn’tlookoffended,atleast.“Iusedtobeabletoseeshadows,makeoutshapes,butthatkeptgettingworse,wentawaycompletelyaboutayearago.Totaldarknessnow.I’llprobablylosetheeyeeventually.Hell,I’msurprisedit’ssurvivedthislong.It’sbeendyingonehellofapainfuldeathforabouttwentyyearsnow.Guessit’sasstubbornastherestofme.”
“Ididn’trealize…”
“Yeah,Igotthat,”hesays.“Gotitthetwoothertimesyousaidit.Don’tgowalkingoneggshellsaroundmeoversomeperceiveddisabilityyou’rethinkingI’vegotnow.Don’tpityme.I’velearnedhowtocompensateforwhatI’mmissing.Youdon’tneeddepthperceptionorpinpointaimtothrowafuckinggrenade.”
“Idon’tpityyou,”Isay,becauseIdon’t…Idon’tpityhimatall.Imoresopitythepeoplewhocrosshispath,whoincitehiswrath,likeIseemtobedoingatthemoment.Gettingonhisnerves.“Soithurts?Youreye?Whatdoesitfeellike?”
I’maskingalotofdamnquestions.That’swhatthelookhegivesmesays.ButI’mashighasaskyscraper,sohighI’malmostconvincedIcanfly.Hismedicinalisthegoodshit,andyeah,maybeit’smedicinetohim,butit’salsohighlyillegal,Iknow,becausethere’snowaysomethingthatpotentisgovernmenttaxed.
“Youtryingtofigureoutmyweaknesses?”
“I’lltellyoumineifyoutellmeyours.”
“Bigwordsforawomanwhowouldratherbareherpussythanbareapieceofhersoul,”hecounters,hisgazetrailingdownmybody.I’mstillwearingwhatIputonlastnight,feelingfilthy,thesmellofsexstillalloverme.“Yourpussy’snice,youknow…beautiful…butIwouldn’texactlycallitasecret,notwhenit’ssomethingalotofpeoplealreadyknow.”
Icringeathiswords,shovingthejointbackathim,donewithit.
Hetakesit,smokingtherestinsilence,holdingitinhislungsforlongmomentsbeforeexhalingslowlyinmydirection,hisgazestillonme.Istareoffintothedistance,atthehorizon,watchingtheorangehuesurroundingBrooklynfadetothetypicaldismalgrayasthedaygoeson.
“Iwatchthesunriseeverymorning,”Imumble.“I’venevertoldanyonethatbefore.IcomeuphereandIsitandIwatchasitrisesoverBrooklyn.Theapartmentisshitty,andthebuildingsmellslikepiss,buttheviewfromuphereisthebestI’vefound,soIstay…IstayandIwatchthesunrise.Ilookforwardtoit,everymorning.Anotherdaydawning,anotherchanceforthingstofinallygoright.It’stheonlytimeIfeelhopeanymore,theonlytimeIfeelalive.It’smyfavoritetimeofday.”
Lorenzostubswhat’sleftofthejointoutontheledge,smashingtheremnantsintotheconcrete.“Iseesunriseeveryday,too.”
Ilookathimwithsurprise.“Youdo?”
Henods.“ExceptwhenIseeit,youknow,allIthinkis‘herecomesanotherdayofbullshitsurroundedbyalltheseidiots.’Doesn’treallyleavemefeelinghopeful.”
Ilaughatthat,althoughIcantellhe’snotjoking.“That’sabouthowIfeelcomesunset—anothernightinthetrenches,tryingtosurvivetoseeanothersunrise.Sofar,I’vegotaprettygoodrecord.Acoupleclosecalls,butI’mstillundefeated,sothat’sgottacountforsomething.”
“Whydoyoudoit?”
“WhatelseamIsupposedtodo?”
“Anything,”hesays.“Literallyanythingelsehastobebetterthanwhatyou’redoing.”
“Doyouknowwhatit’sliketotrytogetajobinthiscity?Alegitimatejob?I’mguessingyoudon’toryouwouldn’tbeaskingmethat.”
“Onthecontrary,Scarlet,Iknowexactlywhatit’slike.”
Irollmyeyes,becauseyeah,right
“I’vegotabrother,”hesays.“Goodkid,triestoliveonthestraightandnarrow.Hedoesn’thavetheheartforthebusinessI’min,wantsnothingtodowithit.Iwatchedhimbusthisasstryingtofindworkwithjustahighschooldiploma.”
“Yeah,well,Idon’tevenhaveoneofthose,”Isay.“SoIdowhatIhavetodo,IusewhatIhave,andmaybethatmakesmeacrappyperson,whatever…maybeI’mruinednow,maybeI’mworthless…”
“Idon’tthinkyou’reanyofthat,”hesays.“Ithinkyou’reworthahellofalotmorethanyourealize.Youwanttotakeyourclothesoffformoney?Doit.Buttherearebetterplacesoutthere,betterwaystodoit.Youdon’tsellsomethingfortwentybucksthat’sworththousands.You’reonlyfuckingyourself.”
“Nobodyelsewilltakeachanceonme.”
“That’sridiculous.”
Ishakemyheadathisflippanttone.“Haveyouforgottenaboutlastnight?Peoplewouldhavetobecrazytohireme.Georgewastheonlyonewiththegutstoriskit,andGodknowsthat’soutofthequestionnow.There’snowayhe’llwantanythingtodowithme.I’monmyown.”Irunmyhandsdownmyfaceinfrustration,closingmyeyes.Thissucks.“Sellingpussyoncitystreetcorners…I’msurethat’lllookgreatonmyresume.”
“Youcouldcomeworkforme.”
“Yeah,right.”Iscoffatthat.“Nothanks.”
“Whynot?”
“BecauseIdon’tparticularlylikeyou.”
“And,what,youlikebendingoverandgettingfuckedforafewbucks?Moneythatyouclearlydon’tgettokeep,judgingbywhatI’veseenaboutyourlife.”
“It’snotlikethat.”
“Thenwhat’sitlike?Enlightenme.”
“Haveyoueverhadtodosomethingyoudidn’tparticularlywanttodo,butyoudiditbecauseitwasinyourbestinterestjusttogoalongwithit?”
“No.”
Irollmyeyes.Again.“Itmustbenice,beingyou,beingamaninaman’sworld.Tryingbeingawomansometime.”
“IwishIcould,”hesays.“I’dhaveapussytoplaywithalldaylong,wouldn’thavetocombthecitylookingforawomanwithlowstandardsandloosemorals,sincethatwomanwouldbeme.”
Helaughs,butIdon’tfindhimfunny.Notatall.Hehasn’tthefaintestideawhatit’slikebeingawoman,especiallyoneinmypredicament.Itrynottolethisflippantreactiongettome,butitstirsupahurtIsometimeshaveahardtimehiding.
“Oh,woe-is-fucking-me.JustthefactthatyoucanmakeajokeaboutthattellsmeallIneedtoknowaboutyouandyourprivilege.”
“Myprivilege?Doesthislooklikeafacethat’sprivileged?”
Hepointstohisface,tomakehispoint,likehethinksmaybeIhaven’tlookedathiminthelasttwentyseconds,likemaybeIforgotwhathelookslike,buthestilldoesn’tgetit.
“Yeah,itdoes,”Isay.“Ihatetobreakittoyou,butyourfaceisn’tadetriment.It’snot.Ifanything,ithelpsyou.Peopletakeyouseriously,notonlybecauseyou’reamanbutbecauseyou’reamanwhoclearlywentthroughhell.Theydon’tlookatyouandseesomethingbroken.Theyseesomethingstrong,somethingthatwon’tbreak,becauseyou’restillstanding,despiteeverything.Itintimidatesthem.Theyrespectyouforit.Butifyouwereawoman?You’dberuined.Theworldwouldlookatyouandthink‘aw,poorthing,someonebrokeher,shemustbesoweak.’That’swhattheythinkaboutawomanwhohasbeenthoughhell.Believeme,Iknow.”
“Idon’tthinkyou’reweak.“
“ButyouthinkI’mbroken,”Isay.“Youaskedmewhobrokeme,likeI’mmadeofglassandsomeonecanjustshattermeandscattermypieces,likeI’mthatfragile.Imightbehurt,Imightbebeatdown,butI’llbegoddamnifamanwilleverbreakme,Lorenzo.Buttheworldcan’tcomprehendawomanbeingthatstrong.We’resupposedtobuckleandbreak,liketheonlytimewecanpossiblyhaveanystrengthisifthere’ssomeonewithadickstandingbyourside.It’slikeapenisisaprerequisiteforanopinion,soifIdon’thaveonemyself,I’vegottobeutilizingsomeoneelse’sinordertohaveanysay-soinmyownfuckinglife.”
HestaresatmelikeI’mspeakingsomeforeignlanguagethathe’sneverheardbefore,andI’msuddenlywonderingwhatkindofwomenthismanspendshistimewith,becausetheycertainlycan’tbethetypetostanduptohim.“Ihaven’tthefaintestfuckingideawhattosayrightnow,Scarlet.”
“Ofcourseyoudon’t,”Isay.“Youdon’tknowwhatit’sliketohavetopretendtobehelplessjusttostaysafe.There’sareasongirlsyell‘fire’insteadof‘rape’,whywelieandsaywehaveboyfriendsinsteadofjustsaying‘no’whenwe’renotinterested.Becausealotofmenrespectanotherman’spropertymorethantheyrespectawoman’srighttoherownbody.SowhileI’mforcedtoliveinaman’sworld,IdowhatIhavetodo.Andifthatmeanstakingmyclothesoffforsomeschmuckwithafewbucks,thenbygolly,I’lldoit,nomatterhowyoufeelaboutit.”
Igetup,toleave,becausehe’sreallytouchinganerverightnowandI’mdangerouslyclosetodoingsomethinginsanelystupid,liketryingtoflinghimoffoftheroof.Wrappingmyarmsaroundmychest,myfishnet-coveredfeettrudgeafewstepstowardthedoorbackdowntomyapartmentwhenhisvoicecallsout.“Igetit.”
Istall,turningaround.“Doyou?”
“Mimicry,”hesays,swingingaroundtofaceme.“Youbewhoevertheyneedyoutobe.”
Exactly.
“AndIdidn’tmeantohurtyouwhenIsaidyouwerebroken,”hecontinues.“It’sjustaword,youknow.Broken.Justafuckingword.Hell,youcancallmebrokenifyouwant.Youcancallmeanything.”
“ExceptScar?”
HereactsassoonasIsayit,bodytensing,handsclenchinginhislap.“Youcancallmethat,too,ifthat’swhatyoureallywant.Doesn’tmakeabitofdamndifference.”
“Yousaythatasyoumakefists,likeyouwanttopunchmeforit.”
“MaybeIdo,”hesays,standingup,strollingtowardme.“Doesn’tmeanI’mgoingto,though.It’safreecountry,Scarlet.Chooseyourownadventure.Ifyou’dratherkeepbendingoverforwiththeseyellow-belliedmotherfuckers,Iwon’tbegrudgeyouforit.Butifyouwanttotrysomethingelse,I’msureIcanfindaplaceforyou.”
“Iwon’tfuckyou.”
“We’vealreadyfucked.”
“ImeanIwon’tbeyourwhore,”Isay.“Sodon’tthinkI’msomethingyoucanjusthaveoruseorpassaround.Nobodytouchesmewithoutmypermission,sodon’tthink—”
“Idon’tthinkit,”hesays,cuttingmeoff.“Wasn’tmyintention.You’vegototherassets,youknow…pussyisn’ttheonlythingyou’vegotgoingforyou.”Hegrabsmywrist,pullingmyarmup,histhumbpressingagainstthepulsepointbeneathmytattoo.Icantellitannoyshim,notknowingwhatitstandsfor.“You’resmart…stealthy…sharp…amIevengettingclose?”
Ishakemyhead.
Hischeektwitches.“Regardless,youare.You’reslick,Scarlet,andIdon’tmeanthatinthewetpussykindofway,although,well…”Hepausesashelooksmeover,likehe’slosthistrainofthought,beforeheshakesitoff,lettinggoofmywrist.“I’mjustsayingsexisn’tallyou’regoodfor.Youdon’twanttofuckme?That’sfine.Undernocircumstancesisfuckingmearequirement.ButI’veseenwhatyou’recapableof.Somaybeyou’reright,aboutbeingawoman.Idon’tknow,becauseI’mnotone.Maybe,tomakeitonthesestreets,youneedsomeoneinyourcorner.Inthatcase,youneedtoreassesswhothatsomeoneis,becauseifthey’renottakingyouseriously,Scarlet?Iftheydon’tseeyouforthethreatyouare?They’redoingyounogoddamngood,becausewhentroublecomes,theybuckle,baby.They’retheoneswhoaren’tstrong.”
Hestaresatme,likehe’sawaitingsomereaction,somesortofintelligentresponsetothatdeclaration,buthe’skindofrenderedmespeechless,soIjustofferhimhisownwords.“Ihaven’tthefaintestfuckingideawhattosaytothat,Lorenzo.”
Asmilecrackshisfaceashegraspsmychin,tiltingmyfaceupfurther,andholdingmethere.Histouchsendssparksthroughmybody,myheartracinginmychest.Workingforhimwouldbedangerous,verydangerous,ineveryconceivableway,andI’mjustnotsureifthat’sariskIcantake.
“Youjustthinkaboutit,”hesays.“JamaicaEstatesoverinQueens…it’sawhitehouseonMidland,notfarfromGrandCentralParkway.Youwantme,that’swhereyou’llfindme.Mydoor’salwaysopen.Literally.Idon’tlockmydoors,either.”
Histhumblightlyswipesacrossmybottomlipbeforehepullsaway,lettinggo,hishandleavingmyskin.
Ijuststandhereasheleaves,waitinguntilhe’sgonebeforereturningtomyapartment.Ishowerandchangeclothes,grabbingmyoversizedblackhoodie,tuggingitonbeforeleaving,too.
Ineedtoclearmyhead.Ineedtomakesenseofthismess.
IneedtomakeanothertrektoBrooklyn.
***
Dryheatbillowsfromtheventintheceilingrightaboveme,rufflingmyfrizzyhair,blowingwaywardstrandsintomyface.
Idon’tbotherpushingthemaway.
ItfeelslikeDeathValleyinthisglasscubetheycallanoffice,thefluorescentlightstoobrightandtheairtoowarm.Mypalmsaresweaty,handsshovedinthepocketofmyhoodie.Everybreathmakesmylungsburn,stiffandachyinmychest,likesmokeinhalationgotthebestofmethismorning.
I’mstillhigh.
Icanfeelit.
Theblindsareupandthedoorisproppedopen,givingaclearviewinsidetheoffice,soanyonewalkingpastcanseemesittinghere.It’sunnerving,butI’mgratefulfortheopenness.Itmeansthedetectiveistoobusytothinkabouthanky-pankyrightnow.
He’sbeeninandoutoftheofficeforthepastthirtyminutes,barelyacknowledgingmypresence,shufflingthroughpaperworkandmutteringunderhisbreath.I’mcuriouswhathe’sworkingon,butifIaskhe’lljustsayitisn’tanyofmybusiness,evenifitis…hedoesn’ttellmeanything.
Istarepasthim,beyondhim,outoftheofficewindowoftheprecinct,astreamofsunlightreflectingofftheglass,remindingmeoftheorangeglowthismorning.“Twohundredandeightysunrises.”
Gabeshufflesthroughafewfilesashesays,“Youshouldn’tbehere,Morgan.”
That’swhathealwayssays.
You’dthinkhe’dbetiredofrepeatinghimself.
“Yeah,well,hereIam,”ImumbleasItoywiththeedgeofthesleevesofmyhoodie.“AlwaysexactlywhereIdon’tbelong.”
Heletsoutadeep,exaggeratedsighashesitsbackinhischair.“Theguysoverattheseventhprecinctaregonnawanttointerviewyou.”
Inod,notsurprised.
ThepolicewouldbecrawlingalloverMystic.I’mnotonrecordasworkingthere,officially,butmynameisboundtocomeup.Thesecuritymonitorsarenothingmorethanlivefeeds,sotherewon’tbeanyrecordings,whichmeansthey’regoingtobedesperateforwitnesses.
They’llfindnone.
Nobody’sgoingtotalk.
Certainlynotme.
“Wasithim?”Gabeasks.
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Ithinkitcertainlysoundslikesomethinghe’ddo.”
“Well,thereyougo,”Isay.
“Soyousawhim?”Gabeasks.“Kassian?”
Kassian
Mygazeshiftstomylapatthesoundofthatname.Sweatrollsdownmyback.Itfeelsevenhardertobreatheinherenow.Whythehellisitsohot?
“Iheardhimtalking,”Isay.“Hewaslookingforme.”
“Didheseeyou?”
“WouldIbesittinghereifhedid?”
“No,”hemutters.“Probablywouldn’t.”
Ican’tevenbegintoimaginewhatKassianmight’vedonehadhefoundmehidingbehindthatbar,howhewould’vereactedtothesightofmecoweringtherewithoutatopon.Probablywould’vekilledeveryone.We’vebeendoingthisdanceforalong,longtime,butthesepastninemonthshavebeentheworst.I’mexhausted.MostintensegameofHide&Seekeverplayed,exceptit’snotagame.Notreally.There’snothingfunaboutwhatwe’redoing.Iwanttoquit,forfeit,callitatieandwalkawaywithmyheadheldhigh,butKassianAristovplaystowin
There’snonegotiatingwiththatman.
It’shiswayornoway.
AndIcan’tlethimwinthisone.Ican’t.Andheknowsthat.Himwinningmeanstherestofuslose
“Doyoueverwatchthesunrise,detective?”
Gabesighsdramatically,ignoringmyquestion,likemaybehethinksI’mbeingstupid.“Gohome,Morgan.It’snotsafeforyouhere.”
“Notsafeinthe60thprecinct?”Igaspwithmockhorror,clutchingmychest.“Whateverdoyoumean?”
“YouknowexactlywhatImean.”
“Yeah,well,ifI’mnotsafesurroundedbypolice,whatmakesyouthinkI’llbesafeanywhereoutthere?”
“Hehasn’tfoundyouyet,hashe?”
“Notyet,”Isay,yetbeingtheoperativeword.IfhefiguredoutIwasworkingatMystic,it’sonlyamatteroftimeuntilhetracesmetotheapartment,consideringGeorgeownstheplace.
HesetmeuptherewhenIhitbottom,afterIthrewmyselfathismercy,havingnowhereelsetoturnforhelp.HehatestheRussianswithafierypassion,andtheenemyofmyenemy,well…let’sjustsaythey’retheonlyonesstupidenoughtojumpatthatchance.
“CanIaskyousomethingelse,detective?”
“IfIsayno,willthatmakeyouleave?”
“No.”
“Thenfireaway.”
“WhatdoyouknowaboutaguytheycallScar?”
Gabestopswhathe’sdoingandlooksatme.“IknowanyonewithastreetnamelikeScarisprobablygoingtobebadnews.Otherthanthat,nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,”hesays.“Why?”
“Noparticularreason.”
“Why,Morgan?”heasksagain,voicelouder.“Whathaveyougottenyourselfintonow?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Man,thisconversationisgoingnowhere
“Gohome,”Gabesays,standingup,“andstaythere.Stayofftheradar.Stayoutoftrouble.Don’tdoanythingstupid.Don’tjeopardizewhatwe’redoinghere.”
“Whatarewedoinghere?”Iask.“BecauseI’mnotreallyseeinganythingbeingdone.”
Hesqueezesmyshoulder.It’smeanttobeaffectionate,Iguess,buthistouchmakesmyskincrawl.“I’mprotectingyou,Morgan,justlikeyouneedmetodo.”
Afterhewalksout,Isitthere,consideringthosewords.Protectingme.
Ifthisishowtheyprotectpeople,IthinkI’dratherprotectmyselfChapterThirteen
“Ihavesomethingforyou,kitten.”
Thelittlegirltensedatthosewords,attheTinMan’svoiceinthedoorwaybehindher.Ithadbeentwoweekssincethatnightwhenshe’dbeenwokenfromhersleepforHide&Seek.
Whenwoulditbeover?
Thelittlegirlturnedaroundinthewoodendeskchair,whereshe’dbeendrawingwithastubbylittlepencilinthebedroomhecalledhers.TheTinManstoodthere,dressedinablacksuit,handshiddenbehindhisback.Shehadn’tseenhimmuchindays.Shestayedinthatroom,avoidinghimafterheburnedherfavoritenightgown.
Shedidn’tlikebeingthere,butshelikeditatinybitmorewhenhewasn’taround.TheCowardlyLionwatchedherthenightstheTinMandidn’tcomehome.Hewasn’talwaysnice,buthewasn’tasmean.Sometimes,shethoughtshemightlikehim.
Herstomachgurgledandherhandsshookasshefistedthepencil.“Whatdoyouhave?”
TheTinMansaidnothing,didnothing,juststaringather,notmovingfromthedoorway.Afteramoment,hepulledsomethingfrombehindhisback,hishanddwarfingastuffedbear.Threadbareinsomepatches,itsfluffkindofmatted,thetancoloringfilthybrown.Aneyewasgoneandanearwasbarelyhangingon,butitwasthemostbeautifulthingthelittlegirlhadeverseen,becauseitwashers.Hers
Hermotherhadgivenittoher.
Shehadn’tseenitsincethenightshe’ddroppeditinthekitchennearwherehermotherslept.Hereyeswidened,lipsparting,heartbeatingwildlyinherchest.
“Forme?”sheasked.
“Itisyours,yes?”Helookedatit,makingaface.“Hideousthing.Doyouevenwantit?”
Shefranticallynodded.
Ofcourseshewantedit.
Shewanteditsobad
Butshedidn’tdaremovefromthechair,didn’tdaretrytogetit.Notyet
Hekneltdownthen,eye-levelfromthedoorway,andhelditoutforhertotake.Thelittlegirlwasterrifieditmightbeatrick,butshewanteditsomuchshehadtotry.Standingup,sheapproachedhim,reachingforit.Hekepthisgriponthebear,notyetreleasingit.“Doesithaveaname?”
Shenodded.
“Useyourwords.”
“HisnameisBuster,”shewhispered.
“Buster,”herepeatedbeforefinallylettinggo.Thelittlegirlsnatchedthebeartoherchest,huggingittightly.
TheTinManstoodbackup,likehewasjustgoingtoleave,likeithadn’tbeenatrickatall.Hereallyhadsomethingforher,somethinghewouldletherkeep.
Inasnapdecision,thelittlegirlflungherselfathim,hugginghislegs,squishingtheteddybearagainsthisthigh.Hefroze,lookingather.Sheworriedshe’dmadeamistakeuntilhishandgentlystrokedherlongbrownhairandhehuggedherback.
“Thankyou,Daddy,”shewhispered.
Hisfingercrookedbeneathherchin,makingherlookupathim.“Iwoulddoanythingforyou,kitten.”
Shewasn’tsureifshebelievedthat,buthisgentletonemadehersmile.Forthefirsttimeinfourteenlongdays,shesmiledathim.
TheTinMangrinneddownather,againstrokingherhair,hisshoulderssagging,hisposturelesstense,likemaybeherememberedhisheartagain.Maybeitwasinhischest,beatingallweirdlyjustlikehers,kindofscaredstill,butalmostalittlebithappy,too.Itdidn’tlastlong,though,assomethinghappenedtohissmile,makingitfreezeonhisface,likethesmilehermothergaveherthenightwhenthingswentallwrong.
“Youlooklikeher,”hesaid,histoneflat.“Iprayyouneveractlikeher.Iwouldnothandlethatwell.”
Hepulledaway,pryingheroffofhim,leavingherstandingthereinacloudofconfusion.Sheshookitoff,though,hersmileonlygrowingasshehuggedBuster,holdinghimtohernoseandinhalingdeeply.
Itwasalmostlikehugginghermother.ChapterFourteen
Puzzles
Eachpieceperfectlycut,moldedtofittheonessurroundingit,uniqueinitsownrightsoitcan’tgoanywhereelse,onlywhereitbelongs.Alone,thepiecemeansnothing,aflickerofapicture,likeastorywithoutanending,justarandomscenewithoutanycredibility.It’slikegettingyourdickwetbutnevergettingoff,stickingitinbutnotfucking.
What’sthepointofthat?
Puzzlesdemandfollow-through.Youcan’tjustdickoutinthemiddleofone.
Or,well,Ican’t.
It’skindofametaphorforlife.Momentsarepieces,formedtogetherandbuiltupon,creatingthebiggerpicturewithintheborderofyourworld.Mypuzzleisfullofdeformedshapesandjaggededges,butitstillallfitstogetherinitsowntwistedway,makingahideousfuckingpictureofmyreality.
Ilikepuzzles.
That’sprobablynotasurprise.
Thelibraryonthefirstfloorofthehouseismostlyvacant,justlikemostoftheotherrooms.Onlyownwhatyoucanuse.Anoversizedebonyveneertablespansthecenterofit,goldenbrownandstarkblackwoodmergingtogether,thekindoftableyou’dfindinaboardroomsurroundedbythoseexpensiveassergonomicchairs.There’sasingleblackleatherofficechairinheresomewhere,shovedaside,asIstandinfrontofthetable,gazingdownatit,tappingthecornerofapuzzlepieceagainsttheshinystripedwood,thinking.
I’vebeenworkingonthispuzzleforafewmonthsnow,sincethedaywemovedintothishouse,thebordercompleted,takinguphalfofthetable,sectionspiercedtogetherinsideofitwithothersjustsittingaround.Eightthousandpieces.AreplicaofMichelangelo’spaintingontheceilingoftheSistineChapel.
Soundsboring,Iknow.
Juststickwithmehere.
It’llgetbetter.
Itrythepieceafewspotsbeforesnappingitintoplaceneartheborder.Ilookaround,seekingoutanother,whenlighttappingechoesthroughthelibraryfromtheopendoorwayasknucklesraptagainstthewoodenpaneling.
Sevenstandsthere,notcrossingthethreshold,clutchinghisphone.Orwell,myphone,actually.Hetendstofiltermycallsformewheneverhe’saround,likesomepseudo-secretary.
Hedoesn’tcomeanycloser,waitingforacknowledgment.Othersmovearoundthehouse,therestofmylittlepersonalwreckingcrew,sevenofthemintotal.Thereusedtobeten,anice,roundevennumber,buttheotherthree?Well,theymetunfortunateendsduetotheirownstupidity.
Idon’thavemanyrules.Dowhatyouwant.Screwwhoyouwant.Steal,andlie,andcheat,ifyoumust,butwhenItellyousomething,youlisten,andit’sinyourbestinterestnottoannoyme,becauseIcanbeabittouchy.
Oh,anddon’tstepfootinmylibrarywithoutmypermission.
“Whatisit,Seven?I’mbusy.”
“Thatguyiscallingagain.”
“Whichguy?”
“RicardoConti.”
“Who?”
“Amello’sguy.”
“Whichguy?”
“Theonewemetoutonthedockthatnight.”
“Ah,thatguy,”Isay,tryingapieceinafewspotsbeforediscardingit,pickingupanother.“Hedoesn’tlooklikeaRicardo.”
“That’shisname.”
“Idon’tlikeit.”
“Ididn’timagineyouwould.”
There’snothingspitefulaboutthosewordsfromSeven,soItakenooffensetothem.
TheguyknowshowItick.
Itrymynextpiece,findingitsspot,andmoveontoyetanotherwhenSevenclearshisthroat.“Boss?”
Ilookathimagain,growingimpatient.“What?”
“Ricardo,”hesays,holdingthephoneup.“He’scalling.”
“Now?”
“Yes,”hesays.“Doyouwantmetotellhimyou’restillbusy?”
“Dependsonwhathewants.”
“Tomeetupwithyouagain.”
“Oh,well,invitehimover,then.”
Seven’seyeswiden.“Here?”
“Yeah,whynot?”Ishrug.“It’sstillcoldasfuck.I’mnothangingoutonsomedocktonight,freezingmynutsoffagain.Ifhewantstoseeme,hereIam.”
“Yes,boss.I’lltellhim.”
SevenretreatsasIcontinueworkingonmypuzzle,tryingtofocus,butmyvisionisblurringandmakingithardtosee,thecolorsallmergingtogether.Itryforabitlongerbeforegivingup,aheadachesettingin.Snatchingthechaircloser,Idropdowninit,proppingmyfeetuponthecornerofthetableasIclosemyeyes,drapingmyarmovermyface,tryingtoblockoutallofthelight
GodknowshowlongIsithere,zoningout,dozingoff,beforeathroatclears.Iopenmyeyes,alarmed,seeingamansteppingintothelibrary.Ricardo.Sittingstraightup,feethittingthefloorwithathud,Ireachformygun.Ipointitbeforehecancomeanycloser,aimingcentermass.
“OnemorestepandIpullthetrigger,”Isayashecomestoanabruptstop,raisinghishands,likesurrenderingmightstopmefromshooting.Ha.“Doyoualwaysmakeitahabittoentersomeone’sdomainwithoutknocking?”
“Iwasinvited,”hesays.“Andthedoor,youknow,it’sopen,soIthought…”
Sevenappearsbehindtheguyashetrailsoff.Grabbinghim,Sevenroughlypatshimdown,snatchingasmallgunfromaholsterunderhisclothes.Sevenquicklydisassemblesit,takingallthebullets,beforehandingthegunbacktohim.Hisbrowfurrowsashetakesit.”
“Youcanhavethegun,butonlyonceit’sempty,”Itellhim,“Ammunitionisano-noinmyhouse.Yousee,bulletsdon’tcomewithnamesonthem,whichmeansanyonecancatchone,ifyoupullthetrigger,andIcan’tgetdownwiththat.Yougotme?”
Heslowlynodsasheeyesmygun.
Iknowwhathe’sthinking.
“Rulesdon’tapplytome,”Isay,“sodon’tgetanystupidideas.Youwanttokillme,Ricky,andyou’regoingtohavetogetcreative,becauseI’llshootyouinthefuckingheartthesecondyoustartgettingtwitchy.”
Heslipshisgunbackintotheholster,keepinghishandswhereIcanseethemafterthat.
“Nowproperprotocolisyouknock,”Itellhim.“Ifthedoorisopen,knockonthedoorframe.It’snotthathard.Goahead,tryit.”
Hestillseemsconfused,likehe’snotgraspingit,likemaybeIassumedhehadballswhentheguyisjustrecklesslystupid.Afterasecond,heraiseshisfistandtapsonthewoodbesidehim.
“Goodboy,”Isay.“Now,whatdoyouwant?”
“You,uh…youtoldmetocome.”
“BecauseIassumedyouwantedsomething.”
“Ideliveredyourcounteroffertomyboss,”hesays.“Figuredyou’dwanttoknow.”
“Mycounteroffer?Refreshmymemory…”
“Yousaidforhimtosuckyourcock.”
“Oh.”Ilaugh.Idid,didn’tI?Huh.Didn’texpecthimtoactuallyrelaythatmessage.Amellostilllethimliveafterthat?“Andwhatdidyourbosshavetosay?”
“Hedeclined.”
“Figures,”Isay,spreadingmylegsout,slouching.“Pity,though.Bethesucksgoodcock.Probablydoesitenough,youknow,practicemakesperfectandallthat.Guessyou’lljusthavetodoitinhisplace.Youspendmuchtimeonyourkneesforhim,Ricky?Ordoyouprefertojustbendoverandlethimfuckyouforabit?”
Ricardostandsthere,gapingatme,likehe’stryingtofigureoutwhetherornotI’mbeingserious.Heswallowsthickly,Adam’sapplebobbing,andIcockateyebrow,purposelybeingdramaticaboutit.
“Idon’t,”hestarts,pausingbeforesaying,“Imean,I’mnot…”
“Comeon,spititout.”
“Orjustswallowit,”Sevenjokes.
Ilaugh.“That’sprobablyabetteridea.Youshouldbegratefulforeverydrop.”
Ricardotakesadeepbreath.“I’mnotgay.”
“NeitheramI,”Isay,“andneitherisSeven,forthatmatter,buthe’dsuckitifIaskedhim.Wouldn’tyou,Seven?”
“Absolutely,”Sevensays.“Anythingyouask.”
LuckyforSeven,Irespecthimenoughnottoeveraskthatofhim.Irespecthispersonalboundaries,becausehecommandsit.Hedoesn’tjustdemandit,likesomewhinybratwithabigmouththatneedssomethingshovedinit.Hecarrieshimselflikesomeonetorespect.Butstill,he’ddoitifIeveraskedhimto,becauseIcommandrespect,too.
Thisguy,though,he’sgotballs,buttheymightbetoobigifinsteadofgettingonhiskneesandsaying‘yes,please’he’shesitatinglikealittlebitch.
“Comein,”Itelltheguy.“Leaveus,Seven.”
Sevennodsbeforewalkingoff.Ricardocarefullystepsintothelibrary,hisapproachcautious,hisgazeflickeringallaround.Hepauses,maybetwofeetinfrontofme,unsureofwhattodo.
“Tellmesomething,”Isay,tooexhaustedtoprolongthis,asmuchasfrazzlinghimamusesme.“Didyoucomebecauseyourbosshasanothergrievancehewantstoair?Orareyoulookingforanewjob,consideringwhathappenedtoyourboss’sclub,youknow,sincepeoplewentbang-bang-bang?”
“Iguessyoucouldsaythat.”
“Youguess?Doyou?BecauseIdon’t.Idon’tguess.Eitheryoudooryoudon’t.Eitheryou’relookingforajoboryou’renot.Ifyoudon’tunderstandyourownmotivationsenoughtonothavetotakeafuckingguess,thenwe’vegotaproblem.”
Hestaresatme.“I’msure.”
“Well,then.”Ipropmyfeetuponthecornerofthetable,lacingmyhandstogetheratthebackofmyhead.“Tellmeaboutyourself,Ricky.”
Hestartsbabbling.Idon’tknow.I’mnotpayingthewordsanyattention.Ireallydon’tgiveashitwhattheguy’ssaying,don’tcarehowhe’sframinghimself,buthisbodylanguagetellsmeeverything.Whenyouspendyourlifetiptoeingaroundpsychopaths,youlearntolistentowhat’sgoingunspoken.Heblinkstoomuch,fidgeting,tinkeringwiththewatchonhiswrist,playingwiththeclasp.NotaRolex,Inotice,notthatitmakesadifferenceinthissituation,butitmeanshe’seithertastelessorbrokeasfuck,andeitherway,itsucksforhim.Whateverhe’ssaying,he’slying.Everythingabouthimscreamsdeception
TappingechoesthroughthelibraryjustwhenI’mabouttocallhimoutonit.Sevenstandsthere,yetagain.
“IthoughtItoldyoutoleaveus,”Isayloudly,myvoicecuttingoffRicardo’sblubbering.
“Youdid,”Sevensays,“butsomebody’shere.”
“Therearequiteafewpeoplehere,”Isay.“Me,you,Ricky…PrettyBoyisupstairswithFirecracker…andtherestoftheguys,youknow,TwothroughSixandNine,they’reallaround,butthatdoesn’tmeanyoushouldinterruptmewhenI’minthemiddleofsomething.”
“Imeansomebodyelse.”
“Who?”
“Awoman,”Sevensays.“Young,brunette…Ithinkitmightbetheoneyouwerelookingfor.”
“She’shere?”
Sevennods.“She’soutside.”
“Whyhaven’tyouletherin?”
“Becauseshehasn’tknocked,”hesays.“She’skindofjustlurking,youknow,lookingaround.”
“Huh.”Droppingmyfeetdownagain,Istandup,strollingtowardthedoorway.IslapRicardoontheshoulder,squeezing,beforepushinghimtowardmychair.“Haveaseat,I’llbeback.”
Seveneyestheguywarilybeforefollowingmeintothehall.“Idon’ttrustthatguy,boss.”
“Youprobablyshouldn’t,”Isay,turningtohim.“Where’dyoulastseeher?”
“Shewasoutfront,”hesays.“Sawherlingeringnearthegate.”
“Good.”Imotiontowardthelibrary.“Keepaneyeonhim,willyou?I’mgoingtogocheckonourotherguest.”
“Yes,boss.”
SevengoestothelibraryasImakemywaytothebackofthehouse,optingtogooutthatwayandmakemywayaround.Theairisfrigid,duskgrowingclose.Sunset.Myfootstepsaresilent,mycombatbootssquishingintothedampearth,thesnowfinallymelting.Icreepalongthesideofthehouse,pausingwhenIhitthefrontcorner.Izeroinonher,catchingsubtlemovementinthebushes.She’ssquattingdownbeneaththelivingroomwindow,completelycloakedinblack—sweats,hoodie,andsneakers.
She’swatchingthroughthewindow,watchingmymenastheydowhattheydo,soconsumedbywhateversheseesinsidethatshedoesn’tsensemeapproaching.Ipausebehindher,watchingherasshewatchesthem.
It’sliketheInceptionoffuckingspyinghere.
Itrytowaitherout,butsheprovestobepatient.Minutestickaway.TickTickTick.AsmuchasI’dlovetostandhereforever,it’sgettingdark,andit’stoodamncoldforthisnonsense.
“Areyougoingtocomeinsideorwhat?”
Assoonasmyvoiceringsout,shetriestoturn,caughtoffguard,butshelosesherbalance,plantingrightintothebushesonherass.“Shit.”
Ilaughasshescramblestogettoherfeet.Shequicklymovesawayfromthewindow,awayfromthehouse,keepingsomedistancebetweenus.Thewomanissly,withoutadoubt…soslySeven’stheonlyonewhonoticedher,therestofmymenoblivious,butstill,she’sabitwetbehindtheears.
Eyeingmewarily,sheshovesherhandsinherhoodiepocketandsaysnothing,notansweringmyquestion,likemaybeshedoesn’thavearesponseforit.
“Well?”
Stillnoanswer.
Justablankstare.
“Fine.”Iturntoleave.“Stayouthere.”
Ionlymakeitafewstepsbeforeherquietvoicesays,“You’vegotawhitepicketfence.”
Thatstallsme.I’mnotsurewhy.Maybeit’sthewords.Maybeit’shertone.Somethingaboutitmakesmeturnbackaround.She’sstilljuststandingthere,eyespastme,gazetrailingthefencealongtheproperty.
“Whatdidyouexpect,barbedwire?”
“Idon’tknow,”sheadmits,lookingatmeagain.“Justnotapicketfence.”
Sheseemsalmostinaweaboutit,butit’safence.Justafuckingfence.Igetthefeeling,atthemoment,thatitmeanssomethingmoretoher.Butit’stoocoldformetoriddlethatout,toocoldtobemetaphorical.
“Comeon.”Idon’taskthistime.“Comeinsidewithme.”
Iheadforthefrontdoor.Shehesitates,eyestrailingme,beforeshefinallyfollowswithoutargument.ThemomentIopenthedoor,thenoiseinsidegrowsquiet,thelittlepartyinthelivingroomcomingtoanabrupthaltasmymenareonguard.Intruders
“Putyourdicksaway,fellas,”Isaywhengunsaredrawn,aimedmywayinalarm.The‘nobullets’ruledoesn’tapplytothem,either,buttimeslikethisIthinkitoughtto.
Theylowerthemsofastit’sdamnnearcomical,eyesbuggingoutlikeit’sthefuckingLooneyTunes
Ahazeofsmokelingersintheroom,thewoodsy,muskyscentstrongintheair.Half-emptybottlesofliquorarescatteredoverthecoffeetable.Strollingover,Isnatchupabottleofrum,takingaswigstraightfromitbeforepointingtoScarlet.
“Fellas,thisisScarlet.Scarlet,thisisTwothroughSix,andNine.”
Sheblinksafewtimesbutsaysnothingasthemenmumbleawkwardgreetings,likethemotherfuckershavenevermetawomanbefore.
Iwalkbackout,stillclutchingthebottle,andScarletfollowsmeintothehallway.“Younumberedthem?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“IimaginethesamereasontheCatintheHatcalledhislittlefriendsThingOneandThingTwo.”
“Whichiswhy?”
Ishrug.“Whoknows?Itsoundedgood.”
“Oh-kay.”Shedoesn’tsoundconvinced.“ButwhathappenedtoOne?Or,like,Seven?”
IstallinfrontofSeven,wholurksinfrontofthelibrary,perkingupatthesoundofhisname.
“Seven,”Itellher,pointingatSevenwithmyliquorbottle.“Oneisgone,asareEightandTen,butSevenhereisworthadozenmenalone,soIhaven’tfelttheneedtoreplacethem.”
Scarletgivesmeapeculiarlook,likenoneofthisismakingsensetoher.
“Isthissomememorything,likeyourbrainiswiredwrong?”sheasks.“Orareyoujustthatmuchofanasshole?”
Thatmakesmelaugh.
Seven,ontheotherhand,tenses.
AfraidI’mgoingtokillher,probably.
Mormon,remember?
He’sstillgotafewmoralsleft.
“Probablyabitofboth,”Iadmit,slappingSevenontheback,wordlesslytellinghimtorelax.IfIweregoingtokillher,Iwould’vedoneitwhensherobbedme,orwhenshepulledaknifeonme…twice.Sticksandstones.Wordsfromhersleeklips,nomatterhowbitter,aredefinitelygoingtogodownsmoother.
Movingpasthim,Istepintothelibrarydoorway,seeingRicardostillsittingthere,exactlywhereIlefthim.
“Up,”Isay,snappingmyfinger,motioningforhimtovacatemychair.Hespringstohisfeet,hisgazefindingScarlet.
Shewalksintotheroomrightbehindme,cursingunderherbreath.“Shit.”
Sheregardstheguylikeadeercaughtinheadlightsandhelooksatherlike…well,likesomethinghewantstoeat.Uh-oh.Iadmitit,yeah,thewomanisdelectable,butI’mthebigbadwolfinthesewoods,andhe’sgoingtoleavemyRedRidingHoodalone.
ImotionbetweenthemasIdropbackdowninmychair.“Iassumeyoutwoknoweachother.”
“I’veseenheraround,”Ricardosays.“OneofAmello’swhores.”
Scarletmakesafacebutsaysnothing,skirtingaroundtheguy,givinghimawideberthasshemakesherwaytowhereI’msitting.She’suncomfortablearoundhim,whichmeansshe’sgotdecentintuition.
“Youdrink,Ricky?”Iask,motioningtowardhimwithmyliquorbottle.“Smokealittlebit,maybe?”
“Abit,”hesays.
“Gofixyourselfadrink,”Isay.“Hangoutawhile,gettoknowmyguys.They’llmakeyoufeelathome.Ihavesomebusinesstotakecareofhere.I’llcomeforyouwhenI’mdone.”
Henodsinacknowledgment,castingScarletalookbeforedisappearingintothehallway.Heseemstowanttoguther.Huh.Seventrailsourvisitorrightawaytothelivingroom.
Scarletwatchesthembeforeturningtome.“What,SlickRickdoesn’tgetanumber?”
“SlickRick?”Ilaugh.“I’llhavetorememberthatone.”
“YouknowheworksforGeorgeAmello,right?”
“Yep.”
“He’stheoneGeorgeorderedtokillyou,”shesays.“He’ssupposedtosendamessagebyeliminatingyou.”
“Yeah,Ifiguredthatmuch,”Isay,kickingmyfeetuponthetableasIloungebackinthechair.Shelooksconcerned,likeshe’sworriedformywell-being.It’scute.Realcute.“Sotellme,Scarlet,youcomeheretokillme,too?Becauseifso,youmightwanttocomebacklater,sincehebeatyoutoittonight.You’llhavetowaityourturn.”
SheblinksatmelikeI’velostmymind.Hell,maybeIhave.“Areyouinsane?”
“Potentially,”Isay.“You?”
“AmIinsane?”
Inod.
“I’mstartingtofeellikeit,”shemutters,runningherhandsdownherface.“ThefactthatIthoughtitwasagoodideatocomeheretellsmeIprobablyam.”
“Youcometotakemeuponmyoffer?”
Hesitating,sheapproachesthetable,glancingdownatthepuzzle.Hereyesmeticulouslyscanthebeginningsoftheart,butshedoesn’ttouchanyofthepieces,keepingherhandstoherself.
“DidyouknowMichelangeloneverwantedtopaintthis?”sheasksafteramoment.“Thepopedidn’tgivehimmuchofachoice.Hespentsomanyhoursonhisback,struggling,suffering,theconditionssotoxicitmadehimsick.Hespenttherestofhislifewalkingwithalimpbecauseofit.”
“No,Ididn’tknowthat,”Isay,“butIdidnoticeyou’reavoidingmyquestion.”
Shesmilessoftly,stillgazingatthepuzzle.“Iknowhowthatfeels,havingsomeonepowerfulcontrollingyou,dictatingwhatyoudo.ButMichelangelo,hegothisrevenge.Thewholethingisfilledwithblasphemy.”
“Ibet,”Isay.“Nowanswermyquestion.”
“Yes.”
That’sallshesays.Yes
“You’retakingmeuponmyoffer?”
“Prettysurethat’swhatyesmeans.”
Igrin.“So,whatI’mhearinghereisthatyouwantrevengeontheassholewhocontrolledyou…although,I’mguessingtheAristotleprickdidn’tmakeyoupaintachurch.Whatdidhedo?”
“Hestolefromme.”
“Stolewhat?”
“Everything,”shewhispers,“butmostlymyinnocence.Hetookawayeverythinggoodinmyworld,hestoleitfromme,everythingIloved,andhetriedsohardtosnuffouteverybitoflightinmylife,tomakesureIneverfeltthesunshineagain,andhedidit,hesaid,formyowngood,likethatwaswhatitmeanttolovesomebody.”
Sheturnstome,herexpressionpassive,asthosewordsrunthroughmymind.Formyowngood.Yeah,I’veheardthatbefore.
“That’swhatmakeshimsocruel,”shecontinues.“Iusedtoreadallthesefairytales,andIjustthinkabouthowfuckedupitistorealizethatheroesaremake-believebutmonstersarereal.That’stheworldwelivein.There’snoknightinshiningarmoroutthere.It’sjustme,trappedinaworldfilledwithfire-breathingdragons,andthatmanisdeterminedtoburnmetoacrisp.”
“Iknewamanlikethatonce.”
“Whathappened?”
Idropmyfeettothefloorandstandup,studyingherforamomentbeforesaying,“Myfacehappened.”
Istrollovertothewallofbookshelvesalongthebackoftheroom,mostlybareexceptafewscragglybooksandsomelockboxes.Ipulloutasetofkeysfrommypocket,wordlesslyunlockingasmallmetalbox,andgrabtheblacksilencerfrominside.Pullingmygunfrommywaistband,Iturnaround.
Scarletisleaningbackagainstthetable,herhandsshovedinherhoodiepocketagain.Hergazetrailsme,onguard,asIscrewthesilencerontotheColtM1911.
Icheckthegun,makingsureit’sloaded.“Soyoulikefairytales,huh?YoueverhearthestoryofTheJuniperTree?”
“No.”
“Stepmotherdoesn’tlikeherstepson,becausehe’ssettoinheritthefamilyfortune,soshebeheadshimandfeedshimtohisfatherbeforeburyinghisbonesbeneathajunipertree.”
Shestaresatme.“Andthenwhat?”
“That’sit.”
“Thatcan’tbeit.”
“Sometimesthestoriesarehorrific,Scarlet.Justbecauseyouhaven’tfoundsomebullshitPrinceCharmingdoesn’tmeanfairytalesaren’treal.They’rejustnotalwaysprettypictures.”
Iwalkoutofthelibrary,makingmywaytothelivingroom.Sevenlingersinthedoorway,keepinganeyeonourguestlikeIknewhewould.Theotherslurkinsidetheroom,laughing,joking.Rickysitsdeadcenterofthecouch,drinkingstraightfromabottle,hazysmokesurroundinghim.
Clearingmythroat,Istepintotheroom,drawinghisattention.Hissmilequicklyfades,somethingsparkinginhiseyeswhenheseestheguninmyhand.
BANG.
Idon’tgivehimthechancetoacknowledgewhat’shappening,don’tgivehimtimetopleadforhislife,totrytoshovelsomebullshit,thinkingI’mgoingtobuyit.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Backtoback,Iunloadthebulletsintohim,suppressedbutstillloudenoughforthenoisetoecho,mergingwiththesharpsoundofhisgurglingscream.Bulletshithischest,hisstomach,andthecouchbesidehim,nearlyhittingoneofmymenbeforethefinaloneslamsthefuckerrightinthehead.
BANG.
Bloodsplattersthewhitewallaroundthecouch.RickyslumpsoverontoThree,hisbodystilltwitching,heartnolongerpumping.Threeshoveshimoff,cursing,ashestandsup,flailinghishandslikeahystericallittlebitch,hisreactionmakingtheotherslaugh.
Theylaugh
Bunchofsickfucks,findingitfunnythattheirfriendissplatteredwithbrainmatter.
Ishakemyhead,shovingthegunatSeven,whotakesitwithoutquestion.WhitesmokesurroundsusfromthelubeIuseinthetubeofthesuppressor.
Iknowthere’sonehellofasexjokeintheresomewhere,justbeggingtobemade,butIdon’thavetimeforitrightnow,becausetheair’ssothickthedamnsmokedetectorstartsscreechinginthehallway,asifI’mnotdrawingenoughattention.
“Cleanthegun,”ItellSevenbeforewavingtowardthemessonthecouch.“Therestofyou,dosomethingaboutthisbeforeThreeshitshispants.”
TheylaughsomemoreasThreegrumblesunderhisbreath,tryingtopullhimselftogether.He’sthewhitestwhiteboyaround,withshaggyblondhairandlightgreeneyes,frecklesonhisbuttonnose,hischeeksallrosy,likehe’salwaysblushing.He’sacrossbetweenaCaliforniasurferandlittleBobbyBradywiththepersonalityofJohnWayneGacy…youknow,amurderousclown
“Lorenzo?Everythingokay?”
Mybrother’svoiceringsoutfromupstairs.Iturn,steppingbackoutintothehallwaytorespond,andcomeface-to-facewithScarlet.Shestandsthere,eyeskindofwideastheyregardme,alookinthemthatIrecognize…alookthattellsmeshewatchedwhatIjustdid.It’snotfear,no.I’veseenherscared.Iwatchedhercowerbehindabarinterror,remember?Thisismoresosurprise,likemaybeshedidn’tthinkIhaditinme,likemaybeshehadn’tbeentakingmeseriouslyuntilnow.
Likeshedidn’trealizeIliveduptomyreputation.
“It’sfine,”Iyell,wavingtowardtheblaringsmokedetector,fanningthehazeaway.“Stayupstairs.”
“Plannedonit,”heyellsback.“Just,canyoukeepitdown?Ihavetoworkinthemorning,bro.”
TheblaringsilencesasIlaughtomyself.
I’llnevergetovertheironyofmeraisingastraight-lacedmemberofsociety.
“Ineedadrink,”Igrumble,scrubbingmyhandsdownmyfaceasIwalkaway,detouringtothelibraryforthebottleofrum.Scarletfollowsme.Idon’tseeher,orhearher,somuchassenseher.It’safeelingghostingacrossmyskinfromhereyesstudyingme.
“Therehastobemore,”shesaysfinally.
“Morewhat?”Iask.
“TheJuniperTree,”shesays.“Itcan’tendlikethat.”
Takingaswigofrum,Iturntoher.“You’restillgoingonaboutthat?”
“Yes.”
“It’sjustastory.Storieshavetoendsometime.Hell,didyouwatchTheSopranos?Sometimesstoriesjuststop.Shitjustgoesblack.Wham,bam,over.Nomore,nothingleft,theend.”
Shemakesaface.“Thatsucks.”
“Yeah,well,lifesucks,Scarlet,”Isay.“Youknowthataswellasanyone.Sometimesbeastsarejustfuckingbeasts,nomatterhowmuchyoulovethem,Belle.It’safact.I’veseenlovebringamonsterbacktolifebefore,butmostofthetime,themonsterjustlovesyoutodeath.”
Sheshakesherhead,lookingaway.
Itakeitshedoesn’tlikewhatI’msaying.
Forawomanwhoclaimsshedoesn’tbelieveinfairytalesanymore,unhappyendingsaresurerufflingherfeathers.
“Awhitepicketfence,”Isay,somethingclickingafteramoment.That’swhatshesaidoutside.You’vegotawhitepicketfence.“Isthatwhatyouwant?Tobeprovenwrong?Forsomehappilyeveraftertocomealongandsweepyouoffyourfeet?Takeyouawayfromthisbullshitlifeandgiveyouyourpicketfence?”
“You’reanasshole,Lorenzo.”
“Thatdoesn’tsoundlikeadenial.”
“Isitsowrongtowanttobehappy?”
“Isthatwhatmakesyouhappy?Really?”
Shenoncommittallyshrugsashoulder.
“Well,ifitis,you’rebarkingupthewrongtree,”Isay,“becauseIcan’tgiveyouthat.Don’tletthefenceouttherefoolyou.Aroundhere,it’sjustafence.ItcamewithahousethatIboughtbecausemybrotherlikedit.Nothingmore.ButwhatIcanoffer,Scarlet,istostandinyourcorner.YouandI,wecanbethebestoffriends,butdon’texpecttofindyourfairytaleundermyroof.Yougotme?”
Shestaresmedown.
IthinkmaybeIoffendedher.Notthatitmatters,though,becauseit’sthetruth,andthelastthingIwantisforthiswomantogetittwistedandthinkI’msomethingIcan’tbe:herhero
Afteramoment,shecocksherheadtothesideandsays,“Areyouforreal?”
“Asrealasitgets.”
“Whywouldyoubemyfriend?Whatdoyougetoutofit?”
IconsiderthatquestionasIsipfromthebottleofrum,sittingbackdowninmychair.“Thetruth?”
“Please.”
“I’mbored,”Iadmit.“Icametothecitybecauseofamovie,too.TheGodfather.Butreality?It’snothinglikeitisinthemovies.Mostdayswejustsitaround,waitingforsomethingtohappen.It’smonotonous.Theworld,it’sallinblackandwhite,butyou?You’resomanyshadesofred,woman,andcolormecurious,butIfindmyselfnotsoboredwithyourbullshitaround.”
“Youknow,Kassian’snotjustcruel,”shesays,approaching.“He’scallous…soulless…vicious.”
“Cold-blooded,hardhearted,andadozenothersynonymsthatmeanhe’sarealpieceofshit?”
“Yes,”shesays.“He’snotsomeoneyoumesswith.”
“Yeah,well,I’mnotMaryPoppins,either.”
Shepausesrightinfrontofme.“Yes,but—”
Beforeshecanfinish,beforeshecanrattleoffsomethingthat’llprobablyoffendme,ahundredbullshitreasonswhyIshouldn’tbefriendher,Isnatchaholdofthebackofherneck,grippingittightlyasIyankherdown,forcinghertolookmeintheeyes,soclosemynosebrushesagainsthers.
Herbreathhitches.
“Iwillslithisfuckingthroatanddrinkhisblood,Scarlet,”Isay,myvoicegravelly,quiet,andgoddamnserious.“Hemightscareyou,andmaybeit’sforgoodreason,buthedoesn’tscareme.Becauseallthosewordsyouusedtodescribehim?I’vebeencalledthem,too.I’veearnedmydistinction,Ifoughtformytitle,andwhetherornothe’sworththefearheincites?Well,I’mstilldeciding.Yougotme?”
Sheexhalesshakily,butinsteadofacknowledgingwhatIask,sheletsoutalaugh.“You’recrazy.”
“Welcometothemadhouse.Feelfreetostayaslongasyou’dlike,butaslongasyou’rehere,therearerulestobefollowed.”
“Like?”
“LikebetraymeandIkillyou.LietomeandIkillyou.IgnoreanorderandIkillyou.Otherwise,dowhateverthehellyouwant.Youthinkyoucanhandlethat?”
“Aslongasyoudon’ttalkdowntomebecauseI’mawoman.YoupullsomemisogynisticshitandI’llkillyou.Wegotadeal?”
Thosewords,theydosomethingtome,hearingthatthreatcomefromherlips,soatoddswiththatlow,sultryvoice.Itmakesmehardinaninstant.
“Depends,”Isay.“IstellingyouthatI’dreallyliketofuckyourthroatrightnowmisogynistic?”
Sheblinksafewtimes,likeshedidn’texpectmetosaythat.“Wouldyousaythattoyourmen?”
“Ifsomethingtheysaidturnedmeon,Iwould.”
Myhandshifts,fromthebackofhernecktothefrontofherthroat,mythumbandforefingeragainsthercarotidarteries.Idon’tpresshard,justrestingthemthere,faintlyfeelingthebloodpulsingthroughhersystem.Herheart’sracing.
“Isitevenpossibleforthemtoturnyouon?”sheasks,swallowingthickly,herthroatvibratingagainstmypalm.
“Oh,withoutadoubt,”Itellher.“Nothingisimpossible.Butthoseguys,youknow,they’recrude,kindofscuzzy,sothey’remorelikelytodisgustmethangetmehard.Still,though…Idon’tliketoruleanythingout.”
Iletgoofher,relaxingbackinmychair,andexpecthertopullawaynowthatI’mnolongerholdingherthere,butshekeepsherposition,herhandscomingtorestonthearmsofmychairassheleansoverme.
“ThenIwouldn’treallycallitmisogynistic,”shesays.“You’remoreofanequalopportunityasshole.”
“Well,then,Iguesswe’vegotadeal.”
“Guessso,”shewhispers,tiltingherheadasshelicksherlips.Sheleanscloser,thetipofhernosebrushingagainstmine,hermouthabreathawaywhentappingechoesthroughthelibrary.
Fuck.
Ipressmypointerfingertoherlips,stoppingher,andgettomyfeet,themovementpushingherawayfromthechair.Sevenlurksnearthethreshold,holdingmygun,freshlycleaned.Scarletstandsupstraight,frowning,andIpauseinfrontofher,gazescanningher,beforeIpullmyhandaway.
Nudgingherchin,Iliftherfaceup.
Shelooksalmostdisappointed.
“Businessfirst,”Isayquietly.“Maybeafterwardtherewillbetimeforsomefun.”ChapterFifteen
Thestenchofbleachmakesmynosetwitch,thickintheair,burningmylungsasIinhaletheodor.Ugh.Thelivingroomhasbeenthoroughlyscrubbed,fasterthanIthoughthumanlypossible.
It’sclear,asIwatchfromthedoorway,thatthisisn’tthefirsttimethishashappened.TheyseemmoreontopofthingsthantheprofessionalCrimeSceneClean-Upcrewsinthecity,andthoseguyshaveplentyofexperience.
Lorenzostandsjusttwofeetorsoinfrontofme,soclosethatIcouldtouchhimifIwanted.Hisplainwhitelongsleevedshirtisalljackedupinthebackfromthegunheshovedbehindhim,rightinhiswaistband.Freshlyreloaded,I’mguessing.Thesilencerisnolongerattached,fistedinhishand,ashestandsthere,staringathisblackleathercouch.
He’strusting.Ormaybejustreckless.Icouldsnatchthegunfromhispantsandshoothiminthebackoftheheadbeforeheevenknewitwashappening.I’mnotgoingto,ofcourse.I’mjustmakingapoint.
Icould
IfIwanted.
ButIdon’t.
“Wecouldthrowablanketoverit,”oneoftheguyssays,breakingthesilence.Idon’tknowhisname.Hell,Idon’tknowhisnumber.He’sjust…oneofthem.Darkhair,darkeyes,darkfeatures,darkvoice.Everythingabouthimisdark,downtohisallblackclothes.
They’reallwearingblack,Irealize,asIglancearoundthepackedlivingroom,exceptforLorenzo,whodressesmorelikesomehoodlum/modelhybrid.It’sweird,right?
Idon’tknow.
I’mstillnotevensurewhatI’mdoinghere.
“Ablanket,”Lorenzosays,notsoundingconvinced.
“Yeah,youknow,oroneofthemcovers,”theguysays.“Theonestheyputoncouches.Whataretheycalled?Uh…”
“Couchcovers,”Lorenzosays.
“That’sit!”Theguysnapshisfinger,pointingatLorenzo,lookingdamnproudlikethatwassomebigrevelation.“Acouchcover!”
“Thatcouldwork,”someonesays—theoddballofthegroup,theloneblondguyinaroomfullofmostlyItalians.“Mygrannyhasoneofthoseonhercouch,hidingthisbigasswinestain.It’sugly,youknow,butitcoulddothetrick.”
Lorenzoturnshishead,regardingtheblond,hisexpressionasflatashisvoiceashesays,“Yougonnagorobyourgrannyofhercouchcover?”
Heshrugs.“Well,yeah,ifyouneedit,sure.”
Lorenzostaresathimforamomentbeforeturningbacktothecouch.Ishifttothesideabit,peekingaroundhim.There’sabulletholeinthebackofit,wheretheguyhadbeensitting.It’snotthatbad,butit’snoticeable,whichIguessisaproblem.
“Justgetridofit,”Lorenzosays,wavingtowardit.“I’llgetanewone.”
Theguysjumpintoaction,teamingupandgrabbingthecouch,pickingituptomoveit.
TheybarelygetitawayfromthewallwhenLorenzoyells,raisinghisvoice,damnneargrowling.“Putitback!”
Themenareconfused.Youcanseeitintheirfacesastheycasthimconcernedlooks,butIknowwhattheissueis.Behindit,aholeisblownintothewall,ahellofalotbiggerthantheoneonthecouch.Which,again,I’mguessingisproblem.
Theydropitbackintoplace,steppingaway,givingthecouchawideberthlikeitmightattackthem.
“Findsomefuckingducttapeorsomething,”Lorenzosays,turning,stormingpastme.“Fuckingincompetence.”
Hemakeshiswaybacktothelibrary,thedoorslammingsohardIflinch.
Themenstreamoutoftheroom,movingpastme,allofthemexceptforSeven,whostandsnearthewindowinsilence.Itdoesn’ttakehalfadozenguystofindducttape,butI’mguessingnoneofthemwanttobetheonewhoignoreanorder.
IheadtothelibrarytocheckonLorenzo,myhandgraspingtheknobwhenSeven’svoicecallsout,“Don’tdoit.”
Istall,glancingback,seeinghefollowedmeout,hisexpressionserious.
“Ifthedooropens,he’sliabletoshoot,”hesays.“Heprobablywon’tevenlooktoseewhoitis.”
Islowlypullmyhandawayfromtheknob,castingthedoorasidelonglook,asthemenfilterbackthroughthehallway,oneofthemcarryingarollofsilverducttape.
“Comeon,”Sevensays,motioningtothelivingroomwherethemencongregate.“Joinus.”
Ihesitatebeforegoingbackthatway,givingthelibrarydooronemorelook.Theguywiththedarkestfeatureslayersducttapeovertheholebeforedroppingtherollontothecoffeetableinfrontofhim.Theyallgobacktohangingout,likenothinghadhappened,barelymissingabeatastheypickupliquorbottles,someonerollingablunt.
Idon’tknowwhattheydidwiththebody.
Someonetookhimoutthebackdoorbeforereturning,empty-handed.
“Scarlet,right?”Sevenasks,lingeringbythedoor.
“That’swhathecallsme,”Isay,pausingbesidehim.“Myname’sactuallyMorgan.”
Sevensmiles,holdinghishandout.“Pleasuretofinallymeetyou.I’mSeven.”
Ishakehishand.“Doyouhavearealname?”
“Bruno,”hesays,“butyoucanjustcallmeSeven.Itmakesthingseasieraroundhere.”
“Seven,”Irepeat.“Itdoesn’tbotheryouthatherefusestocallyoubyyourname?”
“Why,doesitbotheryou?”
“No,”Isay.“Notreally.”
I’msurprisedbymyownanswer.It’strue,itdoesn’tbothermethathedoesn’tcallmeMorgan,althoughthefirsttimehecalledmeScarlet,ithitanerve.Holdingmyarmup,Ishovemyhoodiesleeveup,glancingatthetattooonmywrist.MyScarletLetter,hecallsit.Ifonlyheknewhowclosethatwastoreality…
“Isheokay?”Iask,droppingmyarmagain.“Lorenzo?”
“He’llbefine,”Sevensays.“Hejustloseshiscooleverynowandthen.Whenthedoor’sclosed,leavehimalone.Whenhefeelsbetter,he’llcomebackout.Hislibraryisofflimitssodon’tgoinwithoutpermission.Ifthedoor’sopenandhe’sinthere,considerwhetherornotyoureallyneedhim,becausehe’sjustasliabletoshootyouasheistosay‘comein’.”
Iblinkathim.“IfeellikeIshouldbetakingnotes.”
“Probablyoughtto,”someoneelsesayswithalaugh.Iglanceoverattheotherguys.They’realllookingatme,butitwastheblondthatspoke.“He’sNaturalSelection,liveandintheflesh.Ifyouwanttomakeit,adapt,becauseit’ssurvivalofthefittestaroundhere.Heweedsouttheweak.”
Hencethemissingnumbers,I’mguessing,butIdon’tsaythat.Idon’tsayanything
ReintroductionsaremadebySeven.HecallsmeMorgan,givingtheothersthecourtesyoftheirrealnames.Three,theblondguy,turnsouttobeDeclanJackson,whileFive,theonewithdarkfeatures,isnamedFrankRomano.Theothers,theyallblendtogether,andI’mnottryingtobeanassholeaboutthat,butthey’rejustItalianguyswithAmericanizednames.There’saJoey,aJohnny,somethingelse…whatever
Therearen’tanymorechairs,soIendupsittingonthecoffeetable,ignoringthealcohol,passingonsmoking,tryingtokeepaclearhead,butIgetacontacthighprettyquickly.They’reallnice,Iguess…nicerthanI’musedto.Timefadesawayastheykidaround,andIlaughabitattheirantics.They’realmostlikeyoungboys,tellingfartjokes.
Ineverhearthedoorreopen,buteventually,he’sjustthere.Frank’stellingastory,I’mbarelypayingattention,whenhesuddenlysays,“Ain’tthatright,boss?”
“Youknowit.”
Lorenzo’svoiceisquiet,callingoutfromthedoorway,lookinglikehemight’vebeenlurkingawhile.Hiseyesarefixedonme,hisexpressionunreadable.It’slikethemanisanopenbookbutwhateverhisstoryisjusthappenstobewritteninadifferentlanguage.
OneIcan’treadatall.
It’sthere,butwhatdoesitmean?
“Whydon’tyoufellastakeoffforthenight?”hesuggests,althoughit’sprettyclearthat’sreallyanorder,sincetheyallimmediatelygettotheirfeet,swipingtheliquorbottlesandcarryingthemalongastheyshuffletowardthefrontdoor.Mumbledgoodbyesarecastmywayfromafewofthem,butforthemostparttheyjustnodtoLorenzobeforedisappearing.
Afterthefrontdoorclosesbehindthem,Lorenzostrollsmydirection,steppingpastmetosurveythethickducttapepatchovertheholeonthecouch.“Whichoneofthosejackasses…?”
“Frank,”Isay,earningapeculiarlookfromhim,hisbrowcreasingwithconfusion.Irollmyeyes.Ofcourse.Doesheevenknowtheirnames?“Five,Iguessyoucallhim.Hisrealname’sFrank.”
“Iknowhisname,”Lorenzosays.“Justsurprisedyoudo.”
“Ifyouknowtheirnames,whydon’tyouusethem?”
“Samereasonyoudon’tnameapuppyunlessyouknowyou’regoingtokeepit.”
“Whichis…?”
“Gottakeepthematadistance.Don’twanttogetattached.”
Unbelievable.“Soyoudehumanizethem,makethemthingsandnotpeople,becausethingsarereplaceablebutpeopleareoneofakind?”
“Peoplearen’toneofakind,”hesays.“Puppies,youknow,theyloveyou,theyplayfetchwithyou,becauseyoutakecareoftheirneeds.Dogsoutonthestreet,theykillwhatevermoves,whatever’sweak,whateverthey’resuretheycanbeat,inordertosurvive.AffectionistheonlythingthatkeepsLassiefromgoingallCujo.”
“Ithoughtthatwasrabies.”
Heturnstome.“I’mspeakingmetaphorically.”
“Yeah,well,you’redoingashitjobofit.”
Laughing,hestepsovertome,cuppingmychinandtiltingmyfaceup,histhumbgentlystrokingmycheek.“They’rewildanimals,Scarlet.Iseetotheirneedsandtheystayloyalbecauseofit.Butsometimes,youknow,somethinggoeswrong,soyoudon’tletyourselfgetattached,incaseyouhavetoputoneofthemdown.Yougetme?”
Yeah,Igethim.
Igethimmorethanhecouldeverunderstand.
We’rejustondifferentendsofthespectrum,himandI,bothwaitingforitalltofallapart,excepthe’llkillsomeonewhenithappenstohim,whereasI’mterrifiedofbeingtheonetodie.He’sbracedandready,lockedandloaded,andI’mjustfreefalling,dodgingthecrumblingpiecesofmylifeastheyraindownonmelikemeteorites.
“Theyrespectyou.Idon’tthinkthey’deverturnonyou.”
“Betrayalcomesinmanyforms,”hesays.“Sometimesit’sunintentional.Eventhebest-traineddogmightsnapatyourhandifyoutrytotakehisfoodaway.Whatdoyoudothen?”
“Givehimhisfoodback.”
“Or…snaphisneck.”
Ishakemyhead.“You’reinsane.”
“Soyoukeepsaying.”
Heleansdown,andI’vegotaboutathreesecondwarning,longenoughtoinhalesharply,beforehekissesme.Hislipsarethesoftestthingsabouthim,warmandgentle,likeasliceofheavenwrappedinhell,soworthbattlingtheflamestofeelhisfire.
Myeyesclose,andIkisshimback,graspinghisforearm,likemaybetouchinghimwillkeepmegrounded.Touchinghimwillkeepmeinthemoment,willkeepmefromfloatingfar,faraway.Mybrain,itlikestodisconnect,tosendsignalsthroughmybodytoabortthinking,feeling,being,tojustdissolveintonothingandreshapeagainwhenit’sover,becauseyoucan’tbreakwhat’snotsolid,butIdon’twanttofadeawaywithhim.Heignitessomethinginsideofme,stirringuptheselittlesparksinmygutthatsendjoltsthroughmybody,likeadefibrillatortotheheart.
It’sterrifying,butfuck,tofeelaliveagain…
It’snice
Lorenzopullsawayabruptly,breakingthekiss,hisvoicelowandrough,likesandpaper,ashesays,“You’redoingitagain.”
Iopenmyeyes,regardinghimashestepsback,myhandsleavinghisskin.“Doingwhat?”
“Switchingoff.”
Iscoff.“Wasnot.”
WasI?
“Whatwereyouthinkingabout?”heasks.
“Aboutnotswitchingoff.”
“Isthathardforyou?”
“Harderthanitprobablyshouldbe.”
Helaughslightly,steppingfurtheraway,andnodsoutoftheroom.“Comewithme.”
“Whereto?”
“Upstairs.”
“What’supstairs?”
“Salvation.”
Salvation
Neverhasawordeversoundedsobeautiful.
Standingup,Ifollowhim,trailinghimupthestaircaseontothedarkenedsecondfloorofthehouse.Wewalkpastroomstoadoorintheveryback,andLorenzopushesitopen,steppingaside,motioningformetogoin.
Abedroom.It’sprobablythesizeofmyentireapartmentbackinthecity,butthere’sverylittleinsideofit,justthebasics.Thebed,though—thebedismonstrous,somassivehecouldthroworgiesinitandneverencounteranotherpairoftesticles.
Okay,I’mexaggerating.It’snotthatbig.Butstill,halfadozenpeoplecouldsleepcomfortably.
Lorenzostepsintotheroombehindme.Hedoesn’tturnonalight.It’sdarkandtakesmyeyesamomenttoadjustasIglancearound,mygazesettlingonapairofshoessittingontopofadresser.
Myshoes,Irealize.TheredLouboutinsIdiscardedinthestreetwhenIranfromhim.
“Figuredyou’dwantthemback,”hesays,seeingmelooking.“Heardtheywereexpensive.”
“Youdon’tevenknow,”Imumble.Ipaidalotforthosedamnshoes,morethanapersonshouldeverpay,butitdidn’tcostmemoney.
Lorenzostepsbehindme,grabbingmyhoodietotakeitoff.Iraisemyhandsup,lettinghimpullitovermyhead,myheartracingashetossesitontothedresser,ontopoftheredheels,coveringthem.
Hesweepsmyhairaside,pushingitovermyshoulder,andIshiverwhenIfeelhisbreathagainstthebackofmyneck,hislipsbrushingagainstmyskin.
“Tellmeastory,”hesays.
“What?”
“Astory,”hesaysagain.“Doesn’tevenhavetobeyourstory.Hell,tellmeyourfavoritefairytale.”
“I,uh…”
Idon’tknowwhattosay.Hisarmswraparoundme,hishandsgoingstraighttomybreasts,yankingmyblacktanktopdownandshovingmyplainwhitebraup,palmingbareskin.Histeethgrazethesideofmyneckashekisseshiswaydowntomyshoulderblade.
“Goon,”hesays.“I’mwaiting.”
“TherewasaprincessnamedNella,”Isayquietly.“Shehadaloveaffairwithaprince,buttheykeptitasecret.”
“Why?”
Why?
Why?Why?Why?
Whyisheaskingmethis,whyamItellinghimastory,whenhishandsarealloverme,touching,caressing,hisfingerstweakingmynipples,sendingshockwavesdownmyspine?
“BecauseNellahadtwooldersisterswhowerejealousofherandwouldruinitiftheyfoundout.”
Hisrighthanddrifts,runningthelengthofmytorsobeforeslippingbeneaththewaistbandofmysweatpants,nohesitation.Herubsmethroughthefabricofmyplainwhitecottonunderwear,fingertipsroughlystrokingmyclit.Holyfuck.Thismanandthosehands…hedoesn’tplayfair.Atall.Hepressesbuttonshe’sgotnobusinesspressing.
“Sowhathappened?”heasks,pushingagainstme,pressingintome.He’shard,sodamnhard…Icanfeelhiscockagainstthesmallofmyback.Hepracticallymanhandlesme,shovingmetowardtheoversizedbed,handstilldownmypants,notmissingabeat.
Hisfingersmovethecottonaside,andIgaspwhenhetouchesmewithoutthefabricbarrier.Ittakesmeamomenttofindmyvoiceagain,tocomeupwithwords,asheforcesmylegsapartfurther.
“Theymadeanundergroundglasstunnelleadingfromtheprince’scastlestraighttotheprincess’sbedroomsothey,uh…”
Ilosemywordsagainwhenhedragsmeontothebed,layingmedowninthecenterofit.Myheartraces,thumpingfuriouslyashehoversoverme,cockinganeyebrow,staringdown.“Sotheycouldfuck?”
“Basically.”
MyvoicesoundssmallerthanIwantitto.Isoundmeek.Ugh.That’snotme.He’sstillstaringatme,butIthinkhehearsmytimidtone,too,becausehisexpressionshifts.“You’renotnervous,areyou?”
“Nope.”
Ianswerwaytoofast,waytooloud
Hesmirks.HeknowsI’mlying.
“Tsk,tsk,”hesays,hisvoicelow,rough.“WhatdidIsayIdidtopeoplewholiedtome?”
“Youkillthem,”Iwhisper.
“You’regoddamnright,”hesays,gazemovingfrommyface,downtomychestbeforetrailingevenlower.“AndwhatI’mabouttodotoyou,Scarlet?Ifitdoesn’tkillyou…”
Hetrailsoffwithalaugh.
I’mnotsureifIlikethesoundofthat.
Mybody,though,ismostdefinitelyafan,everysyllablehespeaksbringingitmoretolife,likebeingrousedfromadeep,darksleepingcurse.Thatwhichdoesnotkillmeisn’ttryinghardenough.Hesaidthatthefirstnightwemet.
Lorenzostripsme,tuggingmypantsdown,takingtheunderwearwithit,yankingtheshoesfrommyfeetandtossingthemtothefloor,theclothesfollowing.
“Sotheybuiltsomemagicaltunneltosneakaroundandfuck,”hesays,kissingdownmystomach,histongueswirlingaroundmybellybutton,dippinginsideofit.Isquirm,shiveringatthesensation,andunconsciouslyreachforhim,buthegrabsmywrists,stoppingme,hisgazereturningtomyface,hisexpressiondeadserious.“I’mabouttofuckyouwithmymouthlikeyou’veneverbeenfuckedbefore,andyou’regoingtokeeptellingmethatstory.Yougotme?”
“I,uh…”Wow.“Okay.”
“Youstop,Istop,”hesays,hisgazeflickeringdown,rightbetweenmylegs.“AndI’mnotgoingtowanttostop,soyoubetternotmakeme.”
I’mnotsurehowthisisgoingtowork,mynervesthroughtheroof.He’sright—itmightkillme.Becauseyeah,I’vesleptaround…I’vebeenpassedaround,likeapieceofmeat…butmenthatgodownforthefunofitareunicorns.
Atleast,amongmeninthebusinessofsleepingwithwomenlikeme
Grippingmywrists,hepinsthemflatagainstthebedashesettlesbetweenmythighs.Ilookdownathim,watchinginthedarkness,chestaching,heartracing,andadrenalinerushingthroughmyveins,fueledbyanticipation.He’sjustabreathaway.He’srightthere.Hiseyesflickerup,awarninginthem.
Oh,shit,right,I’msupposedtobetalking.
“Theymadethisglasstunnelsotheycouldsneakofftogether,”Irepeat,stallingagain,gasping,themomenthismouthisonme.Hestartsslow,runninglightcirclesaroundmyclitwithhistongue,butit’senoughtomakemearchmybackandsquirm.
Wait,ugh,howdoesthisstorygo?
“Everynight,theprincewouldgoseeher,justrunthere,buckfuckingnaked,slipintoherroomandthey’d,uh…fuck.”Ithrowmyheadback,thecursedamnnearcatchinginmythroat,whenhislipsencirclemyclitandhesucksonit,sendingpleasurethroughme.“Fuck,everynight…herunsoverthere.Butthesisters,theyfindout,andtheydecide,youknow,theycan’thavethat.Theycan’tletthem…fuck.”
It’storture,whathe’sdoing.Ican’tsee.Idon’tknow.Buthismouthisfullyonmenow,tonguedoingwhateveritdoes,flickingandlicking,suckingandfucking,completelydevouringme,likehe’sstarving.Itrytoyankmyarmsfromhisgrasp,butheisn’tbudging,hisgripdamntight.Iwanttograbhimbythehairandpullhimcloser,desperateformorefriction,butIthinkI’mjustaslikelytopunchhimifhefreesme,becauseJesusChrist,whatishedoingtome?
“Theprince,hedoesn’tknow,”Isaybreathlessly.“Thatnight,herunsthroughthetunnel,noclotheson.Theglassissmashed,he’scutup,blahblahblah,uhhh…he,uh…Christ,thatfeelsgood.”
Lorenzolaughs.Theassholelaughs.Hismouthisonmypussy,myclitpulsatingfromthefeeling,thesensationdamnnearshovingmeovertheedge,anorgasmbuilding,becausehe’slaughing.
Yeah,I’dpunchhim.
“He’scutup,bleedingout…Idon’tknow…dying.It’skillinghim…fuck,it’skillingme…”Iswallowthickly,squeezingmyeyesshut.“Don’tstop.”
Hedoesn’tstop,butIknowhewillifIdon’tpullmyselftogether.Asshole
“Theglassismagic.Hiscutswon’theal.He’sstilldying,sotheKing,ohgod…”Ishiftmyhips,mytoescurlingwhenhehitsaspotthatsendsshockwavesripplingthroughme,mythighstrembling.Ohgod…ohgod…ohgod.“TheKingpromiseswhoeverhealsthePrincecanmarryhim.”
Lorenzoreleasesmywrists,andI’mgratefulforabriefmoment,instantlyrunningmyhandsthroughhisthick,darkhair.Hepushesafingerinsideofme,maybetwo,Idon’tknow,fuckingmewiththembeforeabruptlypullinghismouthaway.HisgazefindsminewhenIopenmyeyes,andIalmostpanic(didIpausetoolong?)beforehespeaks.“Whatifit’saguy?”
Hecurveshisfingers,hittingthatsweetspotdeepinside.TheunicornfoundthefuckingHolyGrail.
Didn’tevenneedamap.
Henavigatedrightthere.
ItfeelssogoodIcan’tmakesenseofanythingelse.Ittakesmeamomenttorememberheevenspoke.“Uh,what?”
“Whatifaguyhealshim?”
“I,uh…hemarrieshim?”Didhereallystopforthat?“Areyouseriouslyaskingquestions?”
Heshrugs.“I’mcurious.”
“Itcan’twait?”
Hesmirks.“Ilikewatchingyousquirm.”
Hismouthisbackonmeafterthat,butI’velostmytrainofthought,becausenowthathe’saddedfingerstothemix,well,Ireallyamgoingtodie.
Thepressureisbuilding,andI’mpanting,spewingoutwords.
Idon’tknowiftheymakesense.
“Nella,shegoestotellhimgoodbye,gonnadie,nocure,Idon’tknow,holyfuck.Butanogre,youkillit,yousavehim.Nellaoverhears.JesusChrist,don’tstop,please…”Ifisthishair,mybreathhitching.I’mthinkingLorenzo’smouthcould’vesavedtheprince,becauseIdon’tthinkthere’sanythingthismouthcouldn’tdo.“Shemurderstheogre,curestheprince,theymarry…blah,blah,blah,ohgod,I’mgonna…uh,Lorenzo!”
Orgasmtearsthroughme.Igasp.Mylegsshake.Hedoesn’tstop,eventhoughI’verunoutofwords,doesn’tletupatall,hismouthworkingmiraclesasIbuckmyhips,practicallyfuckinghisface.Tinglesengulfme,goosebumpscoatingmyskin.
It’sshortlived,thesky-higheuphoria,butwortheverydamnsecondofstumblingthroughthatstory.
Assoonasitfades,Irelaxbackintothebed,myeyesclosed,mymusclesneedingamomenttoworkagain.Lorenzositsup,hisvoiceserious,matteroffact,ashesays,“Thatwasaterriblestory.”
“You’reanasshole,”Imutter,peekingathim.
“Seriously,that’syourfavoritefairytale?”
“Atleastithasahappyending.”
Heshakeshisheadashemovescloser,climbingupthebed,hoveringrightovermeagain.Heslowlylickshislips,makingashiverrunsthroughme.“Imightbeanasshole,Scarlet,butthatlittlegamekeptyoufromfading,didn’tit?”
Yeah,Iguessitdid.
Heleansdown,kissingme,fumblingwithhispants,unbuttoningthem.
“I’mgoingtofuckyounow,”hesays.“Thatokaywithyou?”
Inod.Morethanokay.I’maching,mybodyonfire,desperatetofeelhiminsideofmeagain.IhatethatIwantitsomuch,thatIwanthim,buthe’slikeadrug,Ithink,oneofthosepotent,addictivedrugsthataltersyourbrainchemistry.
“Good,”hesays,retrievingacondomfromthestandbesidethebed.Hehitchesmylegsup,settlingbetweenthem,ashepullshiscockout,rollingthecondomon.
Hewastesnotimethrustinginside.
Icryoutashefillsme,tiltingmyheadback,andbarelyhaveachancetoadjustbeforehisbodyweightispressinguponme,hishandaroundmythroat.Achilloffearshootsdownmyspine,buthedoesn’tsqueeze.Hecould,though.Instead,helooksmedeadinthefaceandsays,“Youzoneout,Ichokeyou.WhetherornotIletgoisanybody’sguess.Youstillokaywiththis?”
Inod,nohesitation.
Iprobablyshouldn’t.
Hell,IknowIshouldn’t.
Wouldheletgo?Iliketothinkso.ButI’mnotsure,andthat’swhatcausesthepanictotrickleintomychest,spikingmysystem.It’ssick.MaybeI’msick,thefactthatitexcitesme,thatbeingjustabreathawayfromdeathmakesmefeelaliveagain.
IshiftmybodybeneathhimuntilheslipsoutabitbeforeIbuckmyhipsup,slammingintohimsohefillsme.He’sthick,androckhard,butI’msoslickhejustslidesrightin,likehewasmadetobeinsideme.Hisexpressiongoesslack.Icanpracticallyseethepleasureflowthroughhim.Themanisrougharoundtheedges,somethingsoprimalabouthim,butthere’ssomethingelsethere,somethingunexpected.
Somuchpassion.
Hemovesthen.Hestartsfuckingme,justlikehesaidhewould,slamminghard,onehandstillonmythroat,theotherdiggingintomyhipashepinsmebeneathhim.EverythrustknockstheairfrommylungsasIgasp,andwhimper,andmoan…
“Youlikethat?”heasks,hisvoicelow,barelyamurmuragainstmylipsbeforehekissesmesohardithurts.“Youlikegivingmethisbeautifulpussy?Likemetakingithard?Beatingit?Fuckingit?Killingit?”
“Yes,”Iwhisper,chillscoatingmeasIletoutashakybreath.“Iloveit.”
“Loveit,doyou?”heaskswithalittlelaugh,nudgingmyheadasidetokissalongmyjawline.“Savagelittlething,aren’tyou?IsthatwhatyourScarletLetterstandsfor?”
“Notevenclose.”
Hebitesmychin,andIhiss,flinching,beforehepullsbacktolookatme.Hismovementsslowabit,buthe’sstillhittingdeep,hard,painticklingmystomachwitheverythrust.
“Seductive,”hesays.“Submissive.”
He’sjustspewingoutS-words,Iknow,butthatlastonegratesanerve.Mycheektwitches,andItense,nailsdiggingintohisskinasIrakemyhandsalonghisshoulderblades.Hiseyeswiden,thecornerofhismouthlifting.Amused
“Don’tlikethatone,huh?”
“Fuckyou.”
Thehandonmythroatshiftsupabit,fingerspressingintotheskin,notcuttingofftheairtomylungs,butitmakesmelightheaded.Heincreaseshispace,poundingintome,theroomfilledwiththesoundofskinslapping,criesescapingmythroat.Myvisionblurs,myentirebodytingling,butIkeepmyeyesfixedonhimoutofpureprinciple.Heexpectsmetofade.HethinksI’mgoingtofloataway.Butfuckhim,ifhethinksI’msubmissive.
Fuck.Him.
Imightlovethewayhemakesmefeel,butseriously,fuckhim
“Youwanttohurtme,don’tyou?”heasksasIclawhisbacksohardIhavetobedrawingblood.“Gotabitofasadisticside,don’tyou,Scarlet?Youliketogiveitasmuchasyoutakeit,wanttofuckupmyfacesomemoreasIwreckthisbeautifulpussyofyours?”
Heletsgoofmythroat,pullingaway.
Idon’trespond,becausewhatcanIsay?
Heforcesmykneesuptomychest,mylegsoverhisshouldersasheshiftsposition,drivingdeeper,harder,faster.Ohgod.Hisfingersfindmyclit,rubbing,stroking,andIcandonothingbutmakenoiseashemakesmecome,overandover.
Idon’tknowhowmuchIcantake,andhe’snotlettingup.I’msoakedwithsweat,mybodytrembling,musclesaching…evenmyfingershurtfromclutchinghisback.Eventually,hestartstoslowdown,hittingafewdeepstrokes.Hisfaceisnuzzledintomyneck,teethnippingattheskinashegrunts.
Hestillsthen,lyingdown,noteventryingtokeephisweightoffofme.Fuck,he’sheavy.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhim,tooexhaustedtofightit,andhearhimmutteringunderhisbreath.“IfeellikeIcouldactuallysleeptonight.”
***
Lorenzodoessleep,itturnsout.
Me?Notsomuch.
Forsomeonewithatalentforzoningout,Ican’tshutmymindoff,lyingnexttohim.Iwatchhimsleepforawhile,likeacreep,staringatthesteadyriseandfallofhischest.EverytimeImove,hestirsabit,andIfeelguiltyashell,disturbinghisslumber,soIjustlaythereinsilenceuntilIcan’ttakeitanylonger.
Carefully,Iclimboutofthebed,pullingmyclothesonandtiptoeingoutoftheroombeforemakingmywaydownstairs.It’sstilldark,butIcanseewhereI’mgoing,inthatspacerightbeforesunrisewheretheworldisjuststartingtolighten.
Ipauseatthebottomofthestaircase,mygazedriftingtothelivingroomtotherightofme,seeingsomeonestandinginthedoorway.Ayoungguy,dressedinablackcable-knitsweater,wearingkhakisandblackboots.Theyoungerbrother,I’mguessing.
Heshakeshishead,staringintothelivingroom.“DoIevenwanttoknowwhathappenedtothecouch?”
“Itgotaholeinit,”Isayvaguely,notsurehowmuchLorenzowouldsharewithhim.
Theguystartlesatthesoundofmyvoice,turningaround.“You’renotLorenzo.”
“Well,that’ssomethingtobegratefulfor,huh?”
HeseemstobeaboutmyageandlooksjustlikeLorenzo…orwell,howIimagineLorenzowouldlookiftheworldhadn’thurthim.Fresh-faced,wide-eyed,andkindofadorable,frankly.Howhekeepsanysortofinnocencelivinginthesamehouseasthemenaceupstairs,Idon’tknow,butIcommendhimforit.
EverymomentIspendwiththeguy,Ifeelmyselfslippingfurther.
“I’mLeo,”hesays,holdinghishandout.“Youare?”
“Morgan,”Isay,shakinghishandlightly.Manners.Huh
Someone’sapplefellfarfromthefamilytree.
“I’daskhowyouknowmybrother,butwell,I’msureIprobablydon’twanttoknow.”
“Probablynot,”Iadmit.
Beforeeitherofuscanspeakagain,there’snoiseonthestairs,footstepsthataren’ttryingtotiptoe.Leoglancesup,somethingakintoshockcrossinghisfacebeforehespinsaroundsofastit’slikehe’stwirling.“Jesus,Lorenzo!Really,bro?Really?”
Iglancedbehindme,eyeswidening.Lorenzo’sbuck-naked,liketheprincerunningthroughtheglasstunnel,waltzingdownthestairslikehe’snotgotacareintheworld.
He’sgroggy,onlyhalf-awake,everythingprominentlyondisplay.
“Don’tactlikeyou’veneverseenadickbefore,PrettyBoy,”Lorenzosays,skirtingaroundme,brushingagainstme.“Iknowyou’vegotone.Iusedtochangeyourdiapers,remember?”
“No,Idon’tremember,”Leosays,“butyoucertainlyremindmeenough.”
“That’sbecauseitearnsmetherighttodowhateverIdamnwellplease,”Lorenzosays.“Iwipedyourass,madeyourlunches,taughtyouhowtotreatawoman,andIletyourgirlfriendeatmygroceries.Letmeairmyballsoutwithoutjumpingmyassaboutit.”
Leoturnsaroundthen,laughing,nolongerseemingtocareornoticehisbrother’snotwearingclothes.“Youtaughtmehowtotreatawoman?”
“Idid,”hesays,strollingpastus,headingdownthehallway,callingbackashesays,“Showedyouexactlywhatnottodoifyouweretryingtokeepone.”
Lorenzodisappearsintothebackofthehouse,pastthelibrary.Kitchen,I’mguessing.Processofelimination.
“Well,youcertainlydidthat,”Leomutters,turningtome,hischeeksflushing.“Sorryaboutthat.He’s,uh…well,he’shim.”
Okay,thatmakesmelaugh,whichisn’ttheresponseLeoexpects,basedonthestrangelookhegivesme,buthe’sapologizingforhisbrother—agenuineapologyforLorenzo’sbehavior.
I’mwonderinghowthehellthatappleevencamefromthesametreeatthispoint,frankly.
“Hedoesn’tbotherme,”Isay.“Imean,he’sapainintheass,buthimbeingnakedisprobablytheleastbothersomethingabouthim.”
“Ah,yeah,guessitisn’tthefirsttimeyou’veseen…it,”hesays,laughingawkwardly.“Youknow,sinceyou’rehereatsixinthemorning.It’sjust,well,Iusuallydon’tseethem,sincetheydon’toftenstickaroundtochat.”
He’sflustered.There’snowaythisguyevencamefromthesameorchardasLorenzo,muchlessthesametree.“They?”
“Yeah,theladiesthatmybrother—”
“Fucks,”Lorenzosays,steppingoutfromthekitchen,carryinganorange.“ThewomenIfuck.They’reusuallyoutofherebeforePrettyBoymakesitoutofbed,sohe’snotusedtothiswhole‘morningafter’thing.”
PrettyBoy
Hedoesn’tevencallhisbrotherbyhisname?
“Oh,wellthen…mybad,”IsayasIgiveLeoasmile.“NexttimeI’lljusthavetoskedaddlebeforeyoucatchme,then.”
Leo’seyeswiden,thosewordsshockinghimforsomereason—maybeevenshockinghimmorethanhisbrotherwaltzingbetweenusnakedagaindoes.“Nexttime?”
Lorenzostallsonthebottomstepashestartstopeelhisorange.Hiscockisliketwofeettotheleftofme,andI’mtryingdamnhardnottolook,tokeepmyeyesstraightahead,butit’sshininglikeabeaconoverthere,tryingtodrawmein.
“You’llhavetoexcusemybrother,Scarlet,”Lorenzosays.“Hethinksyou’reoneofmywham-bam’s.Itendtoimposea‘onerideperperson’rule,sonexttimesareprettyunheardof.”
IgnoringhowthementionofLorenzo’sstreamofwomenmakesmystomachcoil,Inod.“Understandable.”
“Ididn’trealizetherewassomethingotherthanthat,”Leosays,eyesnarrowingashelooksathisbrother,clearlycompletelyoverthefactthathe’snotwearingclothes.“Caretofillmein?”
“No,notreally,”Lorenzosays,startingupthestairs.“Bytheway,Scarlet,youforgotyourshoes.”
Ilookdownatmyfeetbeforeitstrikesme—theLouboutins.“Oh,canyoubringthemtome?”
“FuckdoIlooklike,adeliveryboy?”
Lorenzodoesn’tsayanythingelse,trekkingupthestairs.
Iscowl,keepingmyeyesonLeo.“Ishouldprobably,youknow…”Ipointupthestairs.“Gogetthem.”
BeforeLeocanrespond,ashrillscreampiercestheair,loudenoughtomakemyhairstandonend.LeorunshishandsdownhisfaceasLorenzo’svoiceechoesfromupstairs:“Oh,givemeabreak,Iknowyou’veseenadickbefore,Firecracker.Ihearmybrotherfuckingyouallthetime.”
Iheadupthesteps,passingashell-shockedlookingblondealongtheway,butshebarelynoticesme,zeroinginonLeo.
“Iknow,Iknow,”Leomutterswhensheapproaches.“Yousawmybrothernaked.”
Shakingmyhead,Isetoffalongthesecondfloor,findingLorenzo’sbedroomdoorwideopen.Hesitsontheedgeofhisbed,peelinghisorange,stillnotwearinganyclothes.Ihesitateinfrontofhim,eyesscanninghim,unabletoavoidoglinghimanylonger.I’veseenitall,yes,butIhaven’texactlytakenalotoftimetolook,ifyouknowwhatImean.Iwouldn’tcallhimripped,buthe’sdefinitelyfit,somedefinitiontohismuscles.Andthecock?Yeah,okay,it’sgorgeous…ifyoucancallacockgorgeous,whichIcan,becauseIdon’tknowhowelsetodescribeit.He’sdefinitelymoreofashow-erthanagrower,eightandahalfinches,thickandcut,veinsrunningalongtheshaft,andJesusChrist,okay…I’vegottostoplooking.
MyeyesflickertoLorenzo’sface.He’swatchingme,takingabiteofanorangewedge.
“Cameformyshoes,”Isay,noddingtowardwheretheysitonthedresser.
Hesaysnothing,chewinginsilence.
“FigureIshouldtakethembackbeforeoneofthosewham-bam’syouparadethroughheretriestostealthem.”
“Yeah,I’msureyourclientstipextraforyoutokeepthemonwhiletheyfuckyou.”
Ouch.“Touché.”
“Anyway,beforeyourunoffagain,”hesays,tearingoffanotherwedgeoforange,“weshouldtalkaboutpayment.”
Icringe.Payment
Ouch,forrealthistime.
“Youknowwhat?Fuckyou,Lorenzo.Seriously,fuckyou.Ishould’veknownyouwerecompletelyfullofshitwhenyousaidyou’drespectme,thatyouwouldn’tdothis.”Iwavearoundus,likethat’llhelpmemakesense,ashejuststaresatme,stillchewing.“You’reanasshole.Seriously.Ididn’tfuckyoulastnightformoney.Thatwasn’twhatitwastome,andmaybeit’swhatitwasforyou,whatever,butjust,ugh…fuckyou.”
Isnatchmyshoesfromthetopofhisdresserwhenhiscalmvoicesays,“Youkeepeverythingyoumakeunlessit’sajobIordered.Inthatcase,Ipayyouacommissionbasedonyourcontribution.”
Istallatthosewords.“What?”
“You’reworkingformenow,right?Thatwasthedeal?I’mjustlayingouttheterms,lettingyouknowhowworkingformeisgoingtogo.WhenIneedyou,bethere,butotherwiseyoucandowhateveryouwant.Theworldisyours,Scarlet.”
“I,uh…ugh.”Payment.“Ithoughtyoumeant…”
“ItoldyouIdon’tpayforpussy.”
“Iknow,Ijustthought…”
“ThoughtIwassayingittohurtyou?ThoughtIwasjustgettingalowblowin?”
“Yes.”
Heshakeshishead,stilleatingtheorangeashestandsup.
Idon’toglethistime.
Iwantto.
God,Ireallywantto.
ButIdon’t.
Heapproachesmeslowly.“Ilikefuckingandfighting,Scarlet.Iwon’tlieaboutthat.Ilikefuckingyou.Ilikefightingyou.I’llpushyourbuttonsallgoddamnnightlongandmakeyouwanttoripmeapart,butI’mnotinthebusinessofhurtingpeoplefornoreason.Idon’tgetoffonthat.”
“Sorry.”
Hemakesafaceofdisgustatthatword.“Don’tapologizetome.”
“Youjusttouchedanerve,youknow.”
“Don’tmakeexcuses,either.Calmyourtitsandit’llbeokay.”
“Calmmytits.”
“Yes.”Hiseyesflickertomychest,andIknowhe’simaginingthem.“Asgorgeousasthosetitsare,calmthem.”
“Fine.”Iscowl.“You’restillanasshole,youknow.”
“Iknow.”Hebreaksoffawedgefromtheorange,holdingitouttome.“Wantsome?”
Ihesitate,staringatitinhishand.“Ugh,no.”
“Isweartofuck,Scarlet.I’llforgivealotofthings,butifyoutellmeyoudon’teatoranges,we’regoingtohaveaproblem.”
Irollmyeyes.“Ilearnedlongagonottotakecandyfromstrangers.”
“We’renotstrangers,”hesays,motioningtohimself.“You’veseenmenaked.”
“I’mgettingthefeelingalotofpeoplehaveseenyounaked.”
“Notasmanyashaveseenyou.”
Ouchforthethirdtime.
“Ishouldgo,”Isay.
“Whereareyougoing?”heasks.
“Backtotheapartment.”
“Isitsafethere?”
“Probablynot.”
Henods,poppingtheorangeinhismouth,beforeturningaway.“Domeafavor,willyou?”
“What?”
“Don’tgetyourselfkilled.”
“I’lldomybest.”
Iwalkout,leavinghimthere,withnoclotheson.
I’vedonealotofdifficultthingsinmylife.Alot.Butthat’srankingupthereamongsomehorrificthings,becausewalkingawayfromhimrightnowisprovingharderthanIthoughtitwouldbe.It’snoteventhatIwon’tseehimagain,becauseIwill.IhaveasneakingsuspicionI’mgoingtobeseeinghimquiteoften.Butatthemoment,somethinginsideofmeistugging,tryingtopullmebacktohimlikewe’remagnets,butIneedtoputsomespacebetweenus—atleastuntilIfigurethingsout.
BecauseLorenzo?
He’snotthekindofguyyougetattachedto.
Especiallywhenyou’reme
Ican’tlethimgetsofarundermyskinthatIcan’tgethimbackoutagain.
Iheaddownstairs,clutchingtheheels,andencounterLeostillstandinginthedoorwaytothelivingroom,theblondebesidehim.
Hisgirlfriend,I’mguessing.
Sheglancesupatme,andIexpectsomelevelofbitchiness,becausereally,inmyexperience,mostfeelthreatenedbyastrangewomansuddenlyappearing,butshesmilesinstead,full-blowngrinning.“YoumustbeCinderella.”
Thatslowsmysteps.“What?”
“Lorenzohadyourshoes,”Leosays.“Hewaslookingforyou,saidyouranawayfromhim.KindofsoundedlikeCinderella.”
Ilaugh,lookingattheshoes.
PrettysureCinderelladidn’trobtheprincebeforemakingherescape.
Alsoprettysuretheprincedidn’tconsiderkillingCinderellawheneverhefoundher.
“Iknewyou’dpopupeventually,”thebubblyblondesays.“Imean,comeon,anywomanwouldcomebackforapairofredpatentleatherLouboutins.Ihadapaironce…orwell,mybestfrienddid.”Shelaughs.“Youknowwhenyourbestfriendhassomething,youdo,too.”
IwishIcouldsayIknewwhatthatwaslike.Peoplejustseemtocomein-and-outofmylife.“Yougotaname?IthinkLorenzocalledyou—”
“Firecracker.”Sherollshereyes.“Name’sMelodyCarmichael.”
“I’mMorgan,”Isay.“Whatsizedoyouwear?”
“Uh,aneight…orwell,athirty-nineandahalf.”
Ifliptheshoesover,glancingatthethirty-nineonthesoleasIholdtheshoesouttoher.“It’syourluckyday,MelodyCarmichael.Theymightbesnug,butI’msureyoucanmakethemwork.”
Hereyeswiden.“Areyoukiddingme?Noway,Ican’ttakeyourshoes!”
“Youcan,”Isay.“Ihavetowarnyou,though.ThoseshoeswereagiftIneveraskedfor,agiftIneverwanted,andeversinceIgotthem,I’vebeenplaguedwithterribleluck.I’mnotexactlysuperstitious,butI’drathernotriskitanymore.Sotakethem,ifyouwantthem,butjust…don’tsayIdidn’twarnyou.”
Shesqueals,kickingherblackflatsoff,andtakestheredheels,slippingthemonherfeet.“You,Morgan,aretotallymynewbestfriend.”
Ilaugh,shakingmyhead.
We’llseehowlongthatlasts…ChapterSixteen
Onemonth
Fourweeks.
Thelittlegirlstillcounted,waiting…waiting…waitingforsomethingthatdidn’tseemtobehappening.Shekeptcomingupwithreasonswhyhermotherhadn’tshownupyet.Maybeittookalongtimetofixthefrontdoor?Maybeshewasstillsleeping?
Shedidn’tknow.Shewasstillonlyfour.Nothingaboutitmadeanysensetoher,butshewastryingtolisten,tryingtobeagoodgirl.
Sittinginthebedroom,atthedeskagainstthewall,sheclutchedthelightbluecrayonasshecoloredallalongthepaper,makingasky.Othercolorswerescatteredaroundinfrontofher,whilemostwerestillwedgedintothebox.TheCowardlyLionhadgivenheroneofthosebigpacksofcrayons,overahundredcolors,someevenglittery.Shespentmostofhertimedrawing,Bustersittingonthedeskinfrontofher,watching,alsowaiting.
Waitingtogohome.
Grinning,shesetthecrayondown,admiringthepaper.She’ddrawntheTinMan,butnotastheTinMan…shedrewhimlikethepersonhelookedlike,althoughshewasn’treallygoodatdrawingpeople.Helookedkindoflikeaballoonanimal,butshehadhiseyesright—gray,liketherainclouds.
Shedidn’twanthimtobelonely,andshedidn’tlikehisflyingmonkeys,soshedrewherselfstandingwithhim.
Besides,shewaskindoflonely,too.
“Comeon,Buster,”shesaid,snatchingupthebear,tuckingitbeneathherarm.“Letsgoshowhim.”
Thelittlegirlmadethetrekdownthebig,windingstairs,takingthemoneatatime.Thereweresomanyitalwaystookforever.Shewasgettingusedtoit,though.
Gettingusedtothepalace.
NoiseechoedoutfromtheTinMan’sden.Theflyingmonkeysweretheretonight,andthey’dbroughtalongsomewomen.Thegroupwasdrinkingfrombottlesofthatclearliquid,thestuffthatmadetheTinManmakefaces.Musicplayedthroughtheden,awomansingingforeignwordsthelittlegirldidn’tknow.
Thelittlegirlstrolledtotheden,thedoublewoodendoorshangingwideopen.Shepausedthere,eyeswide.Peoplewerekissing,somedancingreallyclose.
Thelightwassodim.
WherewastheTinMan?
“Vor,”avoicecalledout,usingawordsherecognized,onethemonkeyscalledtheTinMansometimes.Vor.Sheturnedinthedirectionitcamefrom,seeingtheCowardlyLioninthecenterofthecrowd.Hepointedherway,sayingsomethingshedidn’tunderstandtothemanrightbesidehim.TinMan
Awomanwithlongbrownhairsatonhislap,straddlinghim,wearingjustabraandaskirt,herotherclothesmissing.Hepushedheraside,hisbloodshoteyesdartingtothelittlegirlinthedoorway.
“Ah,there’smykitten!”Hegrinned.“Doyouneedsomething?Comehere.”
Histonewasoff.Toonice.Notright.Avoiceinthebackofhermindwhisperedforhertohide,avoicethatsoundedjustlikehermother’s.Itwastoolate,though,becauseshe’dalreadybeenspotted,soshecarefullyapproachedhim,tryingtoignorethelookstheothersgaveher.
TheTinMansatupfurther,forcingthewomanfromhislap.Sheslidtothefloorinstead,sittingbyhisfeet,notgoingfar.Thelittlegirllookedather.Shewasyoung,likethelittlegirl’smother,whiletheTinManwaskindofolder.Shewouldn’tcallhimold,no.Hehadnograyhairsatall.Buthehadhandsthatweren’tsoftandeyesthatsometimescrinkled.
ThelittlegirlpausedinfrontoftheTinMan,herstomachfeelingsickwhenshelookedhimintheeyes.Theywereblack,likemidnight,thegrayallgone.
“Idrewyouapicture,”shesaid,holdingoutthepaper.
“Howsweet.”Hetookit,squinting.“Isthisme?”
Shenodded.
Hiseyescuttoher.
Useyourwords.Hedidn’tsayit,butsheheardit.
“Yes,Daddy.”
“Andisthisyouwithme?”heasked,holdingitup,pointingatit.
Hercheeksgrewwarmaspeopleallaroundthemlooked.She’djustmeanttoshowhim.“Yes.”
Heturneditbackaround,studyingit,stillgrinning.“Itisperfect,kitten.Ineedtohaveitframed.”
Hereyeswidened.“Really?”
“Ofcourse,”hesaid,settingitaside,onthetable,beforepattinghisknee.“Come,sit.”
Shewantedtosayno.Shewantedtogobackuptoherroom,awayfromallofthosepeople,awayfromthewomangivingherweirdlooksfromwhereshesatonthefloor,buthisexpressionleftnoroomforarguing.Shesatdownonhisknee,facingtheside,andhewrappedhisleftarmaroundher.Sheusedtositonhermother’slapallthetime,butshedidn’tmuchlikesittingonhis,wearingthewhitenightgownthatstillitched.
Hesmackedthewoman’sshoulder,motioningforsomethingwithhishand,andshehandedhimarolledupdollar.Hegrippedthelittlegirltightly,soshewouldn’tfalltothefloor,asheleanedthewholewayforward,nearlyface-plantingthetable,andsnortedalineofwhitepowder.
Lettingoutadeepsigh,heleanedbackinthechairagain,hissmileglowing
“DoyouloveyourPapa?”heasked,rubbingherback.
Thelittlegirltensedatthatquestion.
Hisstarkblackeyesregardedher.“Itisokay,youareallowedtoloveme,nomatterwhatyourmothermayhavesaid.Iamyourfather;mybloodisinsideofyou.Youmightlooklikethesuka,butyouarehalfofme.”
Suka.Thelittlegirlknewthatword.
Itwasoneofthebadones.
Shestilldidn’tanswer.Shedidn’tknowhow.Whatifsheliedbymistake?Wouldhebemad?
Afteramoment,helaughed,hugginghertohisthickchestasheruffledherhair.“Oneday.Evenyourmotheroncelovedme.Itisinevitable.”
Thelittlegirlrelaxed,hernerveseasing.Shedidn’tknowifshe’deverlovehim,honestly,butmaybe,ifhermotherlovedhimandhefoundhisheart,itcouldhappen.
Everyonearoundthemlaughedandjoked,growinglouderastimeworeon.Thelittlegirlwatchedthem.
TheTinMangrabbedabottleofthatclearstuff,pouringsomeintohisglass
“What’sthat?”sheasked.
Heheldoutthebottle,bumpingherarm.“Tryit.”
Shejuststared.
“Aw,mykittenisascaredy-cat?”
Peoplearoundthemlaughed,thatuglylaugh,themeanoneshedidn’tlike.Herfaceturnedredasshetookthebottleandputittoherlips.Thesecondittouchedhertongue,shegagged,hermouthonfire.Itburned.Coughing,shecouldn’tcatchherbreath,swallowingamouthfulbeforeshedroppedthebottle,spillingitalloverherself.TheTinMancaughtit,laughing,asheslappedherontheback.
“Breathe,”hesaid,slippingoutofthechair,shiftingherontoitalone.“Vodkaisnotfortheweak.”
“You’resocruel,”thebrown-hairedwomansaid,stillsittingonthefloor.“She’sjustalittlegirl.Sheshouldn’tevenbehere.”
“Sheismylittlegirl.Isaywheresheshouldbe.Besides,whatdoyouknowaboutbeingaparent?”
“Probablymorethanyoueverwill,”thewomanmumbled.“Poorgirl.”
Themomentthosewordswereoutofhermouth,somethingsnapped.TheTinMangrabbedthewoman,fistingherlonglocks,andyankedherawayfromthechair,hershriekloud.
Thelittlegirltensed,tearsinhereyes,astheTinManslammedthewoman’sheadintothetableinfrontofthem,overandover,whitepowderflyinglikedustallaround,coatingherface,asbloodpouredfromhernoseandhermouth.Shechokedonit,begging,buthedidn’tstop.
BAM.
BAM.
BAM.
Thewomanwentlimpashecontinuedtogripherbythehair,raisingherfaceuptolookather,whispering,“poorgirl,”beforedroppinghertothefloorinfrontofthechair.
Everyonearoundthemwatched,theotherwomendisturbed,butthemenactedlikeitwasnormal.Thelittlegirlshookandsobbed,wettinghernightgownassheclutchedBustertoherchest,staringdownatthefloor.
Thewoman’seyeswereclosed,asifshewassleeping,justlikethelittlegirl’smotherhadbeen.
She’dwakeup,wouldn’tshe?
TheTinManturnedtoher.Hiseyeswerestillblack.Hetippedbackthebottleofvodka,takingadrinkstraightfromit,beforehepointeditather.“Gobacktoyourroom,kitten.BeagoodgirlforPapa.Cleanyourselfup.”
Thelittlegirlstood,runningfromtheroom,goingupthestairsasfastasshecould.ChapterSeventeen
Iknowwhatit’sliketobeateenagemother.
Okay,fuck,hearmeoutbeforeyoustringmeup.
IwasonlyeighteenyearsoldwhenItookcustodyofmylittlebrother.Hewastwoatthetime,stillindiapers.Hedoesn’trememberthebefore,doesn’trememberlifewithourmother,hisfather,butIremembereveryharrowingsecondofit.
IespeciallyrememberthesickeningreliefIfeltwhenIwatchedthembothbleedout…
Ateighteen,Ididn’tknowshit.Mymindhadbeenwarped,myfacefuckedup,andImight’vegivenuponlifeifitweren’tforhimneedingsomebody.Iwasallhehadleftintheworld,andIvowedI’dmakeitright.Ipotty-trainedhim,senthimofftoschool,andhelpedhimwithhishomework.Iwastherewhenhestartedkindergarten,andIwasstilltherethedayhegraduatedfromhighschool.Itaughthimmanners,gavehimmedicine,andmadehimeathisvegetables.Imadetheboyaman…themanIwasn’t.TheoneI’dneverbe.
SowhileIdon’treallyknowwhatit’slikebeingateenagemother,callingmehisfatherisn’tenough,becauseyou’dbehardpressedtofindanother‘father’whodidasmuchasIdidforthatlittlefucker.Ipouredwhatwasleftofmysoulintohim.
“Don’tstartwithme,”IsayassoonasIstepintothelivingroom,comingface-to-facewithLeo,whoissittingonthecouch.Theducttapepatchisbesidehishead,blatantlyobvious.Iknowhesawit.He’ssmart,thatkid.Hecanriddleoutwhathappenedwhilehewasinbed,andIknowhe’sgoingtogivemeshitaboutit.“I’mnotinthemood.”
“Whenareyoueverinthemood?”heasks.
“EveryotherFridayandtwiceonSaturday.”
“It’sSaturday,”hepointsout.
“Yeah,well,tryagainlater,”Isay.“I’mnotinthemoodrightnow.”
Helaughs,glancingattheducttape.Thesonofabitchneverlistens.“SoIhearyouputaholeinthecouch.”
“Respectyourelders,”Isay.“Didn’tsomeoneteachyouthat?”
“Ivaguelyremembermybrothersayingit,”hesays,“butImostlyrememberhimtellingmenevertobowdowntoanybody.”
“Exceptforme.”
“Idon’trememberanyexceptions.”
“Yourmemory’sshit.”
“Soisyours,”hesays,“incaseyou’veforgotten.”
He’sbeingasmartass,intentionallypressingmybuttons.He’sthemanI’mnot,yeah,butthere’sstillsomuchofmeinhim.
It’sinfuriating.
“I’llgetanewcouch,”Itellhim.
Hesighs.“That’snotthepoint.”
ThepointbeingthatImurderedamanrighthereinourlivingroom.ItoldhimI’dkeepthatpartofmylifeasfarawayfromhimaspossible.Ididn’tpromise,becauseIdon’tmakepromises,butIsaidI’dmakeaconsciouseffort,andIhave.
Iusedasuppressor,didn’tI?
Ihaditallcleanedupbeforemorningcame.
“I’llgetanewcouch,”Isayagain.“I’llpatchtheholeinthewall,too.”
“There’saholeinthewall?”
“Yes,”Isay.“Itdoesn’tcount,though,becauseit’sthesamehole.Sortofathrough-and-through.”
Hescrubshishandsoverhisfaceashestandsup.Astompingclinkingnoiseechoesdownthehallway,comingourdirection.Melody,I’mguessing.Sheexplodesherwayintotheroom,kaboom,skiddingtoastopwhenshespotsme.“Whoa,Lorenzo.You,uh,I…whoa.”
Sheblushes.
“I’vegotclotheson,don’tworry,”Isay,lookingdownatmyself—blackpants,blackboots,whiteshirt,blackcoat.Exciting,Iknow.“Ionlyrockoutwithmycockoutwhenit’sdarkout.”
“Well,that’snicetoknow,”shesayswithalaugh,struttingovertomybrother.Iwatchher,mygazesettlingonherfeet.
Redheels,damnfamiliar,becauseI’vestaredatthemforawhileonmydresser.“AretheyScarlet’sshoes?”
“Who?”
“Morgan,”Leotellsher.“HecallsherScarlet.”
“Oh,yeah!”Melodykicksherlegout,admiringtheshoeonherfoot.“Aren’ttheygorgeous?Shegavethemtomebeforesheleft,saidsheneverreallywantedthem,whichiscrazy.Imean,whowouldn’twantapairof…”
Blah.Blah.Blah.
Shejustkeepsontalking,tellingmeshitIdon’tcareabout,answeringquestionsIneverasked.
“Well,then,”Isayloudly,interrupting.“Thishasbeenfun,butIhavebusinesstoattendto.”
Iwalkout.She’sstilltalking.
MaybeLeo’slistening,Idon’tknow.
Sevenstandsinfrontofthehouse,hangingoutontheporch,quietlywaitingformetosurface.InodtohimwhenIstepout,wordlesslygreetinghimasIrelinquishmycarkeys.
BeingasI’mblindontherightside,I’mlackinginthedepthperceptiondepartment.Icanlegallydrive,ofcourse—notthatlegalitymatters—butIchoosenotto,unlessIhaveto,becauseI’mlikelytorunsomebodyover.Humanlivesdon’texactlyleavemefeelingsentimental,butspeedingcarsarekindoflikestraybulletsinthesensethatwhenyouraimsucks,youmightkillyourselfbyaccident,andmyaimistheworst
Hencetheholeinthecouch.
Andthewall.
Andtheannoyedlittlebrother.
There’snotaholeinthelastone…well,notoneIcaused,buthe’sstillacasualtytomydisability.
NotthatI’mdisabled,becausefuckyou,I’mnot.Iliketothinkwe’reonlyreallylimitedbyourlackofcreativity,andIcangetprettycreative.
“SowhatdoyouknowabouttheRussians?”IaskSeven,pullingoutmybatteredtinforajoint,lightingitasIwaitforhisreaction.Hehesitates,eyeingmewarily,whichisneveragoodsign,havinghimafraidtoshare.Seven’sgotknowledge,beingasonceuponatime,inalandfar,faraway(StatenIsland),themanworeadifferentkindofuniformthanhiscustomaryblackget-up.
Sevenwasacop.
Hefoundhimselfonthewrongsideofthelaw,servingtimeinRikersforsellingsecretstothedevil.Andprison,yousee,itdoesn’trehabilitatemenlikehim.Itjustturnsthemintomenlikeme…hardenedbeyondreasoning.
“TheBratva?”heasks,likeheneedsclarification.
“Whateverthey’recallingthemselvesoverhere,”Isay,exhaling,smokesurroundingme.“Isuredon’tmeantheKGB.”
“Actually,alotoftheguysareex-KGB,”Sevensays.“Sovietcollapsed,theyhadacertainskillset,sotheymovedtotheprivatesector.”
“Iappreciatethehistorylesson,Seven,butIdon’treallygiveashit.IwanttoknowwhatyouknowabouttheRussiansaroundhere.”
Heexhalesloudly.“TheyworkoutofBrightonBeach.UnliketheCosaNostra,whichhasweakened—”
“You’rewelcomeforthat,”Isay,takinganotherhit,holdingitinmylungsashecontinues.
“—theRussianskeepgettingstronger.Smuggling.Diamonds.Blackmarket-levelstuff.Insurancefraud.Healthcarefraud.Creditcardfraud.Thesedays,theirbiggestpaydayisprobablytrafficking.”
“Drugs?Guns?”
“People.”
Humantrafficking
“Prostitution?Ordeeper?”
“Prostitution,certainly,butitgoesaboutasdeepasitcanpossiblygo.Weheardrumors,backwhenIwasontheforce,thattheywerekidnappinggirlsandsellingthemofftothehighestbidder.”
“Rumors,huh?Notreallyafanofspeculation,Seven.IheardarumoroncethatIwastryingtomurdermyownbestfriend,butthatwascompletebullshit.”
“I’dsaytheoddsofthisbeingfalseareslim.TheRussians,theyrunthatclub—Limerence.I’venevergone,thewifewouldkillme,buttheguys,youknowtheygo,andtheytalk.Thewomenthere?”Heletsoutalowwhistle.“Alotofthemprobablywouldn’tbedoingthethingstheydoiftheyhadotheroptions.”
Ifinishsmokinginsilence,thinkingthatover,puttingtogetherthepiecesofthepuzzlethatarestartingtomakeupScarlet.Mindyourownbusiness.Iknow.Ifuckingknow.Butshe’sbecomingmybusiness.I’mmakinghermybusiness,whetheryoulikeitornot.
“Well,then,Seven,Isupposethatmeansafieldtripisinorder,”Isay,slappinghimonthebackbeforetossingtheremnantsofthejointdown,stompingonit.“Gottacheckitout,separatefactfromfiction.”
“Limerence?”
“Yeah,youneedtogetapermissionslipsignedbythewifeorarewegood?”
Hedoesn’tlooklikewe’regood
He’slookingalittlegreen,actually.
Guesshedoesn’tlikemyplan,huh?
“Doyouthinkthat’sagoodidea,boss?”
“Agoodidea?Notlikely.Butthat’sneverstoppedmebefore,hasit?”
“No,”hesays,“ithasn’t.”
***
Limerence
Itdoesn’tlooklikemuchofanythingfromtheoutside,anondescriptdarkbuildingwiththenamewritteninredcursiveonasignaboveatintedglassdoorRedcursive.Noflashinglightsorneonsigns.Nopromisesoftitsinside.Nobullshitdescriptionlike‘gentlemen’sclub’.It’sopentothepublic,sure,butthey’vegotaspecificclientele.Thewealthy.Thedepraved.Thekindthat’llpayalotofdamnmoneyforatasteoftheirdarkestfantasy.
Nomatterhowdark,I’mhearing.
Enoughcash,noquestionsasked…
Securitystandsguardattheentrance,dressedinblack,wearingearpieceslikethey’reSecretService.Ihavenodoubttheyhaveadirectlinetowhoever’srunningthings.
Istoponthesidewalkinfrontoftheplace,gazescanningtheLimerencesigninthedarkness,softlyilluminatedfrombeneath.Myguys,theyfilterpast,movingaroundme,waltzinginsidewithoutmissingabeat.Securitydoesn’tpaythemanyattention,toobusystaringatme.Sevenlingersbehind,standingalongthecurb.Myshadow,asalways.He’stoodamnscaredofthemissustodarecomeanycloser.
“Youcanwaitouthere,”Isay,lookingbackathim,“unlessyou’reinthemoodforalapdance?”
Heshakeshishead.“I’llpass.”
Figures
Iapproachthebuilding.Securityeyesmewarily,butnoonesaysawordasIgoin.Everythingaroundmeisgoldenwitharedglow,thelightingdimandmusicsoft,andslow,andsurprisinglydoesn’tmakemyheadwanttoexplode.Menpacktheclub,gatheredatsmalltables,loungingindeepleatherchairsaswomendancearoundthem.It’stameouthere.PG-13.Barelyahandjobinacesspoolofinsatiablefucking.Lookingforanythingmorethantheflashofasetofnipplesandyourassbetterbeshellingoutenoughcashtobeescortedtoadifferentroomforadifferentexperience.
Myguyscongregateinthefarcorner,awayfromothers,attentionalreadybeingshoweredonthem.AprettylittlebrunettesitsonThree’slap,armswrappedaroundhisneckasshewhisperswho-knows-whatinhisear,titsallupinhisface,teasinghim.Fiveischattingupabrunettewaitress,whiletheothersarealreadylonggone,probablyintheback.
Tookallofthirtyseconds.
Islideintoachairattheirtable,slouching,foldingmyhandstogetheragainstmychest.I’mnotinterestedinpartakingsomuchasobserving,butdamnifIcouldn’tuseadrink.
“Rum,”Isayloudly,interruptingFive’sconversationwiththewaitress.“Awholebottlewouldbenice,butI’llsettleforthebiggestglassyou’vegotinthisplace.Straightup,nobullshit…therougher,thebetter.”
Threemumblessomeclichéthat’swhatshesaidjoke,whichmakesthebrunettethrowherheadbackandcackle.
Iwonderhowmuchhepayshertopretendhe’sfunny.
Thewaitressstalksoff,overtothebar,andreturnswithaglassofclearliquid,handingitstraighttomebeforedivingbackintoherconversation.
Theglassisbarelyfourfingerstall,butbeggarscan’tbechoosers.
Ormorelikepatronsshouldn’tkillwaitresses.
Samedifference
Itakeaswigfromtheglass,grimacing,beforeinterruptingthemagain.“Thisisn’trum.”
Thewaitresslooksatme.“What?”
“It’svodka,”Isay,settingtheglassonthetable,someoftheliquorsloshingoutasIshoveitherway.“Iaskedforrum.”
“Areyousure?”Shepicksuptheglass.“Imean,it’sclear.”
“Soiswater,butthatdoesn’tmeanit’swhatIfuckingaskedfor,isit?”
“Uh,no,Iguessnot.”
“Rum.R-U-M.Sayitwithme.Rum.”
“Rum,”shesaysquietly,hervoicetremblingashereyeswidenasecondbeforesheavertsthem,lookingatthefloor.Sheseemsprettydamnterrifiedallofasuddenasshescurriesaway,herreactionconfusinguntilmymenglanceover,lookingatme.
No,lookingbehindme…
“Amanwhoknowswhathelikesandacceptsnothingless,”astrongvoicesays,thewordstwinnedwithadeepRussianaccent.“Cannotfaultamanforthat,canwe?”
“No,”Isay,“surecan’t.”
Hewalksaroundthetable,pastus,strollingovertothebar.KassianAristov.Heslidesinbesidethewaitressjustasthebartenderhandsheranewglass.Beforeshecanwalkaway,Aristov’sarmslipsaroundherslimwaist,securingherathisside,onehandonherhipastheothersnatchestheglassoutofhergrasp.Bringingittohislips,hedrinkseverylastdrop,settingtheglassdownonthebarasheleansover,whisperingsomethingtoher.
Hereyesareontheflooragain,everyinchofherrigid.
She’sterrified.
Hisexpressionisrelaxed,casual,aslightsmileonhislips,likeherfearamuseshim.Noideawhathecouldbesaying.He’snotyelling,butthelongerthisgoeson,themorethewomanlookslikeshemightcollapseundertheweightofhiswords.
Afteramoment,Aristovflicksthewoman’scheeksohardshewinces,herheadtiltingup,hereyesmeetinghis.Hesayssomethingelse,andshenods,beforeheturns,motioningforthebartendertogivehimagolden-coloredbottlefrombehindthebar.
AppletonEstates.JamaicaRum.IcanseethelabelasAristovapproaches,draggingthewaitressalongwithhim.Hestopsbesidethetable,inmylineofsight,hishandshiftingfromthewaitress’swaisttoclutchthebackofherneck.
“I’msorry,”shesays,forcingasmile,althoughtearsbrimhereyes.“Ihopeyoucanforgiveme.It’llneverhappenagain.Ipromise.”
Promises.Ihatepromises.
Peoplebreakthemallthegoddamntime.
Inod,becauseI’mnotsurewhattosaytothat.WhatIwanttosaywillprobablyonlymakeeverythingworseforher,anditseemslikeshe’shavingaroughenoughtimewithoutmyhelp.
“Rum,”Aristovsays,holdingthebottleouttome.Theoutsideofitisdusty,thebottlestillsealed.“Imustconfess,wedonotsellmuchhere.Wespecializeinvodka,onlythebest,straightfromRussia.”
Itakethebottlefromhim.
Aristovleansover,pressingakisstothewaitress’stemplebeforewhispering,“Gotomyoffice,suka.”
Herheadlowers,andassoonasAristovletsgoofherneck,shescurriesthroughtheclub,outofsight.Aristovlingers,hiseyesonmeasIcrackopenthebottle,bringingittomylips.
“Onthehouse,everything,”Aristovsays.“Allofyou.Enjoy.”
Myguys,theycelebrate,butIjustsithere,stillsippingrumwhiletheyscatter,wastingnotimenowthatit’sfree.Cheapskates
“Joinmeforadrinkinmyoffice?”Aristovasks,raisinghiseyebrows.
IshrugasIstandup.Whatthehell?“Leadtheway.”
Hisofficeistowardthebackoftheclub,asmallroombehindatwo-waymirror.Hecanseeout,watchingeverything,butnobodycanseein.Thewaitressstandsinside,inthecenteroftheroom,handsclaspedtogetherinfrontofher.
It’snotanofficeinthetraditionalsenseoftheword.ItlooksmorelikeatypicalstudioapartmentinNewYork.Leathercouchessurroundasquaretable,asmallprivatebaroppositethedoorwithliquorbottlesonit.Vodka.Abovethatisaloft,awhiteladderleadinguptoit.Idon’tevenhavetotakeaguesswhythere’sabedinhisoffice.
Thelightingissoft,thewallswhite,witharedPersianrugcoveringpartofthemarblefloor.
Aftershuttingtheofficedoor,Aristovsnatchesuponeofthebottles.Heguzzlessomeoftheliquorasheapproachesthewaitress,eyesmeticulouslyscanningherbeforelookingatme.Hisfreehandgraspsthebackofherneckagain,yankingherbyit,turninghermydirection.Shewhimpers,closinghereyes.“Sheisstupid,thisone,butsheispretty,andthereisnothingshecannothandle,ifyouwouldliketotryher.”
“She’snotreallymytype,”Isay.
“Oh?Whatisyourtype?”
“Thetypethatdoesn’tcowerfrommeinfear.”
Aristovlaughs.“Ah,dothosetypeofwomenexist?Mostareafraidoftheirownshadows.”
Idon’tentertainthatwithananswer.
Hedragsthewaitressovertooneofthecouches,sittingandtuggingherinfrontofhim,shovingherdownonherknees.Heunbuckleshispants,notsayingaword,andgrabsherbyherhair,pullingherfaceontohislapashepullshisdickoutrightinfrontofme.
Thewomantakeshimintohermouthwithoutputtingupanysortoffight,andheletsoutanexaggeratedsighashesmileslazily,seemingdamnpleasedwithhimself.
Look,I’mnotanidiot.Thisisn’tmyfirstdayonthejob,ifyouknowwhatImean.Iknowhe’sassertinghisdominanceorsprayinghisterritoryorwhateveralphamalebullshitmoveyouwanttochalkthisupto,afigurativepissingcontestbecauseI’marivallionwhoenteredhisden.SoIgetit,butthethingis,hedoesn’tknowme.He’sthinkingthisshowwillgetundermyskin,thatit’llmakemeuncomfortable,thatI’llcower,butthat’snothappening.
ItoldScarlethedidn’tscareme.
Imeantthatshit.
Iwillwhipmycockoutandmeasurethatsonofabitch,righthere,rightnow,ifhepushesme.Inthefigurativesense,ofcourse.Literally,mycockisstayingrightwhereitis.
“Yousureyoudonotwantataste?”heasks,noddinghisheadtowardthewaitressblowinghim.“Youcouldfuckher.Idonotmind.Shesquealslikealittlepiggiewhenyoufillherup.”
“Iappreciateit,butI’mnotfuckinganyofyourwomen.”
Or,well,hell,Imightbe.
Idon’tknow.
I’mstillfuzzyonhishistorywithScarlet.
Butregardless,asfarasI’mconcerned,she’snothis.She’snotAmello’s,either.Shedoesn’tbelongtoeitherofthoseassholes.
Strollingovertothecouchacrossfromhim,Isitdown,relaxingback,sippingstraightfromthebottleofrum,notbotheringtoavertmyeyes.LookingawaytoesalieofcoweringthatI’mnotevencomingclosetocrossing.
Ithinkherealizesit,thatI’mnotliketheothershedealswith.Hecouldslitthatwoman’sthroatandIwouldn’tflinch.Idon’thaveitinmetoflinch.Hestopsprolongingthings,grippingthebackofherheadandshovingherdown,makinghergag,ashebuckshishipsafewtimes,fuckingherfaceuntilhespillsdownherthroat.
Assoonashe’sdone,heyanksheraway.“Getbacktowork.”
Sherunsfromtheroom,shuttingthedoorbehindher.Aristovtuckshimselfbackaway,narrowedeyesfixedonmyface.Ifanything,IthinkI’mrufflinghim
“Isthereareasonyouhavecomehere?”heasks.“Sinceitseemstonotbetheappealofmywomen,itmustbetheappealofme,no?”
“Don’tflatteryourself.You’renotmytype,either.”
Heshrugs,chuggingmorevodka.“Idonotcower.”
“SoI’veheard.”
“Youhaveheard?”Heraiseshiseyebrows.“Earlierthisweek,yousaidyoudidnotknowme.”
“Ididn’t,”Isay.“Kindagotcuriouswhenyoubustedintotheclub,spewingbullets,soIaskedaround.Ledmehere.”
“Soitwastheappealofme.”Helaughs,drinkingsomemore,damnnearfinishingofftheentirebottleinjustafewminutes.Howthefuckdoeshestillhaveafunctioningliver?
Hell,maybehedoesn’t.
Maybethat’swhyhe’safterScarlet.
Maybeheneedsatransplant.
Maybethey’recompatible.
Ishrug,becauseinaroundaboutway,whathesaysistrue.IcamebecauseIhadasneakingsuspicionI’dfindScarlet’sproblemhere.“Likeyousaid,youdon’tcower.Mostpeopledo.I’vebeeninthecityforawhile,andIkeepfindinglittleboyswhoonlytalkthetalk.SowhenIencountersomeonewhowalksthewalk,well,itgetsmeinterested.”
Hesitsthere,continuingtodrink,ashethinksthosewordsthrough.Icanseeastheliquortakesholdofhim,hisposturerelaxing,eyelidsdrooping,andleglazilymoving.
“WeusedtodobusinesswiththeItalians,”hesays.“Thefamilieswouldcometouswhentheywantedsomethingdonebutweretoochicken.Theyhadsomanysillyrules.Donotkillwomen,donotkillbosses,donotkillofficers,butwedonothavethoserules.Weweretheloopholethatkepttheirhandsclean.”
“Idon’tneedloopholes,”Isay,“nordoIcareifmyhandsareclean.”
“ThatIhaveheard,”hesays.“Youhavebuiltaverybigreputationinaverysmalltime,MisterScar.”
MisterScar.
Icanfeelmymusclestwitchwhenhesaysthat,mybodyunconsciouslyreacting.I’dliketohithim,butI’dalsoliketowalkoutofhere,andwithmyguyspreoccupiedwithpussy,well,I’mnotsurethatwouldturnouttomyadvantage.
“Gobigorgohome,right?”
“Right,”hesays.“AreyouworkingwithGeorgeAmello?Isthatwhyyouwereathisclub?”
Ishakemyhead.“Someonehasbeenrobbinghim.Heaccusedme.Ididn’tappreciatetheinsinuation,soImadeanappearancetotellhimhowIfeltabouthisfingerpointing.”
Helaughs.“Imustconfess—thatismyfault.”
“You?Figuredyouwereabovepettylarceny.”
“Iam,”hesays.“Itwaspersonal.”
“Personal?Whatdidhedotoyou?”
“Hehasmygirl.”
“Theoneyouwerelookingfor?Morgan?”
Ihavetoforcemyselftouseherrealname.
Henods,pointinghisbottleatme.“Thatistheone.”
“Sohetookawomanfromyou,”Isay,tryingtoriddleitout.“Seemstome,lookingatthisplace,you’renotexactlyhurting.Isonewomanreallyworthallthat?”
Hedoesn’tseemtolikewhatI’msaying.Hisslackexpressiongrowshard,hisshoulderssquaring.Yeah,she’sworthittohim.She’sworthmorethanImight’verealized.
Afterguzzlingthelastofhisliquor,heshovestohisfeetandstrollsbackovertothebar.Forgettingdrunksofast,hiswalkisawfullysteady.Heexchangeshisemptybottleforafulloneashesays,“Sheisdifferent.”
Different.Icantellhemeansthat.Hell,healmostsoundssentimentalaboutit,likehemightactuallyfeelsomethingforScarlet.
“Idonotlikewhenpeopletakewhatismine,”hesays,turningbackaround.“Sheisverypretty,myMorgan,andsheknowsit.Sheusesittoheradvantage.Itmakesmenwanttohelpher,asifsheneedshelp.”Helaughsbitterly,crackingopenthebottle.“Sheislikeasirenofthesea,andtheonlythingthatmightbestrongerthanhercallismymoney.ThatiswhyIwillgivehalfamilliondollarstowhoevercoughsherup.”
“That’salotofmoney.”
“Itis,”heagrees.“Itisalsoalotofincentive.”
Thatitis.
Iknowquiteafewpeoplewhowouldsellouttheirownmotherforthatkindofcash.Scarletdoesn’tstandachance.Theysayyoucan’tputapricetagonfeelings,butI’mprettyfuckingsurehalfamillionisabigenoughpaydaytowipethataway.
Formostpeople.
“Whatareyougoingtodowithherwhenyoufindher?”Iask,theironyofthiswholemomentnotlostonme.Itwasn’tlongagoIwaslookingforthesamedamnwomanandSevenaskedmethisexactquestion.Becausemenlikeme…menlikeAristov?Wereactonprinciple.It’sego.We’dpayhalfamilliondollarstogetourhandsonsomeonejustforthechancetowatchthembleedout,anditwouldbewortheverypennytous.
“Thatismybusiness,”hesays,thatanswernotasurprise.PrettysureIsaidsomethingsimilar.Hewalkstowardme,settinghisbottledownonthetablebeforereachingintohisbackpocketforawallet.Flippingitopen,hepullsoutsomethingtuckedinoneofthepockets,shovedinbehindcreditcardsandwhoknowswhatelse.
Aphoto,Irealize,whenheholdsitouttome.
Itakeitcarefully.
It’swornandscratchedup,theedgesfrayed,likehe’spulleditoutandshoveditbackawayhundredsoftimes.Brownhairispulledup,messyontopofherhead,someloosestrandsfallingdownaroundherface.It’sScarlet,withoutadoubt,butatthesametime,it’snottheScarletIknow.Thegirlinthepictureisyoung—fourteen,maybefifteen.Stillateenager,herfaceslightlyrounded,softwithabitofinnocence.Notahellofalot,butsome.She’ssmilingherhalf-smile,likeshe’sashappyasshecouldpossiblybe,whichisn’treallyhappyatall.Morelikenotquiteasbeatendown.
“Thatwastakenafewyearsago,”hesays.“Sheisabitolder,butsheisstillthesameprettygirl.”
BeforeIcanrespond,there’saknockonthedoortotheoffice.Aristovfoldshiswalletup,shovingitinhispocket,andsnatchesuphisliquorbottleasheyells,“Comein!”
Thedooropens,amanwalkingin.Isawhimonce,atMystic—theguythatwaswithAristov,thebigburlymotherfuckerthatlooksalotlikehim.Hehesitateswhenheseesme,eyesnarrowing.
“Whatareyoudoinghere,Markel?”Aristovasks.
“Neededtotalktoyouabout…”Markeltrailsoff,staringatme,beforeheturnstoAristov.“AmIinterruptingsomething?”
“Iwasjustleaving,”Isay,standingup,wavingmybottleofrumatAristov.“Thanksforthedrink.”
“Anytime,”hesays.
IglanceatthepictureoncemorebeforeholdingitouttoAristov.Hetakesitback,gazingdownatitinhishandasIwalkaway.IstrollpastMarkel,whowatchesmego.
Limerenceispacked,mymennowhereinsight.
SoIleave,becausetonight’snotthenighttostarttrouble,eveniftroublesoundslikealotofdamnfunrightnow.Securityatthedoordoesn’tsayawordasIleave,carryingtherumwithme,becausefuckit
It’sminenow.
Sevenlingersbythecurb,myshadowinthedarkness.Hehasn’tevenmoved.HelooksatmeasIapproach,assessing,likehe’sfiguringoutwhathappenedwithoutasking.Igetinmycar,notbotheringwiththeseatbelt,takingaswigasSevenjoinsme.
“Findwhatyouwerelookingfor?”heasks.
“Evenmore.”
“That’sgood,”hesays,hesitatingbeforeadding,“Itisgood,right?”
“Idon’tknow.”Iglanceattheclub,mygazeskimmingalongtheredcursive.“Hewantsher.”
“Who?”
“Scarlet.”
Heletsoutalowwhistle.“Whatdoeshewantwithher?”
“Didn’tsay,buthe’sofferingonehellofarewardtowhoeverhandsherover.”
Hedrivesawayfromtheclub,mergingintotraffic.Notawordisspoken,butIcanseehimfidgeting,hisfingersdrummingagainstthesteeringwheel.
He’swonderingifI’mgoingtotaketheoffer.
Hedoesn’task,though.
Maybehe’safraidofhearingmyanswer.
Maybe,deepdown,healreadyknowsChapterEighteen
Idon’thavecable.Hell,thereisn’tevenatelevisioninthisrundownapartment.NoWi-Fi.Nocomputer.
I’vegotacellphone,ofcourse,oneofthosecheapprepaidburnerones,loadedwithminutesincaseofanemergency,butIusuallyforgettochargeit,soalotofgoodthatdoes.
Iusedtohaveastereo,butnotanymore.MusicsurroundedmetoomanynightsasitwasandremindedmethatIbecamethiswoman,theonewhodanceduntilherfeethadblisters,theonewhoworeskimpylingerietowork.
ThewomanIneverwantedtobe.
AwomanImightnevergetawayfrom.
Imissitallsometimes.Imissthenoise.Movies.Music.Laughter.Fun.Imissdancingforthehellofitandplayinggames.TheonlytimeIrunanymoreiswhenI’mbeingchased.
Justonce,Iwanttothrowcautiontothewindagain,gowheremyheartleadsmeinsteadofalwaysworrying,worrying,worrying.Iwanttolaugh,andshout,andsingatthetopofmylungs,danceinthemoonlightandactuallyfeelhappyaboutitforonce.Yeah,right.Iwanttohearbirdschirpinginsteadofmencatcalling.Iwanttohearmusicplayingthatmakesmesmileinsteadof—
Adoorknobturning.
Shit
Myheadsnapsup,eyesgoingstraighttotheapartmentdoor.Eveninthedarkness,Icanseeitslowlyopening.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Imoveassilentlyaspossible,runningonmytiptoes,gratefulthewoodenfloordoesn’tsqueakasIdartintothekitchen.Snatchingaknifefromthedrawer,Islideintothesmallspacebesidethefridge,pressedupagainstthewall,myheartfranticallyracing.Itrytoholdmybreath,strainingmyears,listeningforfootsteps,ormovement,orsomething.Maybeheavybreathing?
Ihearnothing.
It’ssilent,andstill,theairfrigidintheapartment,socoldmyteethchatterasIshiver.Ormaybethat’sfromfear,dumbass.Istayinplace,hiding,waiting,butnothing’shappening.
Minutestickaway.
MaybeI’mgoinginsane.
It’sdark.Icould’veimaginedit,right?
MaybeIdid.
Igiveitafewmoreminutes,theapartmentremainingquiet,beforeItakeadeepbreath.Faceyourfears…
Ipeekaroundthefridgeandstepout,barelymakingitthreestepsthroughthekitchenwhenashadowmovesinthedarkness,afiguresteppingintothedoorway.Fuck.It’slikebeingpunchedinthechest,theairleavingmylungs,myvisionblurringforhalfasecondasIgripthehandleoftheknifetightly,readytofight.
Iraisemyarm,butbeforeIcanlunge,brightlighthitsme,andIwince.Whatthefuck?Ittakesafewsecondsformybraintocatchup,formyeyestomakeoutthesightofLorenzo,hishandonthelightswitchrightinsideonthekitchenwall.
Theassholeturnedthelighton.
Heraisesaneyebrow,notsayingaword,ashecasuallyleansagainstthedoorframe,clutchingabottleofliquor,takingadrink,hiseyesonmyhand.
Ontheknife.
Shit
Instinctively,Ireleasemygrip,lettingitclattertothefloorbymybarefeet.Myhandsaretrembling.Iclenchthemintofists,butitdoesn’tlittletocalmmedown.“JesusChrist,Lorenzo,youscaredme!”
Hemeetsmygaze,takinganotherdrink,beforewavingthebottletowardtheknife.“ThoughtItoldyounottopullanotherknifeonme.”
“Ididn’tknowitwasyou,”Isay.“Youdidn’texactlyannounceyourself.”
Hesaysnothing,drinkingsomemore,watchingmeashedoes.Hisgazecrawlsacrossmyskin,givingmegoosebumps.Ishiveragain,crossingmyarmsovermychest.I’mfullyclothed,wearingpajamas—oldgraysweatsandablackt-shirt,myhairstillwetfromashower,knottedontopofmyheadinamessybun.I’mwearingnotastitchofmakeup,myskinbareexceptforthelotionIalwayswear.
Shovingawayfromthedoorframe,Lorenzostrollsthroughthekitchen,approaching.Thecloserhegets,themoremyheartraces,mystomachdoingsomersaults.He’snotdrunk,Idon’tthink,thebottleinhishandonlyaquarterofthewaygone,butthere’ssomethingoffabouthim.Ican’tputmyfingeronit.“What’swrongwithyou?”
Hestopsrightinfrontofme.“Whatmakesyouthinksomething’swrong?”
Eventhewayhesaysthatfeelswrong,butIcan’texactlyexplainit.Idon’tknowwhatitis.Besides,hejustansweredmyquestionwithaquestion,whichisagiantredflag.
Idon’tanswerhim,sincehedidn’tanswerme.Afteramoment,heraisesahand,totouchme,butItakeastepback,puttingspacebetweenus.Hisbrowfurrows,andItrytogoaroundhim,togetoutofthekitchen,buthegrabsmyarm,pullingmebacktowardhim.“What’swrongwithyou?”
“Iaskedyoufirst.”
“Idon’tgiveashit,”hesays.“Answermyquestion.”
Iwanttotellhimtofuckoff,thatIdon’towehimanyanswers,buthe’dprobablyjustaskagainandagainuntilIcavedandgavehimwhathewanted.“You’rebeingweird.”
“How?”
“Ugh,Idon’tknow.”Ipullmyarmfromhisgrasp,andheletsgowithoutafight.“Ican’texplainit.It’sjustafeelingI’vegot.”
Hestaresatmeagain,thecornerofhismouthturningupslightlywithahintofasmirk.Hetakesaswigofhisliquorbeforewalkingoverandpickingupthediscardedknife.It’ssmall,withablunttipandaserratedblade,thefirstknifeIcameacrossandprobablytheworstonetotrytoattacksomebodywith.
Shakinghishead,hetossestheknifeontothecounterbeforeturningbacktome.“You’rejustbeingparanoid.There’snothingwrongwithme,exceptmaybethatit’scoldasfuckinhere.Doestheheatnotwork?”
Irelaxabit.Okay,that’splausible.Imightbeparanoid.“Theheatworks.Itjust,youknow…sucks.”
“Sucks,”herepeats,walkingbackovertome.“Iguessthat’sonewaytokeepwarm.”
“Isthatwhyyoushoweduphere?Thinkyoucandropinanytimeyouwantandgetyourdickwet?”
“Can’tI?”
Irollmyeyes,startingtowalkawayagain,whenhelaughs.He’slaughing.Thesoundstallsme.
“I’mjustfuckingwithyou,”hesays,pausingbeforeadding,“orwell,notfuckingwithyou.Howeveryouwantit.Notabigdeal.”
Heskirtspastme,outofthekitchen,flickingthelightoffashegoes,leavingmestandinginthedarkalone.Browfurrowing,Ifollowhimtothelivingroom,thinkinghe’sleaving.“Whereareyougoing?”
“Tosmoke,”hesays,bypassingthefrontdoor,insteadgoingtotheladderthatleadstotheroof.“Joinmeornot.Whateveryouwant.”
Ugh.Iscrubmyhandsovermyface,groaning,ashemakeshiswayupontotheroof.He’sgivingmewhiplash.DealingwithhimisthelastthingIexpectedtobedoingtonight,consideringIjustsawhimthismorning,butnowhe’shere…well,he’supthere…anditkindofjustmakesmewanttobewhereverheis.
Iknowhe’sjustaman.Amanwithflaws.Amanwithhisownproblems.AndIknowhecan’tsolvemyproblem.Notreally.Hecan’tfixwhat’swrongwithme.Nobodycan.Theycan’tevenunderstand.Butbeingaroundhim,itmakesmefeelthings,thingsI’vemissedjustasmuchasthemusicandthelaughter,thingsthatmakemefeelaliveagain.
He’sexcitement.He’sadrenaline.
Hemakesmyheartdostupidshit.
Shitmyheartshouldn’tbedoing.
Becauseeverythingthatturnsmeonabouthimcouldalsosnuffmeout.He’sviolent.He’stemperamental.He’sdangerous.Sodangerous.Twenty-fourhoursago,Iwatchedhimmurdersomeone.Hedidn’tevenflinchashepulledthetrigger.
Butthenagain,neitherdidI.
Iwatchedhimdoitwithoutreacting.
Maybewe’renotthatdifferent.
Itdoesn’treallymatter,though,becausethedevilalreadytookmysoul.IhavenothingtoofferLorenzo.
Notthathe’devenwantit.
Sighing,Istalkovertotheladderandclimbupontotheroof.Lorenzositsontheledge,legsdanglingoverthesideofthebuilding,acloudofsmokealreadysurroundinghim.IsmellitasIapproachandclimbupontheledgebesidehim,sittingdownsocloseourarmstouch.
Lorenzoturnstomeandleanscloser,likehemightkissme,butinsteadheletsoutastreamofsmoke.Mylipspart,andIinhaledeeply,takingtheremnantsofthehazyairintomylungs,closingmyeyesasIholdit,relishingtheslightburninmychest.
Iexhaleafteramoment,reopeningmyeyes,andcatchhimstaringatme,stilljustabreathawayfrommymouth.
Iturnaway,loweringmyhead,lookingdownoverthesideofthebuilding,downatthechaoticcity.Myheartcontinuestobattermyribcage,chillscoveringeveryinchofmyskin.Igentlyswingmylegs,mybarefootgrazingagainsthisblackcombatboot.Hisbootsareuntied,looseonhisfeet,likeatanymomenttheymightfalloff,buthedoesn’tseemtogiveashit.
It’salongdrop.Iliveonthesixthfloor.Fromuphereontheroof,itmightaswellbesevenstories.
“Doyouthinkitwouldhurt?”Iask,gazingdown.
“What?”
“Falling.”
Hetakesahitofhisjointbeforewordlesslyofferingittome.Itakeit,bringingittomylipsandinhaling,asheglancesdown.
“Fallingdoesn’thurt,”hesays.“Iimagineitfeelsnicethosefewseconds,soaringthroughthesky.”
“Yeah,Iguessit’shittingthegroundthathurts.”
“Iwouldn’tevensaythat.Fromthisheight?You’vegotaboutaten-percentchanceofsurviving.Thehit,itprobablydoesn’thurt.It’lleitherkillyouorincapacitateyou,andeitherwayit’llbeinstant.Painwon’tcomeuntilyouwakeupandrealizeyou’renotdead.Sono,Idon’tthinkfallinghurts,butlivingthroughitsureashellwould.”Heletsoutadrylaugh,takingthejointbackfromme.“That’susuallyhowitgoes,youknow…dyinghasnothingonthehorrorsofsurviving.”
Howtruethatis…
“Thatdoesn’tsoundsobad,”Imumble.“Falling.”
“Isweartofuck,Scarlet,ifyoujumpoffofthisroof…”
“I’mnotplanningonit.I’mjustsaying,thereareworsewaystogo.Andwhendeathcatchesuptome,well,itwon’tbeasinstantasgoingsplat.He’llmakeitmuchworsethanthat.”
“By‘death’I’massumingyoumeanAristov,”hesays,passingthejointback.“WhenAristovfinallycatchesuptoyou.”
“Yeah,”Imumble,takingahit,suckingdeeplyandholdingitinmylungsuntilIstartcoughing.Thesmokestreamsoutofme,myeyesburning,watering.“Hisweaponsofchoicearehishands.”
“So,strangulation,suffocation…”
“Worstwaytogo.”
Mythroatfeelsraw,mychesttight.Icanalmostfeelhisthickhandswrappedaroundmyneck,chokingthelifeoutofme,hisfacejustinchesfrommyown.IalwaysjusthopedI’dseeafleckofhumanity,buttherewasneveranythingthere.Themanisashell.Hemayaswellbemadeofmetal,whatever’sinsideofhimshort-circuiting.He’sinhuman.Seeinghimkillothersdesensitizedme,butrealizinghe’dkillme,too?Realizing‘love’tohimwasn’tloveatall,thatitwasobsession,thatitwasallaboutpossession?
Italmostbrokeme.
Almost
“Oldage.”
Lorenzo’swordsdrawmyattention,pullingmeoutofmemoriesthatfeellifetimesago.Itakeanotherhitofthejoint,tinglesrunningthroughmybody,warmingmefromtheinside,thatfloatyfeelingstartingtotakeover,beforeIhanditback.“Oldage?”
“Worstwaytogo.”
Thatmakesmelaughharderthanitshould.“You’rekidding,right?Ofallthewaystodie,youthinkthat’stheworst?”
Heshrugs,stubbingthejointout,beforepickinguphisAltoidstinfrombetweenusontheledgeandshovingitbackinhispantspocket.
“I’dlovetolivelongenoughtodieofnaturalcauses,”Isay.“IfonlyIcouldbesolucky…”
“Liveforacenturyonlytohaveyourbodyshutdown,yourheartgivingout,yourbraindisconnecting,forgettingeverythingyoudidandeveryoneyoumight’vegivenafuckabout,sufferingaloneandterrified,shittingyourpants,notevenknowingyourownname?I’dratherbedousedingasolineandsetonfire.”
Icringe.JesusChrist.
“Besides,”hecontinues,“wouldbebullshit,livingthewayIdo,ifIdon’tatleastgetthechancetogooutinablazeofglorywhileIcanstillenjoyit.”
“That’snowaytolive.”
“Saysthewomanthinkingaboutfallingoffaroofwhilehidingfromsomejackasslikeascaredlittlepunkbitch.”
“Youdon’tunderstand.”
“You’reright.Idon’t.”
There’sapartofmethatwishesIcouldexplainittohim,thatwantstomakehimunderstand,butthere’sanotherpartofme—thestubborn,hardheartedpart—thatcan’triskfullyconfidinginthisman.
Factsoftenchangeperception.Sometimesstorieshaveplottwiststhatturneverythingupsidedown.SoIkeepmysecretsguardedcloselytomychest,notcrackingmyselfopen,becausethere’sachancewhenheseeswhat’sallinsideofme,hemightwalkawayandnotevenlookback.
Idon’tknowthathewould,Idon’teventhinkhewould,buthemight,andIselfishlyneedhimtostickaround.Icouldn’thandlethatrejectionrightnow.
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Imumble,swingingaround,pullingmyselfbackontotheroof.“I’mgoinginside.”
BeforeIcaneventakeastepaway,Lorenzo’shandshootsback,grabbingmyarm.“Didyouhearthat?”
Iglanceathim.“Hearwhat?”
JustasIaskthat,afaintthumpingnoisereachesmyears,likefootstepsagainstmetalrungs.Theladder.Myeyesdarttowardtheopeningontheroof,leadingtomyapartment,tremblingwhenIhearitagainfrominside.
Someoneelseishere.Fuck
I’mfrozensolid,hopingit’smyimagination,untilIhearvoices.Accents.Lorenzoswingsaround,gettingtohisfeet.Hedoesn’tsayanything,draggingmeacrosstheroof,hishandgrippingmyarmsotightlyithurts.Hetakesmeovertoanotherledgebeforelettinggo,haulinghimselfuponit,notevenhesitatingbeforedroppingovertheotherside,disappearing
“Lorenzo!”Icallout,heartracingasIpullmyselfupontotheledge,terrified,hearingaloudbangofmetal,watchingashedropsontotheoldfireescapebelow,nearlylosinghisbalancewhenhehitshard
Herecovers,stayingonhisfeet,andlooksupatme.“Nowornever,Scarlet.”
Nowornever.
Iglancebehindme,backontotheroof,flexingmyhandsastheyshake.Now
Ijump.
Orwell,Ifall.
IwishIcansayI’mgracefulaboutit,thatIpirouetteofftheledgeandfloatondown,butImorelikeflailmid-airforasecond,squeezingmyeyesshutandholdingmybreath,beforeslammingrightintoLorenzo.BAM.Mybarefootcatchesontheedgeofthefireescape,andInearlyslipthroughtheopening,downanotherlevel,butLorenzograbsme,yankingmetohimbeforeIfallanyfurther.
Iwince,bloodseepingoutfromafreshcutonmyfoot,themetaledgesofthefireescapejaggedandrusty.Awesome.IfKassiandoesn’tgetmetonight,tetanuscertainlymight.
Talkaboutsomekarma.
“Go,”Lorenzosays,hisvoicefirmashenudgesme,makingmemove.I’mstilltryingtogetmybearings,butIholdontothefireescapeasImakemywaydown.I’msurprisedI’mnotyetcaughtwhenIgettothebottom,grabbingtheladderandshovingonit,butitonlybudgesalittlebit.
Ugh.Georgeisaslumlord.Pieceofshitbuildingisadeathtrap.
“Jump,”Lorenzosaysimpatiently,nudgingmeagain.Sighing,Igrabtheladder,climbingover,anddanglefromtheendofitbeforedroppingtothesidewalk,rightonmyass,withanotherwince.
Ofcourse,thisbastardlandsbesideme,jumpingdown,managingtostayupright.Grabbingmyarm,heyanksmetomyfeet,nearlythrowingmebackdownasheshovesme.“Go.”
Itakeafewsteps,becausehegivesmenochoice,butthenIstall.“Where?”
Heshrugs.
Themanfuckingshrugs
Allcasualandcalm,justaflippantliftofhisshouldersasheleansbackagainstthebuildingnotfarfromtheentrance.
Whatthehell?
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskincredulouslyashepropshisbootupagainstthebuilding,hisposturerelaxed,handsshovedinhiscoatpockets.He’sjuststandingthere,likehe’swaiting
“You’dratherfallthanfacehim,soIgotyoudownstillalive,”hesays,“butI’mnotafraid,Scarlet,andI’veneverrunfromanyoneadayinmylife.”
“But—”
“Go,”hesaysagain,louder.“Quitpussyfooting.”
He’sinsane,thisman.Bonafidebatshitcrazy.Groaning,Irunaroundthecorner,intothealley,spottingtheblackMercedesparkedthere.Whoa.Iretreat,togotheotherway,whenthere’snoiseinfrontofthebuilding.
Voices,distinguishablyRussian.
Outoftime,Idodgebehindarowofdumpsters,overflowingwithtrash,wedgingmyselfbetweentwoofthemandsquattingdown,gagging.
Maybethismakesmeacoward,Idon’tknow,butI’dratherbeabreathingcowardthanabravecorpse.
“Whereisshe?”
ThosearethefirstwordsIhear,asIstrainmyears.
Thevoiceisfamiliar.Markel
“Who?”Lorenzoasks.
“Youknowwho,”Markelsays.“Morgan.”
“Oh,didyoufindher?”Lorenzoasks.“Thatwasfast.”
“Listen,yousonofabitch,”Markelsays,losinghistemper.“Youthinkyou’refunny,butIfindnothingfunnyaboutyou.Youareinvolvingyourselfinbusinessthathasnothingtodowithyou.”
“Business,isshe?”Lorenzo’svoicedoesn’twaverfromitscasualtone.“Thoughtitwaspersonal.”
“It’sboth,”Markelsays.“Eitherway,ithasnothingtodowithyou.Wedon’twantanyproblems.Theredoesn’tneedtobeany.Thegirl,sheisKassian’s.Sostayawayfromher,leavehertous,andtherewillbenohardfeelings.Justgiveherup.”
“See,that’swhereyou’rewrong,”Lorenzosays.“BecauseI’malreadyfeelingliketherearesomehardfeelingshere,withthewayyou’reallinmyspacerightnow.Yourbreathsmellslikeassandyoujustspitinmyfacewhilespewingyourliesaboutnotwantingproblems,andthere’snothingIhatemoreinthisworldthanaliar,Pooh-Bear.Nothing.SorunalongandtellChristopherRobinthatIsaidI’vegotapairofnutshecansuckon,butotherwise,I’vegotnothingforhim.Yougotme?”
Igrimace.Kassianwon’tlikethat.
“You’llregretthat,”Markelsays.“You’rewillingtogiveupyourlifeforadumblittlesuka?”
Isqueezemyeyesshut,mystomachangrilychurning.
“Oh,I’mnotgivingupanything,”Lorenzosays.“AllI’msayingisIdon’thaveher.Hell,youcancheckmypocketsifyouwant.Here,look.See,she’snothere.Nope,notinmycoat,either.Idon’thaveher,andIdon’tappreciatetheinsinuationthatIdo.”
“Thenhowdidyouknowtocomehere?”Markelasks.
“IthinkthebetterquestionishowyouknewwhereIwent,”Lorenzosays.“Andbeverycarefulhowyouanswerthat,Boo-Boo,becauseIdon’ttakekindlytobeingtracked.”
Hisvoicefinallyraisesanoctave,theangeremanatingfromthosewordssendingachillthroughme.
“Ididnotfollowyou,”Markelsays.“ItseemsyouandIjusthadthesamedestination.”
“Bullshit.”
It’ssilentforamoment—averylongmoment—beforeMarkelsays,“Kassianwillnotletyoukeepher.”
“That’sfunny,”Lorenzosays,“becauseIdon’trecallaskinghimforhisblessing…maybebecauseIdon’tgiveafuckwhathethinks.”
Iwaitforaresponse,myhearthammeringhard,butallIhearisfootstepsafterthat,drawingcloser,closer,closer…
Iduckfurtherintotheshadows,watchingastwoguysstrutpast.Markel,Kassian’syoungerbrother,buttheotherIdon’tknow.Oneofhismanyminions.
It’sfunny,Ithink,asIwatchthemgetintheMercedes,squealingtiresastheyspeedaway,goingbacktoKassianempty-handed,thatit’shisbrotherhe’ssending,consideringMarkelhadasoftspotforme.HewasoncetheclosestthingIhadtoanally.
Istayinplaceafterthey’regone,notknowingifit’ssafe.Aminuteorsopassesbeforefootstepsquietlyapproach,ashadowmovinginthealley,stallinginfrontofthedumpsters.“Yougonnastaythereallnight?”
IpeekoutatLorenzo,grimacing.“Maybe.”
“Maybe,”herepeats.“Well,ifyouwanttostaythere,sobeit,butotherwise,let’sgetthehelloutofhere.”
“Andgowhere?”
“Home.”
“Home,”Imutter,steppingoverthetrash,gaggingagain.Itreeks.“Don’treallyhaveoneofthoseIcangoto.”
“I’vegotoneIcanshare.”
Heturnstowalkaway,butIhesitate.“What?”
“Yougotanywhereelsetogo?Family?Friends?”
“No.”
“Okaythen,myhouseitis.”
“Seriously?”
“Look,we’renotpickingoutfuckingdrapestogether,Scarlet,butyouneedaplacetolayyourheadandI’vegotoneofthose.Youcansleeponthecouchifyouwant—justoverlooktheholeinit.Hadalittleaccident.”
Ifollowhimoutofthealley,slightlylimping.Myfootfeelslikeit’sonfire,therestofmesore.“Accident-schmaccident.”
Hepauses,glancingupanddowntheblock.“Don’tlikethecouch?I’vegotabed.”
“Asparebed?”
“Mybed.”
“Won’tmesleepinginyourbedputadamperinyourgame?”
“No.”
That’sallhesays.No
“Whereareyougoingtotakeyourwham-bam’s?”
Helooksatmethen,raisinghiseyebrows.“Youreallywanttotalkaboutthisrightnow?Here?”
“Well,Imean,I’mjusttryingtofigurethingsout,becauseasgratefulasIamfortheoffer,I’veyettomeetapersonwhodidn’thaveulteriormotives.SoI’mwonderingwhatyoursare,beforethisgoesanyfurther,becausenooffense,butI’mnotinterestedinbeingyourfluffernutter.”
Hegrabsmebythewaist,pullingmeawayfromthealley.“Myfluffernutter?”
“Yeah,”Isay.“I’mnotfluffingyournutswhileyoufuckotherwomen.That’snotinmyjobdescription.”
I’mdeadseriousaboutthat,buthelaughs.“Thatwon’tbeaproblem.Besides,Iprettymuchjustdeclaredwarforyou,Scarlet.Atleastifyou’resleepinginmybed,IknowI’mwinning.”
“Yeah,”Imutter.“Hellofaprizeyou’vewon.”
“Comeon,”hesays,ignoringthat.“Let’sgo.”
“Wait,Ineedmybag,”Isayashetriestopullmepastmybuilding.“It’supstairs.”
“Againwiththatgoddamnbag?”
“Yes.”
Hegroans,andIexpecthimtofightmeonit,becauseIknowhe’sfrustrated,butinsteadheletsgoofmywrist.“You’vegotabouttwominutes,woman,somakeitfast.”ChapterNineteen
Thelittlegirl’sdrawingwasontherefrigerator.
Shesatonastoolatthebarinthekitchen,abowloffreshporridgeinfrontofher,untouched.Hergazewasfixedonthedrawing.Itwasn’taframe,likehe’dsaid,butitwasstillondisplay.
Hermotheralwayscoveredtheirrefrigeratorwiththelittlegirl’sart,layerafterlayer,heavymagnetsholdingitallup.TheTinManhadusedapieceofducttapetostickitthere,deadcenterofthefreezerdoor,notamagnettobefoundanywhere.
“Whyareyounoteatingyourkasha?”theTinManasked,hisvoicelowandgritty,kindoflikesandpapertothelittlegirl’sskin.Hiseyesweregrayagain,buttheydidn’tappearverykindthatmorning.
“Idon’tlikeporridge,”shesaid,lookingdownatthebowl.“IlikeLuckyCharmsbetter.”
“LuckyCharms?Youlikethemarshmallows?Youlikeallthatsugar?”
“Yes.”
“Toobad,”hesaid.“Weeattolive,kitten.Wedonoteatforfun.Soeatyourkasha.Itisgoodforyou.”
Frowning,shetookabite,forcingitdown.Inthemonthshe’dbeenthere,shehadn’thadanysweets.Nocakes,nocookies,nocandies,nonothing.Itwasallsoupsandstewsandtoomuchfish,whichshehated,butifshedidn’teatwhathemadeher,shejustwenthungry.Shemissedicecream,andpepperonipizza,andevenhotdogs.ShemissedKool-Aide,androotbeer,andchocolatemilk.Teaorwaterwasallheeveroffered,exceptthatbitterburningvodka.Yuck
Thelittlegirlmissedsomuch,butmostofall,shemissedhermother,whousedtosaylifewastooshorttoeatyuckystuff.
ThelittlegirllookedoverattheTinManashesatacrossfromher,readinganewspaper.“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Shewokeup,didn’tshe?”
Hedidn’tlookupfromthepaper.“Sure,kitten.Wokeupgoodasnew.Wehadalaughaboutitthismorningbeforeshewenthome.”
Hewaslying.Nobodylaughedthatmorning.Thelittlegirlhadsatatthetopofthestairs,afraidtocomedown,andwatchedtheCowardlyLioncarrythewomanoutsidewrappedupinablacktarp.
“ImeantMommy,”shewhispered,lookingatherporridge,thinkingshe’dratherstarvethanforcedownanymoreofit.
Shecouldfeelhiseyesthen,regardingherinsilence.
“Yourmotherisfine,”hesaidfinally.“Wehavenotlaughedaboutityet,butwewill,andeverythingwillbeasgoodasnewwhenwedo.”
Hereyeslifted,meetinghissterngaze.“Shewokeup?”
“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“Doesthatsurpriseyou?”
Sheslowlynodded.
“Words.Donotmimeyouranswers.”
“Yes,”shesaid.
“Why?”
“Becauseshedidn’tfindmeyet.”
Hestaredatherforamomentlongerbeforehisexpressioncracked.Hislipstwitchedwithahintofasmile.“Youthinksheislookingforyou?Thatsomedayyouwillhear,‘Knock-knock,kitten,Mommyishere’?
Thelittlegirlnoddedagain,earninganannoyedgrowl,hisfistslammingagainstthebarsohardherbowlbounced,someoftheporridgesplatteringout.
“Words.”
“Yes,Daddy.”
Helaughedagain,thatmeanlaughnow.
“Ihopeyoudohearit,”hesaid.“IhopeshecrawlsoutoftheHellsheisinandcomesforyou,kitten.Iwouldenjoywatchingthathappen.”
Heruffledthetopofherhead,stilllaughingashewalkedaway,leavingherwiththeporridgeshedidn’twantandananswershecouldn’tunderstand.
Didthatmeanshewasn’tcoming?ChapterTwenty
ThefirstthingIhear,whenIopenmyfrontdoor,isthatfuckingsongfromthatgoddamnmovie.
YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout.Youmighthaveevenguesseditalready.Theoneaboutthebigassboatandtheiceberg,withtherichbitchandgutterratmakinggooglyeyesateachother.DrawmelikeyourFrenchwhores,assholeI’llneverletgo.Blahblahblah
Yeah,thatone.
Saturdaynight—orwell,guessit’sSundaymorningnow,isn’tit?Afewminutespastmidnight.LeoisheresomewherewithMelody.Iknowthis,becauseshe’ssingingalong,likethisisKaraokeHourontheRMSTitanic.
Sighing,IstepoutofthewayforScarlettoenter,wantingtosmashmyheadintothewallinhopesthatmaybeI’llgounconsciousandwon’thavetohearthisforasecondlonger.Scarletstrollsrighttothelivingroom,stoppinginthedoorway,lookingin.
Aftershuttingthedoor,Ijoinher.
They’recuddlingonmycouch,mybrotherandhisgirlfriend,alltangleduptogetherwithabigblanketcoveringthem.I’mnotsureifthey’redressed,tobehonest.Wouldn’tbethefirsttimetheyfuckedonmycouch,justlikethis,watchingsomesappylovestory.
Ithinkit’sakink.
Somepeoplelikespanking.
Otherslikevoyeurism.
Mybrotherlikestofuckhisgirlfriendasshesobsoverfictionalcharacters
Me?Ilikealittlebitofeverything…withtheexceptionofthatlastone.Stickafingerinmyassallyouwant,butthesecondyoustartboo-hoo’ing,I’mdone.
Theydon’tpayusanyattention,andI’mnoteventryingtointerruptwhateverthatis.NudgingScarletforhertofollowme,Iheadtomylibrary.Iwalkrightin,butshehesitatesbeforecrossingthethreshold.
“Shutthedoor,”Itellher,ploppingdowninmychair.“Maybeit’llmufflethesoundofthatdyingcatoutthere.”
Scarletlaughs,shuttingthedoor.“You’resuchanasshole.”
“Couldbeworse,”Isay.“Icouldmuffleherwithapillow,butIwon’t.Don’tIgetcreditforthat?”
“Nicetry,butno,”shesays,approaching.“Youdon’tgetpointsfornotkillingyourbrother’sgirlfriendwhentheonlythingshe’sguiltyofisbeingaterriblesinger.”
“She’ssodamnemotional,andshe’salwaysjust…peppy.”
Scarletgaspswithmockhorror.“Howhorrible!”
“Fuckyou,”Imutter.“It’sexhaustingtobearound.”
“She’sstillyoung.”
“She’sthesameageasyou.”
“Yeah,well,I’mnotexactlynormal,”shesays.“IwasforcedtogrowupquickwhenIwasjustakid.Buther?Iimagineshe’shadanormallife.Well,untilyoucameintoit,socuthersomeslack.”
“Ido,”Isay.“She’sstillbreathing,isn’tshe?Stillouttheresinging.Stillhangingaround,eatingmygroceries,watchingmytelevision,gettingherpussyplayedwithinmyhouse.”
Scarletleansagainstthetablebesideme,shakingherheadasshecrossesherarmsoverherchest.“You’llprobablybesayingallthataboutme…eatingyourfood,usingyourelectricity,showeringwithyourhotwater—”
“Gettingyourpussyplayedwith?”
Sherollshereyesbutdoesn’tdenyit.
Igrabherhips,pullingherbetweenmylegs.“Look,allI’msayingisifyou’regoingtosing,dothatshitsilentlysonobodyhastolistentoit.”
Shelaughs,herhandsonmyshoulders.“Shouldwetalksilently,too,soyoudon’thavetolistentothat,either?”
“Preferably,”Isay.“Unlessit’sdirtytalk,inwhichcase,I’mmorethanhappytohearyou.”
“Wow,”shesays,voiceflat.“YoukeepbeingsocharmingandImightstartcatchingfeelings.”
“Iwouldn’tblameyou,”Isay.“Just,youknow,keepthemtoyourself,incasethey’recontagious.”
“Don’tworry,”shesays.“Ipracticesafesentiment.I’llbesuretowrapitbeforeIyapit.”
Ilaughatthat.Thisgoddamnwoman.She’sgotamouthonher,withoutadoubt,thekindofmouththat’sdestinedtogetherinalotoftroubleinlife.
Alreadyhas,itseems.
Aristov,he’sthekindofguywholikestobreakwildhorses,andScarletisoneofthemoststrong-willedI’veeverencountered.Shemightnotbebroken,butitwouldn’ttakemuchmore,notwiththewayshebuckleswhenitcomestohim.
It’suncharacteristic.
Sure,Ihaven’tknownherlong.
Butshedoesn’tflinchfromme.
Idon’tscareher.
Sowhydoeshe?
Myeyesnarrowslightly,anddamnifshedoesn’tnotice,becauseIseeherstiffeninresponsetoit.
“TellmeaboutAristov.”
Herexpressionblanks.Thereshegoes,tryingtofadeonme,shuttingdown.
“I’vealreadytoldyouabouthim,”shesays.“He’sacruelman.”
“Onethatstolefromyou.”
“Yes.”
“Hestolethelightfromyourlife,”Isay,recallingherwords.“Hestoleyourinnocence.”
Hereyesclose.It’sautomatic.Shecan’tevenlookatmewhenIsaythat.Whenshereopensthem,they’reglassy,butshedoesn’tshedasingletear.
I’veyettoseehercry.
“Yes.”
That’sallshesays.
Sinceshe’snotelaboratingonherown,fuckit…I’mgoingtoask.“How?”
It’sasimplequestion,butIknowrightawayshe’snotgoingtoanswerit.Herhandsleavemyshouldersandshestepsback,outofmygrasp,assheforcesasmileonherlips,thefakestsmileI’veeverseen.
“Istink,”shesays.“DoyoumindifItakeashower?”
“Ofcoursenot,”Isay,wavingheraway.“Helpyourselftowhatever.It’lltakemeatleasttwoweekstostartcomplainingaboutyou,somakeyourselfathome.”
“Thanks,”shesays,turningtowalkoutofthelibrary.“Imakenopromiseswhenitcomestosingingintheshower,though.SometimesIjustcan’thelpmyself.”
“Makethatoneweek,then,”Icallafterher.“I’llstartcomplainingbynextweekend,soenjoythesenextfewdays.”
Shelaughs,disappearingfromtheroom.
Istareatthedoorwayonceshe’sgone,drummingmyfingersonthearmofthechair.Sheevadedlikeamotherfucker.Shewasn’teventryingtobeslyaboutit.Shejustflatoutwasn’tanswering.
Shovingupfromthechair,Istrolloutofthelibrary,makingmywayintothekitchenforsomethingtoeat.There’snotmuchinhere,soIjustgrabtwoslicesofbread,pulloutsomelunchmeat,andslapthatshittogetherwithadabofmustard.Viola.
Itakeabite,chewing,asIgrabaCapriSunfromthefridgeandwalkout.MysandwichgetssmashedasIstrollbackdownthehall,sobusytearingtheplasticoffofthesmallyellowstrawthatIalmostdropitall.
“Hey,bro.”
IstopnearthelivingroomwhenLeogreetsme.Ilookupathimbeforeglancingintotheroom.Melodyisn’tsinginganymore,thankfuck.“Hey.”
“Sothatlady,”Leosays.“Morgan.”
“Whatabouther?”Iask,fiddlingwiththestraw,tryingtopokeitthroughtheholebutI’musingthewrongend.Goddamnit
“She’sbackalready,huh?Sawherwalkbyabitago.”
“Sheneedsaplacetostay,”Itellhim,flippingthestrawaround.“FiguredI’dbeniceforonce.Gotaproblemwiththat?”
“Notatall.”
Ishovethestrawin,impalingthefuckingthing,puttingitrightthroughtheothersideofthelittlesilverpouch,stabbingmyhand.I’mthreesecondsawayfromjustsqueezingthedamnthingandlettingitsquirtout,whereverthehellitwantstogo,figuringatleastsomeofitwillmakeitswayintomymouth,whenLeosnatchesitfromme,fixingthestrawbeforehandingitback.
“Thanks,”Imutter.“Thesethingsarebullshit.”
Look,beforeyougothinkingI’mincompetent,remembermyworldistwo-dimensional.I’veadaptedtothat,forthemostpart,butsometimesobjectsareassholes.Imisjudgedistances,can’tcatchafuckingthing,spilldrinksandbumpintodoorframes.Ialsocan’tseemtoevergetastrawinahole,which,asI’msureyoucanimagine,makesstickingthingsinotherholesabitofastruggle.
PussyiswhatI’mgettingat,incaseyoudidn’tpickuponthat.Iaimandsometimesmisslikeavirginalteenageboywhohasneverusedhisdick.
Itakeasip,suckingthroughthestraw.
“Idon’tknowwhyyoukeepbuyingthose,”Leosays.“Theygiveyoutroubleeverytime.”
“Ilikethem,”Isay.“Besides,nobitchasslittlejuicepouchisgoingtobestme,PrettyBoy.”
Ihitthestairs,makingmywayupthemasItakeanotherbiteofmysandwich.It’sdarkonthesecondfloor.Ifliponthelightinmybedroomjustasthewatershutsoffinmybathroom.
Isitdownontheedgeofthebed,kickingmybootsoffasIeat.They’realreadyuntied,soitisn’tthathard.Ishovethemasidewithmyfootjustasthebathroomdooropens.MygazeshiftsthatwayasScarletstepsout,nothingmorethanagraytowelwrappedaroundher.Shepauses,lookingatme,soIholdoutmyhalf-eatensandwich.“Hungry?”
Iexpecthertoscoff,maybelaugh,butsheplucksthethingrightfrommygraspandtakesabite,mumbling,“Starving.”
Welldamn.IhandhertheCapriSun.Shesuckstherestofitdownasshefinishesthesandwich.
Pullingmyshirtoff,Itossitacrosstheroom.Imissthehamper,ofcourse,butitdoesn’tmatter.Generalvicinity.Scarletwatchesme,tossingtheemptypouchinthetrashcannearmybed.Shemakesit.Doesn’tevenlook.
Ishakemyhead.
“So,”shesays,“I’vegotaproblem.”
“Noshit.”
Shepursesherlips.“Ihavenoclothes.”
“Thatdoesn’tsoundlikeaproblemtome.”
Igrabthetowel,slowlypullingitaway,takingitoffandtossingitaside,againnearthehamper.Scarletdoesn’tmoveasmygazetrailsherbody.
I’veseenthiswomannakedafewtimesnow,butbeyondtheobvious,likethosegorgeousperkytits,I’veneverreallylooked.YouknowwhatI’msaying?ButIseeitnow,everyinchofherpetitebody.Stronglegs.Widehips.Slimwaist.Myfingertipstrailhercollarbonesbeforerunningdownherchest,brushingacrossthosepertnipples.
Scarspepperherskin.They’renotblatant,littlemarkshereandthere,healedburnsandcuts,themostnoticeablescarbelowherbellybutton,dangerouslyclosetothePromisedLand.
“DoIpassinspection?”sheasks.“OraretheresomeviolationsIneedtoworkon?”
Glancingup,Imeethergaze.“Youcanworkonthatmouthofyours.”
“What’swrongwithit?”
“It’srunningalittlerough.Nothingaface-fuckingcan’tfix,though.”
Hereyeswiden.“BigwordsforaguywhodrinksCapriSun.”
Itrytokeepastraightface,butIcrackatthat,lettingoutalaugh.“Gotmethere.”
Grinning,shedoessomebullshitlittlebowbeforeturning,likeshethinksshe’sgoingtowalkawayfromme.Yeah,right
Beforeshecantakeevenastep,Iwrapmyarmsaroundherfrombehind,dragginghertothebed.Idon’tclimbinit,justshovingherdownontheedgeofit,hertophalfpressedintothemattress,mylefthandplantedfirmlyonherback,alongherspine.Ileanovertopofher,mymouthnearherearasIsay,“We’llseehowmuchshityou’restilltakingwhenI’mthrough.”
Kickingherlegsapart,forcingherwideopen,myrighthandslipsdown,strokingherbarepussy.There’snothinggentleaboutit.Nothingtender.Irubhard,notfuckingaround.It’smeresecondsbeforeshe’sdrenched,softmoansescapingthatshe’stryingtoholdback.Shedoesn’twantmetoseehowturnedonsheisbythis.
Islidetwofingersintoher,goingslowatfirst,beforeIstartreallyfuckingherwiththem.Hereyescloseasshefiststhecomforter,lettingoutawhimper.She’stryingsohardtobestill,tonotreact,butpleasureisthemostdifficultthingtomask.Youcanbottleupyourfeelingsandsuckupyourtears,putonabravefaceinsteadofshowingfear,butwhenthatspine-tinglingeuphoriarollsthroughyoursystem,there’snodenyingit.
Bodiesaretraitors.
Theywaveredflags.
Andthoseslickjuicescoatingmyhandtellmeeverything.Thewayherthighstremble,herbackarching,herknuckleswhitewithtensionassheclingstothebed,holdingontight.Goosebumpscoatherarms,thefinehairsbristling,hercheeksflushed,lipsparting,throatflexingassheswallows,buthermouthissodamndryitdoesnothing.Hervoiceisraw,strainedfromtryingtoforcebacknoises,somuchsothatitsoundslikeshe’sgrowling,likeshejustwantstoannihilateme,ripmetofuckingpieces.I’vegothereatingstraightoutofmypalm,butshe’sthekindtobitethehandthatfeedsher.
Fightingandfucking.
Fuckingandfighting.
Emotionsheightensensations.Weallknowthat.Butshecan’tletherselfbehappy,shecan’tletthatguarddown,soshegetsrealgoddamnangry.Itfuelsthefireinsideofheruntilshe’sshootingoffsparks.
Soyeah,Idon’tneedhertotellmehowshe’sfeeling,butfuckifI’mnotstillgoingtoask
“Thatfeelgood?”Iask,myotherhandslidingawayfromherback,aroundthecurveofherass,settlingbetweenherthighs.Istartrubbingherclitagain,anditthrowsmyrhythmoff,butnotsomuchthatIdon’tmakeitwork.Fucking.Stroking.In,out,around,andaround…“Youloveit,huh?Lovetohavethatbeautifulpussyplayedwith,tohaveitworshiped,gettingfuckedjustright.”
Shegroans.
Herbreathingislabored,thetensioninherbodygrowingassheshiftsherhips,writhing.She’sdamnclosetoorgasm.
“Openyoureyes,”Isay.“Lookatme.”
Sheobliges,turningherheadmore,hereyesmeetingmine.Istareather,sayingnothingelse,andshestaresrightback,unyielding.IkeepdoingwhatI’mdoing,watchingherunravelandcomeapartrightinmyhands.
Fuck.
Orgasmtearsthroughher,musclespulsating,herentirebodyshakingashermouthfallsopenandacryofpleasureescapes.It’sbeautiful,thewayherfacecontorts,hereyestryingtocloseagain,eyelidsfluttering,butshekeepshergazetrainedonmine.Irideherthroughituntilsherelaxes,thehandfromherclitmovingbacktoherassasIpullmyfingersoutofherandpopthemrightinmymouth.
Shemakesagutturalnoise.
Isuckthetasteofheroffofmebeforepullingthembackout,mywetfingertipstracingherlips.“Youevertasteyourself?”
“Doyou?”
Islipmyfingersintohermouthandgroanasshewrapsherlipsaroundthem,sucking,hertonguecaressingmyfingertips.“Allthetime.”
Hereyeswidenasshereleasesmyfingers,pullinghermouthaway.“You’rekidding.”
“DoIlooklikeI’mkidding?”
“No.”
“Well,then,thereyougo.”
Isitdownbesideher.Slowly,sherisesup,pushingawayfromthebed,anddropsdowntotheflooronherknees.
Shesitsthere,lookingupatme,butkeepsherhandstoherself.
“Istheresomethingyouwant,Scarlet?”
“Doyoulikehowittastes?”
Thequestionburstsoutofher,likeshe’sbeendyingtoaskit.Ilaugh,takingapagefromherbookbyflippingitaround.“Doyou?”
Sheshrugs,carefullyreachingtowardme,likeshe’safraidImightbite.Sheunbuttonsmypantsandpullsdownthezipper,herhandslippinginside.Igroanasshepalmsmycock,strokingafewtimesintheconfinementofmypants,beforeshepullsitout.
“Condom?”sheasks.
Inodmyheadtowardthebedsidestand,andshepullsthesmalldraweropen,lookingin.Shekeepsonehandonmycock,stroking,asshesearchesthroughmystashwiththeother,grabbingaplaincondom.Nothingspecialaboutit.Sheusesherteeth,tearingthepacket,andpullsoutthecondom,promptlypoppingitinhermouth.
Inherfuckingmouth.
Thecondom.
Theentirething.
BeforeIcansayanything,shegoesdownonme,wrappingherlipsaroundmycock,startingatthetip,andtakestheentiretyofitdownherthroatinonedeepstroke,notstoppingasshegags.
“Goddamn,woman,”Igroan,myhandsgraspingthebackofherhead,mygazeflickeringtotheceilingfanaboveastinglesflowthroughme.Roundandrounditgoes,asScarlet’smouthworksupanddownafewstrokes.
Shepullsawaythen,waytoosoon,andIlookdownatthecondomrolledonmycock.
Sheputthefuckingthingonwithhermouth.
Hermouth
“Witchcraft,”Isayasshestandsup,shovingagainstmychest,pushingmesoshecanclimbontomylap.Shestraddlesme,asIleanback,proppinguponmyelbowsonthebed.
Shesinksdownontome—warm,andtight,andwet…sofuckingwet.WhereI’msitting,shedoesn’thavemuchroom,butshedoesn’tneedit.Sherollsherhips,archingherback,slowlymoving,mycockslidinginandoutjustenoughtodrivemecrazy.Partsofmearetinglingthatshouldnevertingleassheteasesme.Teasesme.
ThewomanisgivingmealapdancewhileI’mballs-deepinherpussy.
Iraiseupabit,reachingout,myfingertipsbrushingacrossatit,circlinganipple.I’mabouttopinchthatsonofabitchwhenScarletslapsmyhand.SMACK.“Notouching.”
Thesharpblowstings,catchingmeoffguard.Ipullmyhandback,stallingmid-air.Shehitme.Hitme.Andnotjustsomelovetap…afullonfuckingslap.“Hitmeagain.Idareyou.”
“Ifyoudon’tkeepyourhandstoyourself,Iwill.”
Shesoundsprettydamnsureofherself.Ilowermyhand,proppingonmyelbowagainasIstareather.
Look,let’sberealhere.Ittakesalotofballstolayahandonme.I’llcutthedamnthingoffandbeatyoutodeathwithit,letyoudiebyyourownhand,sinceyoumustbesuicidaltotrythatshit.I’mnotevengoingtosithereandpretendtheurgetolashoutdidn’tstrikemethesecondIfeltthesting,butbeingasmyballsareachingforarelease,that’snotreallyinmybestinterest.
SoIdosomemeditativewoosahbullshitandcalmthehelldown,sinceI’mnotintonecrophilia,andI’dratherbefuckingherthankillingheratthemoment.Imightbeabitscrewedupinthehead,butI’mnotthatfargone.
“I’mnotpayingforthisshit,”Itellher.
Asmirkturnsthecornersofherlipsasshesays,“Didn’tthinkyouwould.”
Scarletfucksaroundforalittlewhilelonger,titstauntinglyinmyface,slowlyridingme.She’stryingtogetariseoutofme.Figuratively,thatis.I’malreadyashardasarock,butit’stherestofmeshewantsheated.
I’mgoingtotellyouasecret.
Abigsecret.
It’sworking.
Whatshe’sdoing,thewayshemoves?Thewayherbodyfitsontopofmine,formingtome,warmingme?It’sgotmefeelingsometypeofway.Iwanttothrowheroffandpinherdown,fuckheruntilshecan’tevenwalkandthenmakehercrawloutofmygoddamnhouse.ButthenI’djustwanttodragherrightback,becauseshe’sundermyskin,andwhatshe’sdoing?It’shot
Icanthinkofalotworsewaystospendmytime.
SoIwaitherout.
Eventually,shesighs,leaningdownoverme,bringingherfacejustinchesfrommine,asshewhispers,“You’regoodatthis.”
“Atwhat?”
“Atbeingafuckingjackass.”
Laughing,Igrabher,yankingheroffandthrowingheroveronthebedbeforeshecanstopme.Sheletsoutaloudsqueal,startled,beforeshestartsgiggling.
She’sfuckinggiggling
Icrawlontopofher,shovingmywaybetweenherlegs,forcingherkneesuptoherchestwithmyweightpressingagainstthem,pinningherthere.Shereachesforme,butIgrabherwrists,holdingthemasshestruggles.“Wait!Thisisn’tfair!”
“Youwantmetoletyougo?”Iask,leaningdown,pausingjustshyofherlips.
“Yes.”
“Asknicely,”Itellher.“Say‘LorenzoGambini,Ibegofyou,please,letmegoandI’llsuckyourdick.’”
Shelaughsagain,harder.“Youwish.”
“Ido,”Isay.“Nodoubtaboutit.”
Herstrugglingispathetic.Shecouldbreakfreeifshereallywantedto,butshe’sbarelyevenfighting.
Iclosetherestofthedistance,kissingherlips,asIgrindmycockagainsther,thetipofitrubbingherclit.Shemoansintomymouthasshestopsstruggling,relaxingintothebed.
Surrendering.
“LorenzoGambini,”shewhispersbetweenkisses,“Ibegofyou,please…fuckme.”
Ikissheroncemorebeforepullingback,shiftingposition,smirking.“Well,sinceyouaskedsonicely…”
Ithrusthard,slidingrightinfirstgoddamntry.
BAMChapterTwenty-One
Youknowthatdreampeoplehavewherethey’reoutsomewhere—school,work,somewhere—onlytorealizetheyforgottoputclothesonthatmorningandeverybodyisstaringatthem?
IthinkImightknowwhatthatfeelslike.
Thekitchenisquiet,strangelyso,consideringtherearefiveofuspackedintheroom.I’msittingataroundtable,inamatchingwoodenchair,acrossfromLeoandMelody.She’splayingonacellphone,cuttinghereyesatmeeverynowandthen,herexpressionfullofcuriosity,whileLeoisn’tevenpretendingtobeinterestedinanythingelse.He’sjustblatantlystaring.
Andhe’snottheonlyone.
Sevenstandsacrosstheroom,leaningagainstthecounter.Icanfeelhiseyeswatchingme,too.
Yep,Ishowedupnakedtoclass.
It’sfunny,really,becauseI’vebeennakedinpublic,aroundplentyofpeople,anditwasn’talwayspleasantforme,butitrarelyfeltthisawkward.
I’vegotclotheson,althoughthey’reobviouslynotmine—blacklongsleevedshirtthatcouldpassforalittledresswithapairofblueshortsunderneath.Orwell,okay,they’rereallyboxers.Boxerswithalligatorsalloverthem.FloridaGators
Ididn’tknowLorenzolikedsports.
There’salotIdidn’tknow,Ithink,asIglanceacrosstheroomathim,anditsmackedmerightinthefacejustabitagowhenIwalkedinhere.Lorenzo’sfacingawayfromme,barefoot,shirtless,dressedonlyinlow-slungblackpajamapantsandapairofglasses.Glasses.Blackframes,square,thin—notshowy,barelyevennoticeable,butIseethem.Hemovesaround,alternatingbetweensortingthroughpaperworkspreadoutalongthecounterandtendingtowhatever’scookingonthestove.
Yes,youheardmeright.
He’scooking
AndIdon’tmeanPop-Tartinthetoasterlevelcooking.Theman,whofedmehalfofacrappysandwichandajuicepouchlastnight,hasbaconsizzlingasheflipspancakesandsipsfresh-squeezedorangejuice.
Seriously.Iwatchedhimsqueezeit.
Heevenpouredmesome.
Iglancedownattheglassinmyhand,atthepulpyjuice,bitingtheinsideofmycheek.Noninety-ninecentgenericbodegajuiceforthisfamily.TheyallkeeplookingatmelikeI’mpeculiar,yetthey’reactingasifthatisnormal.
Lorenzoturnsaround,andIlookupashestepstowardthetable,half-expectinghimtogivemeweirdlooks,too,butno,he’sglaringathisbrother.Swingingaspatula,hesmacksLeointhehead,theloudthwackechoingthroughthekitchen.
“Shit!”Leowinced,thehitpullinghimoutofhistranceasherubsthebackofhishead.“Whatthehellwasthatfor?”
“Thetableisn’tset,”Lorenzosays.“Whatarewe,animals?”
Leostandsup,dramaticallyrollinghiseyes,andLorenzoswingsthespatulaagain,barelygrazinghisshoulderwithitashejumpsoutoftheway.“Okay,okay,I’mdoingit!Geez…”
“You’renottoooldformetotakeovermyknee,PrettyBoy,”Lorenzosaid,pointingthespatula.“Youweren’traisedinafuckingbarn.”
“No,butIwasraisedonafarm,”Leosays,grabbingsomeplatesfromacabinet.
“It’sanorangegrove,”Lorenzosays,“notafarm.”
Orangegrove
Iglanceatmyorangejuiceagain,bringingittomylipsforasip.ThisisallstartingtofeelveryTV-sitcom,likeLassieisabouttoruninandtellusTimmyfelldownthewell.
LorenzotossesthespatulainthesinkandbringsplattersoffoodoverasLeosetsthetable.IlookattheemptyplateinfrontofwhereI’msittingandgotoleavewhenLorenzoslidesintothechairbesideme,grippingmythigh,forcingmyassbackintotheseat.
“Helpyourself,Seven,”Lorenzocallsovertotheguy,stillleaningagainstthecounter.“Youknowhowitgoes.”
“Iappreciateit,boss,”Sevensays,“butthewifemadeomeletsthismorning,soIcouldn’teatanotherbiteevenifIwantedto.”
“Ifigured,”Lorenzosays.“Thewomanfeedsyoumorning,noon,andnight.”
“Andpacksmesnacksinbetween,”Sevensays,andIthinkhe’sjokinguntilhepullsaproteinbarfromonecoatpocketandalittleZiplockbagofcarrotsfromtheother.Wow
“You’remarried?”Iask.
“Twenty-fiveyearsnextmonth,”hesayswithasmile.MarriedlongerthanI’vebeenalive.“Shewasmyhighschoolsweetheart.Marriedherrightaftergraduation.”
“Regretsthatshiteveryday,”Lorenzosaysashedishesoutfoodontoplates.
“I’veneveronceregrettedit,”Sevensays,“notevenwhensheridesmyassaboutthecompanyIkeep.”
Lorenzofindsthatfunny,whileI’mtoobusydoingmathinmyhead.ThatmeansSevenisaboutforty-threeyearsold…sameageasKassian.
IglanceatLorenzo,suddenlycurious.“Howoldareyou?”
Leolaughsatmyquestion.“He’solderthansin.”
Lorenzoshootshimalookashesays,“Prettymuchforeversixteen.”
“He’spushingthirty-seven,”Sevenchimesin.
Thirty-seven
IlookatLeo.“Andyou’retwenty-one?”
Henods.“Yep.”
Sixteenyearagedifference.Lorenzomentionedhestartedtakingcareofhisbrotherwhenhewasaroundtwo,whichwould’vemadeLorenzo—
“Iwaseighteen,”Lorenzosays,andmyeyeswiden,wonderingifIwasdoingthemathoutloud,buthejustcutshiseyesatmewithaslightsmile,likehe’dreadmydamnmind.“Iknowthelook.”
“Whatlook?”
“Thetryingtoriddleshitoutlook,”hesays,grabbingtheplateinfrontofme,shovingitcloser.“Eatyourbreakfast,Scarlet.I’mnotopposedtotakingyouovermyknee,either.”
“I’dliketoseeyoutry,”Imutter,grabbingaforkandstabbingthepancakeonmyplate.BeforeIevenhavetoask,Lorenzopicksupathingofsyrupandpassesittome,likehereadmymindyetagain.Weird
Ieatinsilence.It’sgood.Reallygood.
Hedidn’tburnanyofit.
IalwaysburnedeverythingwhenItriedtocook.
Melodystartschattering,talkingLeo’searoff,whileSevenremainsinspot,waitingforwhatever.
Aphoneringseventually,comingfromthecorner.Sevenpullsoneoutofhispocket,holdingitup.“It’syours,boss.”
“Whoisit?”
“Blockednumber.”
“Idon’ttalktocowards,”Lorenzosays,pushinghischairbackandstandingup.HeputshishandonmyshoulderasIsetmyforkdown,myplateempty.“Sun’sup,whichmeansthetruckswillbeheresoon.Youcoming,Scarlet?”
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans,whichmeansIdon’tknowhowtoanswer,butLorenzodoesn’twaitforaresponse,soI’mtakingthatasarhetoricalquestion.
“Clearthetablewhenyou’refinished,PrettyBoy,”Lorenzocallsbackashewalksout.“Don’tforgettodothedishes.”
Leorollshiseyes.“Ireallyneedtogetmyownplace.”
Sevenwalksbythetableandsays,“Don’tletyourbrotherhearthat.He’llcatchacaseofemptynestsyndrome.”
“Onthebrightside,”Leosays,“hecouldputasmanyholesinthecouchashewanted,nothavingtoworryaboutmebeingaround.”
“That’snotabrightside,kid,”Sevensays,laughing.“Withoutyouaround,keepinghimstraight,there’snotellingwhathemightdo.Besides,you’rehissavinggrace.That’llneverchange.Nomatterwhereyougo,thatmanisapartofyou,justlikeyou’llalwaysbeapartofhim.That’showitgoes.”
Sevenwalksout,andIgetupfromthechair,followinghimasLeomumblessomethingaboutcuttingthecord
Ismilesoftly,shakingmyheadasImakemywayupstairs.Lorenzoisinhisbedroom,hisclothesalreadychanged,sittingontheendofthebedtoputonhisboots.HeglancesupasIstallinthedoorwayandsays,“Thatwhatyou’rewearingtoday?”
Ilookdownatmyself.
“Toeachtheirownandallthat,”hecontinues,“butyoumightfreezeyournipplesoff.”
“Myproblem,remember?I’mtemporarilyclothes-lessaswellashomeless.”
Helooksmeoverbeforegettingupandwaltzingpast,stoppingatthetopofthestairs.“Firecracker!Comehere!”
IttakesMelodymaybethirtysecondstoappearonthestairs.“Yes?”
“Mostofyourshitishere,right?”heasks.“Imean,youprettymuchliveinmydamnhouse…”
“Right,”sheagrees,lookingnervous.“Isthataproblem?”
“It’sactuallylookinglikeasolution,”hesays.“YougotanoutfitScarletcanborrow?”
Icanseethereliefonherfaceasshesmiles,trudginguptothesecondfloor.“Ofcourse.”
“Thereyougo,”Lorenzosays.“Problemsolved.”
Temporarily,Ithink.IcanonlysurviveborrowingoffofothersforsolongbeforeIhavetogetmyownstuff.
IfollowMelodydownthehallway,toanotherbedroomontheoppositeend.It’sacompleteanduttermess,pilesofclothesstrewneverywhere,allofithers.Icanhardlytellaguyevensleepsinthere.Melodywadesthroughitall,chatteringaway,talkingcolorschemesandfabricchoicesandbodytypes,sizingmeup.SherattlesoffawholeslewofquestionsthatIhavenoideahowtoanswer,makingthis‘puttingonclothes’endeavorfeelmorelikeaninterviewprocess.
Imean,yeah,don’tgetmewronghere—I’mnotat-shirtandjeansgalbyanymeans.Iloveprettyclothesandputtingonmakeup,andifIhadtolistmygreatesttalents,there’sagoodchance‘walkinginhighheels’wouldbeupthere.Butatthemoment,brandnamesaretheleastofmypriorities.
“Somethingcomfortable,”Isay.“Warm,preferably.”
“Comfortableandwarm,”shemumbles,scouringthroughtheclosetanddresserforwhatfeelslikeforeverbeforepickingoutanoutfit.“Ha!”
Blackfleece-linedleggingsandaredslouchysweater.Nice.Itakeitfromher.“Thanks.”
“Oh,wait!”shesays.“Youcan’tgobarefoot!”
Iscowlatmybarefeetjustasshesteerstowardaterriblyfamiliarpairofredheels.“Oh,Jesus,no.Anythingbutthose.I’vehadaroughenoughweek,Idon’tneedtoinvitethatnegativityintomylife.”
Melodylaughs,likethat’sfunny,butI’mserious.EverytimeIworethoseshoes,Iendeduprunning.Andthatwouldn’tbeaproblem,butlikeI’vesaid,Ionlyeverrunwhenbeingchasedbysomebody,andthat’snotanyfun.
Melodytossesmeapairofblackboots.“Howaboutthose?”
“They’llwork,”Isay.“Thanksagain.”
Iturntoleavebutcometoanabruptstop,damnnearrunningintoLorenzolurkinginthehallway.Hescansme,makingaface.“You’renotdressedyet?Whydoyouwomentakesolongtogetready?”
Irollmyeyes,pushingpasthim.“Whyareyoumensuchassholes?”
IhearhislaughterasIgointohisroom,followedbyhisanswer:“Probablybecauseyou’resofuckingslow.”
***
AnoldwarehouseintheGreenpointneighborhoodofBrooklyn,justacrosstheborderfromtheboroughofQueens.Itlookslikethekindofabandonedbuildingthatyou’dseeasthesettingofsomelow-budgethorrormovie,brokenglassandcrumblingbricks,afadedsignbarelyclingingtothestructure,coveredingraffiti.Peopleprobablycrossthestreettoavoidevenwalkingnearit,whereasitlooksalotliketheplacesIsleptinafterrunningawaysomanyyearsago.
Hell,Imight’veslepthere.Whoknows?
Trucksidleinthealleybesidetheplace.Threeofthem,tobeexact,identicalwhiteboxtrucks,eachbackedrightuptorustedmetaldockdoorsalongtheside.
IwalkslightlybehindLorenzoandSeven,lettingthemtaketheleadsinceIhavenoideawhatanyofthisis.Thecloserweget,themorepeculiaritallappears.Metalbarscovertheshatteredwindows,heavychainsandlocksonalltheentrances,makingitdamnhardtogetinside.It’seerie.Afewguysarealreadyhere,gatheredinthealley,lookinghaggard,oneofthemenevenproppinghimselfupagainstthebuilding,dry-heaving.
“Longnight,fellas?”Lorenzoasks.“Youlooklikeshit.”
Theytrytoperkup,reactingtohispresence,likesoldiersbeingcalledtoattention,buttheydoacrapjobofit.Instead,theyendupjustgrumblinginresponse,gruntingandgroaning,asifthat’sanswerenough.Longestnightever
Lorenzoshakeshishead,walkingthroughthegroup,hisexpressionhardashesays,“Somebody’smissing.”
“Yeah,uh,De—,uh,Three,”oneoftheguyssays.Four.“Must’vesleptin.”
“Orhehasn’tevengonetobedyet,”Sevensays,skirtingpasteveryoneashepullsasetofkeysfromhispocketandstartsunlockingthewarehouse.
Three.Theblond.Declan.
“Haveyoutriedtogetaholdofhim?”Lorenzoasks.
“Yeah,gothisvoicemail,”Foursays.“Didn’tevenring.Phonemustbedead.”
Four.Jimmy?Johnny?Joey?Idon’tknow.
“Well,then,hebetterbedeadalongwithit,”Lorenzosays,“becausenolongerbreathingistheonlyjustificationforblowingmeoffthismorning.Idon’tcarehowlongyournightwas,don’tcarehowdrunkyougot,don’tcarehowmuchpussyyoufucked…Isaybehere,youshowup.”
Hedoesn’tevenraisehisvoice,butthere’sasubtleragethere,inthequietevennessofhistone,thatmakeseveryonestiffenwithalarm.
“Whyaretherestofyoujuststandinghere?”Lorenzoasks.“ThinkbecauseThreeisoff,doingGodknowswhat,thatitgivesyouallapasstojusthangaroundwithyourthumbsupyourasses?Gettowork.Now.”
Theyscatter,notneedinganymoreincentive,headingintothewarehouseandshovingthedockdoorsup.Thechurningscreechofmetalmakesmecringe.Lorenzoapproachesthebackofthetrucksone-by-one,greetingeachdriverbeforehandingoverenvelopeshepullsfrominsidehiscoatinexchangeforpaperwork.Hismenstarttounloadthetrucks.Seventakesonmoreofasupervisingrole,whileIlingerinthealley,prettydamnconfused.
IfeellikemyteacherjustannouncedapopquizwhenIdon’tknowthematerial.Shit
Totallybombingthis.
They’rehalfwaythroughthefirsttruck,pullingoutbigwoodencratesandhaulingthemintothewarehouse,whenIapproachLorenzo,whoisflippingthroughpaperwork,squinting,likehe’sstrugglingtoreadit.
“Forgotyourglasses?”Iguess.
Hisgazeflickerstomeetmine.“IonlywearthemwhenIneedthem.”
I’malmostinclinedtopointoutthathe’slookinglikehemightneedthemnow,buthisexpressionkeepsmefromverbalizingthat.Itouchedanerve.
“So,whatshouldIdo?”Iask.
“Dowhateveryouwant,Scarlet.”
“Ineedtomakemoney,”Isay,becausewhatIwantissortofirrelevant.“SoamIgettingpaidforthis?”
“Depends.”
“Dependsonwhat?”
“Onifyoudoanywork,”hesays,scanningmeslowly.“You’renotreallybuiltformanuallabor.”
“I’mstrongerthanIlook.”
“Iknow,”hesays,lookingbackaway.“Didn’tsayyoucouldn’tdoit,justthatyouweren’tbuiltforit.”
BeforeIcantellhimhowfullofshithesounds,heshoveshispaperworkatme,forcingitinmyhands,lettinggosofasthalfofitclatterstotheground
“Inventory,”hesays.“Threeusuallydoesit,buthe’snothere,socongratulations…thejobisnowyours.Gothroughthecratesandmakesureit’sallaccountedfor.Sevencanhelpyou.”
“I,uh,okay.”
Thatwasn’twhatIexpected.
“Whenyou’refinished,yougetpaid.Don’tfuckitup.”
“Yes,sir,”Imumble,mocksalutinghim,beforegatheringthepapersIdroppedandheadingforthecrates.Thepaperworkissortofamess,justajumbleofwordsthatmakelittlesense.Thecrates,though,haverandomlettersstampedintothem,likethewoodhasbeenbranded,correspondingwithlettersonthetopofthepapers,followedsimplybynumbers.
GCD:1205
HMX:78
QPY:9
Twodozencratestotal.Nomentionofwhat’sinside.
IlookaroundforLorenzo,hopingforsomeclarification,buthe’snowheretobefound.
Afterthetrucksareemptied,theydriveaway,thedockdoorsagainloweredbeforethemendisappear,leavingonlySeven.
“Isthissomekindofcode?”Iaskhim,wavingthepapers.“Likesomemadeuplanguageorsomething?Ullshitbay.”
Sevenlaughs.“Afraidyayotnay.”
Afraidnot.
“YouknowPigLatin?”Iask,surprised.Whataretheodds?
Heshrugsashoulder.“I’vegotkidswhousedtothinktheyweresneaky.”
Kids.
Themanhaskids?
“You’rekidding,”Isay.“You’readad?”
“Twiceover,”hesays.“Twoboys.”
Huh.“Howold?”
“Aboutyourage,”hesays,grinning.“One’seighteen,juststartedatNYU…theother’stwenty-one,finishingupatColumbia.”
Igapeathim.Themannotonlyhasawifethatpackshimhealthysnacks,buthehaskidsthatattendprestigiousuniversities.“Wow,that’s…”Wow.“CanIaskyousomething?Withoutoffendingyou?”
“Sure,”hesays.
“WhythehelldoyouworkforLorenzo?”
Hiseyeswiden.
“NothingagainstLorenzo,ofcourse,”Isay.“Youjustdon’tseemlikethekindofguywhowouldeverevencrosspathswithhim.”
“Ah,well,yousee,ImadeacareeroutofcrossingpathswithmenlikehimwhenIworkedforthedepartment.”
“Youwereapoliceofficer?”
“Yes.”
“Whathappened?”
“Moneyhappened,”hesays.“Youdon’tmakemuchwiththeforce,andthemobofferedmeonehellofadealthatcamewithquiteafewzerosattachedtoit.AllIhadtodowaslooktheotherwayafewtimesandslipthemabitofinformation,youknow,sotheycouldstayonestepahead.Ihadafamilytotakecareof,amortgage,privateschooltopayfor,andIthought,hell,wouldn’titbenicetobeabletoaffordavacation?SoIdidit.AndthenIdiditagain.AndthenextthingIknew,Iwassodeepintheirpayrolltherewasnoseparatingmefromthem.”
“Soyouquittheforce?”
“Moreliketheyfiredme.”Helaughsdryly.“Gotlockedupsixyearsforbribery.Cameout,hadnowheretogo,butIneededmoney,soIhadtodosomething.Mywifewasworkingherselfhalftodeathtryingtostayafloat,andwithcollegetuition,well…thereneverseemstobeenoughmoney.Lifeisexpensive.”
“Thatitis,”Imumble,turningbacktothepaperwork,feelingbadfortheguy.He’sjustdoingwhateverhehastosohecantakecareofhisfamily.“So,inventory…”
“Self-explanatory.Numberbesideitisthequantityofwhatever’sinside.”
“Whatisinside?”
Hegrabsacrowbar,wavingit.“Openthemandfindout.”
Oneatatime,Sevenpopsopenthecrates,exposinglayersofstrawwithallsortsofstufftuckedbetween.Guns,ammunition,liquor…alotofdamnliquor.AhundredandsevenbottlesofCubanrum.
Nottomentionthecratefullofcigars.
Cuban,too,I’mguessing.
Wemakeitthroughmostofthecratesinabouttwohoursbeforehepopsthesecondtolastoneopenandpauses.“You’llwanttobecarefulwiththisone.”
“Why?Whatisit?Bombs?”
IlaughasIwalkovertoit,whileSevensortofjustshrugs,notlaughing.Whatthehell?Thelistsaystherearefiftyofwhateveritis,butallthat’sinthecratearetwomoresmallwoodencrateswithmetallatchesonthem.
Carefully,Ibrushsomeofthestrawawaybeforepickingupthefirstcrate,damnneardroppingitwhenIcatchsightofwhat’sstampedintotheside.
“Grenades?”Ihiss.“Seriously?”
Fuckinggrenades
Sevenshrugsagainasaloudringcutsthroughtheair,startlingme.Ijump,jarringthebox,butIkeepatightgriponit.Sevenpullsoutacellphone,glancingatthescreenwithasighbeforeshovingitbackaway.
“Justflipthelidandmakesuretherearetwenty-fivetubesineach,”hesays.
Isetthecratedown,openingittocount.Ichecktheothercratebeforeputtingthemaway,gratefultobedonewiththose.
“So,okay,thegunsIunderstand,”Isay.“Butwhatthehelldoesheneedwithgrenades?”
“Hesaysit’sbecausehe’sgotterribleaim,buttruthfully?Helikestobedramatic.”
“Well,then,”Imumble,wavingtowardthelastcrate.“What’snext?”
“Probablythemostvaluablethingofall.”
Ican’tevenimaginewhatthatmightbe.
Grenadelaunchers?
Sevenpopsthelid,andIlaugh.Nostrawinthisone.Nope,nothingbutoranges.Alotoforanges.
“You’rekiddingme,right?”Ipickoneup,eyeingit.“What,aretheyfilledwithcyanideorsomething?”
“No,they’reone-hundredpercentauthenticFloridaoranges,straightofftheGambinigroves.”
“Whatdoeshedowithallofthem?”
“Eatthem,squeezethemanddrinkthem…mostgetsentouttomarket,buttheresthekeeps.”
Iglanceatthepaperwork.953
“Gettocounting,”Sevensays.“Thesooneryoufinish,thesoonerwecanleave.”
Countingoranges,itturnsout,isharderthanyou’dthink.Ipullthemallout,afewatatime,tryingtodividethemintosmallerpilestocount,butthesonsofbitcheswanttorollallovertheplace.Itrythreetimes,losingtrackandmiscounting,endingupsofaroffthemarkIhavetostartover.Ugh
Ittakesmetwohours.
Twohourstocountnine-hundredandfifty-threeoranges,clutchingthelastoneinmypalmasImotiontowardSeven,whooptedmoresototakethesupervisingrolethanhelpwithme,also.“Allthere.”
Itearattheorangepeel,piercingitwithmythumbandpullingitapart.Sevenwatchesmewarily.“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Eatingadamnorange,”Imutter.“IthinkI’veearnedit.”
Sevendoesn’tlooklikeheagreeswithmeonthat,buthesaysnothingasheshovesthelidbackontothecrate.IstrolloutofthewarehouseanddownthealleyasSevenlockseverythingbackup.Hejoinsmeonthecorner,handsshovedinhispockets.
Again,hesaysnothing.
IfollowSevendownthestreet,towherethecarisparked,andteartheorangeapart,tossingthescrapsonthesidewalk.
Ilookupasweapproach,seeingLorenzoperchedonthehoodofthecar,waiting.
“Boss,”Sevensays,noddingingreeting.
“Tookyoulongenough,”Lorenzosays,pullinganenvelopefromhiscoatandhandingittohim.
“She’snotthefastest,”Sevensays.“FeltlikeIwasdealingwiththeCountfromSesameStreet.”
Iscowl.“Fuckyou,Snuffleupagus.”
Lorenzowavestowardus.“Gohome,Seven.”
Sevenhesitates.“Yousureyoudon’tneedmetodriveyou,boss?”
“I’msure,”Lorenzosays,hiseyesfixedonme,watchingasIpullapieceoforangeoffandpopitinmymouth.“I’vegotitcovered.”
Sevensurrendersthecarkeysaswellasacellphone,turningitovertoLorenzobeforewalkingdowntheblock,castingaworriedglancebackatus.
Theconcernonhisfacemakesmyskinprickle.
Lorenzositsthere,clutchingbothobjectsinhisgrasp,hiseyesfixedtomesointentlyIcanfeelhisgazeburrowingthroughme,crawlingundermyflushedskin.
“You’remakinghimwalk?”Iask.
“Helivesnearby.It’snotaninconvenience.”
“Oh.”
That’sallIsay.Oh
Thisisstartingtofeelawkward.
He’sstillstaringatme.
“What?Youlooklikethere’ssomethingyouwanttosay.”
“There’salotIwanttosay.Justdebatinghowmuchtokeeptomyself.”
“Oh.”
Again,that’sallIsay.Oh
Wow,hesurebringsouttheeloquenceinme,doesn’the?
Ijuststandthere,eatingtheorange,notsurewhatelsetodo.It’ssweet,reallyjuicy,andIcantellit’sfresh.
LorenzowaitsuntilIfinishbeforeshovingoffofthecarandapproachingmeonthesidewalk.Istandstill,suckingthejuiceoffofmyfingers,ashepausesinfrontofme,standingtoe-to-toe.
“Didyouenjoythat?”heasks,hisvoicelow.
“Theorange?”
“Stealingfrommeagain,”heclarifies.“Diditgiveyouathrilltakingwhatwasn’tyours?”
Hisquestionmakesmyheartpickuppace.“Well,theorangewasdelicious.”
Hedoesn’treacttothat.Afteramoment,hepullsanenvelopefromhiscoat.“Yourpayment.”
Myfingertipsbarelygrazethethingbeforeheyanksitbackaway.
“Athousanddollars,”hesays.
“You’repayingmeathousanddollars?”
“No,”hesays,handingtheenvelopetome,thistimelettingmegrabit.“That’showmuchyou’repayingmeforthatorangeyoujustate.”
“Wait,seriously?Anorangecostslikeadollaratthestore.”
“Well,then,youshould’vegottenonefromthestoreinsteadofhelpingyourselftomine,huh?”Hetakesastepback,tossinghiskeysatme.“You’redriving.”
Itrytocatchthembutmiss,thekeysclatteringtothesidewalk.AsIpickthemup,Lorenzoclimbsintothepassengerseattowaitforme.
Thisisaterribleidea.
Theworst,really.
“Intheinterestoffulldisclosure,”IsayasIclimbbehindthewheel.“Idon’thaveadriver’slicense.”
“Haveyoueverdrivenbefore?”
“Yes,but…”
Lorenzowavesmeoff,silencingmewiththeflickofhiswrist,beforesaying,“I’msureyoucanhandleit.”
Sighing,Istartthecar,hesitatingagain.“Outofcuriosity,onascaleofone-to-ten,howmuchareyougoingtowanttokillmeifIhitsomething?”
“Justdrivethedamncar,Scarlet.”
Puttingitingear,Ipullawayfromthecurb.It’snotfar,fromGreenpointtoLorenzo’shouse,butit’salongenoughdrivetohavemeonedge,woundtightbythetimeI’mparkedsafelyinhisdriveway.
“Fortherecord,Iwouldn’tkillyouforcrashingmycar,”hesays,leaningclosertowhisper,“I’djustbillyouinstead.”
Lorenzogoesinside,leavinghisphonelyingthere,notbotheringtotakethecarkeyback.Isitthereforamoment,staringatthesteeringwheel,beforegrabbingmyenvelope,tearingitopen.
Astackofcash.Icountit,stunnedthathe’spayingmethreethousanddollars.Icountbackthroughitagain,shovingmostofitinmypocket,leavingthelastthousandintheenvelope.Igoinsidethen,thehousesilent,nosignofLeoorMelody.
Lorenzoisinhislibrary.Ialmostwalkrightinbuthesitate.He’sstandingbesidethetable,staringdownatthepuzzlespreadoutalongit.Afteramoment,hepicksupapiece,tryingitafewplacesbeforeitsnapsrightin.
Itaponthedoorframe.
Hiseyesflickermyway,buthesaysnothing,soIdon’tmove,notgoinganycloser.
Lorenzotriesafewmorepuzzlespiecesinsilence,finallygettingoneintoplacebeforesaying,“Iinheritedtheorangegrovefrommyfather.”
“Oh,”Isay,forthethirdtimeinanhour.
“Iwasyoung,aroundfour,whenhedied.Mymotherhiredahitman.Idon’tremembermuch,butIwastherewhenithappened.Mymotherwantedhimdeadsoshe’dinheriteverything,notknowingheleftitalltomeinstead.”
“Ouch.”
“ShemanagedtogetcontrolofthepropertywhileIwasstillaminor,butIwasgrowinguptoofast,andsheknewtheywererunningoutoftime.”
Iexpecthimtocontinuehisstory,buthegrowsquiet,simplyworkingonhispuzzle.“Sowhathappened?”
“Thesameguywhokilledmyfatherbeatmehalftodeathwithashovelbeforetryingtoburymealive.Iwassixteenatthetime.”
Igapeathim.“Yourmotherhiredthehitmantokillyou?”
“Didn’thavetohirehim,”hesays.“She’dmarriedthemotherfucker,sogettingridofthestepsonwasmorelikeananniversarypresent.”
“I,uh…fuck.”
“Together,theyhadPrettyBoy,thepictureperfectlittlefamilywithonlyonethingstillstandingintheirway:me.Myeighteenthbirthdaywasapproaching,soIknew,soonerorlater,hewasgoingtotrytokillmeagain.”
“Didhe?”
“Nevergotthechance.Theydiedonthegrovetheytriedtostealfromme,soIguessthatmeansIgotthelastlaugh.”
I’mnotsurewhattosay,soIjustblurtoutthefirstwordthatcomestomymind:“Sorry.”
“Don’tapologizetome.”
“Fine,”Isay.“I’mnotsorry.”
Helaughstohimself,ploppingdowninhischairasheregardsme.“Youcancomein.”
Slowly,Istrollintothelibrary,approachingwherehe’ssitting.Idroptheenvelopeontohislap.“Athousandbucks.”
Hepicksitup,pullingoutthecash,andshovesitrightintohispocketwithoutcounting.Crumplingtheenvelope,hetossesitasidebeforepullingmedowntohim.
Hislipsaresoftashepressesthemtomine,kissingmegently,sweetly,histongueexploringmymouthandcaressingmine.Itdoesn’tlastlongbeforehe’spushingmebackaway,creatingsomedistancebetweenus.
“Youtastelikeoranges,”hesays,lickinghislips.“Goodoranges.Notthatcheapwateryshitfromabox.”
“Doesthatmakeyouwanttoravishme?”
“Orelsestrangleyou,”hesays.“Youwalkathinline.”
IlaughatthatasIturntowalkout,notwantingtopressmyluckanymoretonight,andmakeittothedoorwaywhenhisvoicecallsout.
“Scarlet?”
Iglancebackathim.“Yes?”
“Ishould’vekilledyou.”
Hesaysthatmatter-of-fact.There’snothreattothewords,noangerinhisvoice,justastarkrealitythatsoundsalmostsorrowful.Heshould’vekilledme.
I’vestolenfromhim,usedwhatbelongstohimwithoutpermission,takingwhatIhavenorighttotake.ButyetI’mstillalive,he’skeptmebreathing,longafterhewould’vekilledothersfordoingwhatIdid.I’mnotsurewhythatis,whyhegrantsmeleniencythathedoesn’tgiveothers,andjudgingbyhisexpression,I’dwageraguessthathedoesn’tknowwhyhedoesit,either.
Inod.“Youshould’ve.”ChapterTwenty-Two
Threemonths
Ninetydays.
Thelittlegirlcouldn’tcountthathigh.Shetriedtokeeptrack,butshelostherwaysomewhereinthemiddle,thedaysblurringtogether.
Shehadn’tleftthepalaceatall.She’dmissedthreemonthsofsunshine,missedrunningbarefootinthegrassandsoaringhighonaswing,chasingbutterfliesandpickingflowersforhermothertokeep.
TheTinManwouldn’tlethergooutside.Allthedoorswerefulloflocksandarmedwithanalarm.Somostdays,whenshegottiredofdrawing,shejuststoodatthewindowwithBusterandstaredout,rememberinghowhermotherusedtotakehertotheparkeveryweekendandpushhersohighontheswingsshethoughtshecouldfly
“Whatareyoudoing,kitten?”
Thelittlegirlturnedawayfromthewindow,lookingtotheTinManinthedoorwayofthebedroom.Hedidn’tlooklikehimselftoday,notwearingasuit,dresseddowninapairofblackshortsandaplainwhitet-shirtwithwhitesneakers.Tattooscoveredhim.Shenevergottoseemostofthem.Theyweren’tcolorfulpictures,likesomepeoplehad,justweirddrawingsandwordsindarkink,likeheforgotapieceofpaperandwantedtodoodleoneday.
“Nothing,”shesaid,becauseitwastrue.
Shewasn’tdoinganything.
Justmorewaiting.
“Thencomeon,”hesaid,noddinghishead.“Youcancomewithmetothebeachtonight.”
Hereyeswidened.Thebeach?“CanIgoswimming?”
“Ifyoucanfindsomethingtoweartoswim.Youhavefiveminutes.Bedownstairs.”
Hewalkedaway.Hedidn’thavetotellhertwice.Shetorethebedroomapart,findingapairofblackcottonshortsandayellowtanktop,yankingiton.Itwasn’taswimsuit,butthatdidn’tmatter.She’dswiminadressifshehadto.
Shemethimdownstairsfiveminuteslater,findinghiminthefoyer,holdingaduffelbagwithatoweldrapedoverit.
Hebarelyevenlookedatherbeforeopeningthefrontdoor,orderinghertogoaheadofhim.Thewarmairblastedherwhenshesteppedoutside,andshesmiled,feelingthelastbitoftheday’ssunonherface.Itwasalreadysolate.Didpeoplegoswimmingatnighttime?
Shedidn’task,notwantinghimtochangehismind.Theydroveabouttenminutesinhisblackcarbeforeparkingneartheshoreline.Shecouldseethesand,couldsmellthewater,couldfeelthebreezeonherfaceasitrustledhermessyhair.Itwasthebestfeelingever
Theywalkedoutontothebeachjustasthesunset.Nobodywasinthewater,fewpeopleevennearthesand.Itwasclosed,sherealized.Everythingaroundthemwasclosed,eventheamusementparkinthedistance.Off-season.ConeyIsland
“Goon,”hesaid,“butstaywhereIcanseeyou.”
“Won’tIgetintrouble?”
Hescoffed.“Fromwho?”
“Thepolice?”
TheTinManlaughed,likehefoundthepolicefunny,beforewavingtowardthewater.“Goswim.Iwillkeepyououtoftrouble.”
Shedidn’tknowhowhecoulddothat,ifswimmingwasillegal,butshewasn’tgoingtopassupthechance.Sheranoff,thesandsoftagainstherbarefeet,thewaterwarmasshecrashedrightintoit.
Itdidn’tmatterthatshehadnoonetoplaywith.Itdidn’tmatterthatshewasoutthereonherown.AfterthreemonthsofonlyreallyhavingBuster,shewaskindofusedtobeingalone.
Shelaughed,andsplashed,soakedfromheadtotoe,sandclingingtoeverypartofher.HerattentiondriftedtotheTinManeverysooften,makingsurehecouldseeher,andwatchedasagroupofguysjoinedhim.Theystoodinthedarkness,talking,exchangingthings,noneofthemlookingliketheywerehavingfunoutthereonthebeach.Flyingmonkeys.Theyweren’tliketheothers,though.Theseguyswerenew.Theydidn’thavetattoos.TheTinManturnedawayfromthemeventually,hisattentiononher.Hewaved,motioningforhertocometohim.
Timetogo.
Thelittlegirlranoutofthewater,headingstraightforhim,flingingwatereverywhere.Sheskiddedtoastopnearthegroup,herstomachqueasy.
Onemanletoutalowwhistle,aguywithfreckleslikepolkadotsandeyeslikeseaweed.“Man,shelooksjustlikeher,doesn’tshe?”
TheTinManmadeafaceasheshovedthetowelaroundthelittlegirl,coveringevenherheadsoshecouldbarelyseeanyone.Hepushedherbehindhim,awayfromthegroup,ashetookasteptowardtheman,standingrightupagainsthim,hisvoicegravelyseriousashesaid,“Iletyouhavethesuka,Iletyoustickyourcockinher,andIdidnotkillyouforit,butifyousomuchaseveraskaboutmydaughteragain,svinya,Iwillcutoffyourballs.Idonotcarewhatleverageyouthinkyouholdoverme.”
TheTinManshovedagainsthim,makingthemanretreatafewsteps,andstoodthere,holdinghisground,asthegroupleft.Oncetheywerealone,heturnedbacktothelittlegirl,dryingherhairashecroucheddownbeforewrappingthetowelaroundherproperlyandsecuringitunderherarm.
“Areyouhungry,kitten?Youmustbestarving.IhavebeensobusytodayIhavenotfedyou.”
Hedidn’twaitforherresponsebeforestandingbackupandgrabbingherhand.Shelookedathisinkedfingersinsurpriseashepulledheralong.
He’dneverheldherhandbefore.
“Whatdoyoulike?”heasked,lookingdownather.“Youdonotlikemyfood,sotonightIwilltreatyoutoyours.”
Hereyeswidened.“Really?”
“Yes,”hesaid.“Takeapick.”
“Peanutbutterandgrapejelly!”
Helaughed.“Idonotthinkwewillfindthathere.”
Sheendedupwithhotdogs,eatingtwowholeonesbyherself,andheevenboughtherachocolateicecreamconebeforetheyreturnedtothecartomakethetripbacktothepalace.Shesmiledastheydrovealong,watchingoutthewindow,sittinginthefrontseatofhiscar,whereshewasn’tsupposedtosit.
“Thankyou,Daddy,”shesaidquietlywhentheyparked.
Ithadbeenagoodday.Shefelthappy.MaybetheTinManwasn’tsobad.Maybesheshouldthinkofhimassomethingelse,maybesomethinglikeDaddy.
JustDaddy.
Hecuppedherchinandpressedakisstoherforehead,lingeringforamoment,beforewhispering,“Ifonlyyouwerenotsomuchlikethesuka.”ChapterTwenty-Three
Threeinjured.Threedead.
That’swhatallthenewsreportssaid.
SixpeoplecaughtbulletsthatnightatMystic—halfofthemdied,whiletheotherhalflived.
Theneuroticassholethatexistsinsideofmelovesthesymmetryofit.Threehasalwaysbeenmyfavoritenumber.Threebooksinatrilogy.Threesheetstothewind.Theysaythethirdtimeisthecharm.Threestrikesandyou’reout.Rock,paper,scissors…Beetlejuice,Beetlejuice,Beetlejuice…thegood,thebad,andtheugly…needIgoon?
Hell,therearethreegoodStarWarsmovies.I’llleaveituptoyoutofigureoutwhichonesI’mtalkingabout.
Theysaydeathscomeinthrees,too.
Idon’tknowwhotheyare,butthey’reonthemarkinthiscase.Threedeadbecauseamadmanburstintoaclub,huntingforScarlet.
That’sonehellofaburdentocarry.
“Sorrowful.”
ScarletturnstomewhenIsaythatword.
“That’showyoulook,”Itellher,grabbingherwrist,myfingerspressingintothe‘S’tattoo.“Sorrowful.”
SheglancesdownatwhereI’mtouchingher,givingasmallhalf-smile,beforelookingbackattheclubinfrontofus.“That’snotwhatitstandsfor.”
“I’mstartingtothinkitdoesn’tstandforadamnthing,”Isay.“Sucker.Me.Forfuckingthinkingithadanymeaning.MaybeyoujustliketheletterS.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybeit’snotevenanSatall,”Isay,examiningit.“Maybeyougotfuckeduponenightandwokeupthenextmorningandthereitwas,andevenyoudon’tknowwhatitstandsfor.”
“Maybe.”
“Ormaybeyou’rejustbeingsaltyashell.”
Shepullsherarmfrommygrasp.“Ormaybeitdoesn’tinvolveyou,soitshouldn’tconcernyou.Youeverthinkaboutthat?”
“Smartass.”
Shelaughs,thesorrowfullookfading.“Shutup.”
“Makeme,slut.”
Shegasps,shovingmesohardIstumbleastep.“Youasshole.”
“What?Itstartswithan‘s’.”
“Suchashithead,”shesays.“Can’tyoujust…beniceforonce?Peoplediedhere,Lorenzo.I’mtryingto,youknow…”
“Besorrowful?”
“Berespectful.”
“Oh.”Imakeaface,wavingthatoff.“Fuckthem.”
“What?”
“Fuckthem,”Isayagain.“Youthinkasingleoneofthemwould’vemournedyou,Scarlet?Youthinkthey’dberespectfulifyoudied?”
She’squiet,staringattheclub,notansweringthat.
“Sofuckthem,”Isayforthethirdtime.“Youhavetobecarefulwhoyougivepiecesofyourselfto,becauseevenalittlebithereandthereaddsuptoahellofaloteventually,andit’snotworthit,losingyourselftothem,givingyourselftopeoplewhodon’tgiveafuckaboutyou.Youkeeppouringyourselfintootherpeopleandyou’lljustwindupempty.”
Shesighs.“You’re—“
“Anasshole,Iknow.”
Shecutshereyesatme.“Iwasgoingtosayyou’reright.”
Icockaneyebrowather.“I’mwhat?”
“You’reright.”
“Well,I’llbedamned.She’slearning.”
“Kissmyass.”
“Maybelater,”Isay,steppingawayfromthecurbtoapproachtheclub.“Otherthingstodofirst.”
“Wait,what?Whereareyougoing?”
“Inside.”
“Why?”
“FiguredI’dsendmycondolencestoGeorgiePorgiewhileI’mhere.”
“Howdoyouevenknowhe’shere?”
“Idon’t,”Isay,glancingbackather.“Youcoming?”
Shescoffs.“Noway.”
“Suityourself,then.”Iwaveheroff.“Dowhateveryouwant,Scarlet.”
Thedoorisunlocked,soIwalkrightin.Everythinghasbeencleanedup,thefloorsscrubbed,bloodstainscovered,holespatched,allevidenceofwhathappenedwipedaway.IhearvoicescomingfromtheofficesoIheadthatway,turningthecornerandstartlingthemeninside.
Nohesitation,gunsarepulled,aimedmydirection.
“Hellotoyouall,too.”
Amellostandsathisdesk,surroundedbymoundsofpaperwork,sortingthroughallofit,shreddingalotofshit.“Whatdoyouwant,Scar?”
“Afriendliergreetingwouldbenice,”Isay.“Sowouldapepperonislice.Kindofhungry.Thirsty,too,somaybeadrink.Wouldn’tsaynotohavingmydicksucked,either.”
Heraiseshisgaze,meetingmine.“Whatdoyouwantfromme?”
Istepintotheoffice,movingpastthearmedmen,andtakeaseatinachairacrossfromAmelloatthedesk.“Youcouldtellthesebuffoonstodosomethingabouttheirguns.Usethemorlosethem,ifyouknowwhatI’msaying.”
Amellomotionsforthemtolowertheirweapons.
“Nooffense,Scar,but…”
Hepauses.
Hesitates
Ilearnedlongagothatwhensomeonesays‘nooffense’there’saboutaseventy-sixpercentchancethey’reabouttooffendthefuckoutofyou.Theythinkthosebullshitwordswillhelpthemgetawaywithit,butthatdoesn’tworkwithme.Iknowit,andheknowsit,becauseit’sclearlywritteninthedeeplinesofhistroubledface.
“But?Goon,I’mlistening.”
“Ican’tdothisrightnow,”hegrumbles,ploppingdowninhischair,runninghishandsdownhisface.“I’vegotthecopsridingmyass,mybusinessisinshambles…nobodywantstoworkwithsomeonefacingallthisheat…andtheRussians…thefuckingRussians!”Heletsoutamaniclaughthatsoundsstrained,likehe’sdamnclosetosheddingtears.“Theyshootupmyplace,theyattackme,mybusiness,allbecauseofthatlittlebitch!IfIknewwhereshewasrightnow,I’dwringherfuckingneck!”
“That’sabitharsh,don’tyouthink?”
“Harsh?Threeofmyguysaredead.”
“Idon’tseehowthat’sherfault.”
“Theywereafterher!”
“Butyouknewthat,didn’tyou?YouknewtheRussianswantedher,andyouusedthattoyouradvantage.”
“Ihelpedher,”hesays,hisbackstraightening,ahintofangerinhisvoice.“Shehadnowheretogo,noonetoturnto,soItookpityonher.Igaveherajob.Igaveheraplacetolive.Andlookwhereitgotme.I’mfucked.Ishould’veturnedthelittlebitchovertoAristovthesecondIrealizedwhoshewas.She’snotworththetrouble.Hecanhaveher.”
“Ibegtodiffer,”Isay.“Hewantsher,he’sgoingtohavetogothroughmefirst.”
“You?”Hisexpressionflickerswithsurprisebeforeheletsoutanotherlaugh.“Shegotyou,huh?Charmedthepantsrightoffofyou,didshe?Gotyouthinkingshe’ssomedamselindistressthatyoucansave?Youknownothingabouther.Youwantmyadvice?Washyourhandsofit.Tossheroutonhisfrontporch,bedonewiththebitch.”
Beforehecansayanotherword,Ispringoutoftheseat,grabbinghimbythehaironthebackofhisheadandslamminghisfaceagainstthetopofthedesk.BAM.Hecriesout,bloodspewingoutontothepaperwork,streamingfromhisbustednose.Yankinghisheadbackup,Iwhipoutthegunfrommywaistband,pointingitathisneck,pressingrightwherethecarotidis.
Hismenreact,drawingtheirweaponsoncemore,shouting,panicked,theirhandsshakinghard.
Makesmewonderifthey’veevershotanyone.
“Theygottheirgunsbackout,Georgie,”Isay.“Areweusingthemthistime?BecauseI’mnotopposedtopullingthetriggerifthat’swherewe’regoingwiththis.JustsaythewordandI’llblowthisarteryapart.”
Heswallowsthickly,raisinghishandsupasifinsurrender,hisvoiceagainstrainedashesays,“Putdowntheguns.”
Nobodymoves.
“Uh-oh,they’renotlistening.”
“Dropthefuckingguns,”Amellogrowls.“Getoutofhere!Allofyou!Leaveus!”
Ittakesthemamomentbeforetheylowertheirweaponsandretreatfromtheoffice,backingupintotheclub,leavingusalone.Amelloglaresatme,bloodstreakedalloverhisface,hiseyesglassy.He’sscared,yeah,buthe’sfurious,too.Ithinkhemightbethekindtocrywhenhe’sangry,becausehelooksdamnclosetoboo-hoo’ing.
“Youowemeacouch,Georgie,”Isay,lettinggoofhim.“Icameheretocollect.”
“Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”
“Acouch,”Isay.“Mycouch.Yousee,itgotfuckedupwhenIblewholesinthatincompetentlittleassholeyousenttokillme.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
“Sureyoudon’t.”Ipullthegunaway,backingupastep,butIkeepittrainedonhim,justincase…justincaseIdecidetoblowhisheadoffforthehellofit.“Youowemeacouch,somyguyswillbehereinaboutthreeminutestocollect.”
Hewinces,clutchingthebridgeofhisnose.
“Nothingtosay?Speaknoworforevershutyourmouth.”
Nothing.
Thedoortotheclubopensonthethree-minutemark,noisefilteringin,familiarvoicesgreetingmyears.Mymenarehere.Amellogrowseventenser,hisshoulderssquaringasheholdshisheadup.Hismenareoutnumberednow,soIknowthey’renotgoingtotryshit.
“So,nicetalk,”Isay,loweringmygun,aimingitatthefloor.“Mycondolencesonyourclub,butitwasn’therfault.Itwasyours.Maybeifyouweren’tsofuckingweak,Georgie,peoplewouldn’tdothisshittoyouallthetime.”
Iturn,walkingtothedoorway,glancingatmyguys.Amello’smenarestilllurking,offtotheside,watching.
“Whichone,boss?”Sevenasks,lookingaround.
Ipointtoablackleathercouchnearby,onewithgoldaccents.“Thatonewillwork.”
Afewofmyguyspickitup,movingitouttoatruckoutside,oneoftheirpersonalvehicles,I’mguessing.Idon’tknowthespecifics.Idon’tmicromanageshit.Ijustgivetheorders.It’suptothemtofigureouttherest.
Sevenlingers,playingmyshadowasusual.
I’mabouttotuckmygunbackintomywaistbandwhenIhearavoicebehindmeintheoffice,Amellomutteringunderhisbreath,“BitchisluckyIdidn’tturnherovertothemsooner.”
Uh-oh.
Iturntotheside,aimingthegunbackintotheoffice,butIdon’tevenlook,becausefrankly,itwouldn’tmatter.Shootingblindly,it’skindoflikeRussianRoulette.Ifthebulletsallmisshim,well,hell,guessit’shisluckyday.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Iunloadthegun,bulletafterbullet,pullingthetriggerinrapidsuccessionuntilitdoesnothingbutclick.
CLICK.
CLICK.
CLICK.
Hismenreact,goingforweapons,butmymenarearound,sowell,theypunkout,asexpected.Sevendrawshisgunastheothersrushin,thegrouplockedinashowdownasIslowlyturntherestofthewayaround.
“Aw,lookatthat…”Amello’sslumpedinhischairwithaholeinhisface,damnnearrightbetweenhiseyes.Couldn’thavebeenmoreperfectifItried.“Bullseye.”
Islidemyguninmywaistband,turningbacktotheothers,zeroinginonAmello’smen.“You’vegottwochoices,fellas.Eitherman-upandpullthetriggerorputthegunsdownandgetoutofhere.You’vegotabout,oh,thirtysecondsbeforeIdecidewhetheryouliveordie,sochoosequickly.”Iglanceatmywatch.“Tick…tick…tick…”
Theyrun.I’mnotsurprised.Scatterlikecockroacheswhenalightflickson.Myguys,theyleaveoncetheothersflee,allexceptSeven,whowaitsformetogobeforehim.
“How’dyougethere,boss?”Sevenaskswhenwestepoutside.“Doyouneedaride?”
“No,Scarlet’s…”Ilookaround,upanddowntheblock.She’snothere.TheBMWisn’tparkedwhereithadbeen,somepieceofshitHondanowthere,anditdoesn’ttakeageniustoriddlethisoneout.Thewomantookoffinmycar.Goddamnit,Scarlet.“Actually,makethatayes.”
***
I’vebeentoldatimeortwothatIspiral.
Zerotosixtyintheblinkofaneye.
Onesecond,I’mperfectlyfine,laughing,smiling.Thenext,I’vegotmyhandsaroundsomeone’sthroat,chokingthelifeoutofthem.
There’sprobablyanameforwhatever’swrongwithme,butI’vegotnointerestinadiagnosis.Idon’tneedtreatment.Untilpeoplestopbeingignorant,I’mgoingtokeepongettingpissed.Nolittlemood-stabilizingpillcanstopthatfromhappening.
Butstill,sometimes,Icanfeelit.Ifeelmyselfspiralinghard,andfallingfar,makingmountainsoutofmolehillsthatevenIstruggletoclimb.
Andtoday?I’mfeelingit.
Myhandsshake.
Icanhardlyseestraight.
Shakyfingersreachdown,pickingupapuzzlepiece,andItryitinafewplacesbeforegivingup,movingtoanother,andanother,andyeta-fucking-nother,beforefinallysnappingonein.Adrenalinestillsurgesthroughmyveins,notyetfaded.I’mtryingtocalmdown,focusingonmypuzzleinthedimlibrary,andit’shelpingabittokeepmefromlashingoutbutit’sdoingashitjobofclearingmymindofallthechaos.
“Boss?”Sevencallsout,tappingonthedoorframefromoutinthehallway.“Yourgun.”
Iglanceathim.Hecleaneditforme,reloadingthething.I’vecometotrusthimalot,Irealize.Ifhemakesamistake,nexttimeIpullthattriggersomethingmightnothappen,andwhere’sthefuninthat?
Iholdmyhandout.“Giveithere.”
Hestepsintothelibrary,approaching,slippingthegunintomypalm.Igripittightly,notputtingitawayyet,justfeelingitinmyhand.
“Theguysswitchedthecouchesout,”Sevensays.“Whatdoyouwanttobedonewiththeoldone?”
“Justthrowitoutbythecurb.”
Henods.“Yes,boss.”
Sevenlingers.Icanfeelhisgaze.Settingthegunonthecornerofthetable,lettinggoofit,Iturntohim.“Somethingyoucaretotalkabout?”
“I’msurprisedyouletthoseguysgothisafternoon,”hesays.“Youletthemlive.”
“So?”
“Soyou’vebeengivingalotofsecondchanceslately.”
“Isthataproblemforyou?”Iask.“Figuredyou’dbehappytohavelessdeadbodiesaround,sinceI’mprettysuremurderisasinineveryreligion,includingyours.”
“It’snotaproblemforme,”hesays.“Ijustwanttobesureitwon’tleadtoaproblemforyou.”
Istareathim.“YouthinkI’mgettingsoft?”
“Notatall,”hesays.“Buteverysecondchanceyougiveisjustanotheropportunityforthatpersontoharmyouagain.”
“Yeah,well,thatsurekeepsthingsinteresting,doesn’tit?Awinwasalwaysawintome,nomatterhowitcameabout,butwhere’sthefuninwinningifit’salwaysbydefault?IfI’mtheonlymanleftintherace,doesitevenreallymatterifIcrossthefinishline?BecauseI’mnotentirelysurethat’sawinformeanymore,Seven.Ithinkeveryoneelsejustlost.”
Hedoesn’tseemtogetthedistinction.Infact,he’slookingatmelikeImightbegoingcrazy.I’vedonealotinthepresenceofthisman.I’veslitthroats,stolenmoney,fuckedwomen,andblownupstuff,andheneveroncelookedatmelikehe’slookingatmerightnow.
LikeI’mmakingnogoddamnsense.
Likemaybeit’shisrighttoquestionme.
Nuh-uh,‘fraidnot.
Isnatchthegunfromthecornerofthetable,switchingthesafetyoffbeforecockingit,pointingitathisfeet.
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Hejumpsback,outoftheway,hisreflexesfast,asthreeshotstearthroughthefloorofthehouse,rightwherehewasstanding.Thebewildermentleaveshisfacerealfuckingquick,replacedwithoneI’musedtoseeingaimedatme:fear
Justlikethat,he’ssweatingprofusely,eyeswide,stanceguarded,likehewantstogetthehellawayfrommebutheknowshecan’tgo,notlikethis
IhavealotofrespectforSeven,respectothersdidn’tseemtohaveforhim.Onceacop,alwaysacop.That’swhattheysay.NYPDgetsintheirbloodandtheonlywaytogetitoutistospilleverylastdrop.ButI’vealwayslikedthatabouthim.Heiswhoheis.He’samanthatwoulddoanythingforhisfamily,andImeananything,andI’vebeenabletousethatloyaltytomyadvantage.
Butdon’tthinkhe’sindispensable.
Don’tthinkIneedhim.
Don’tthinkIwon’tshoothiminthefuckingfootifhe’snotsmartenoughtojumpoutofthewayofthebulletflyingtowardhim.
I’mnottrainingmonkeyshere.Thisisn’tathree-ringcircus.Theman’sgottabeabletofollowhisgut.
“Whatgetsyououtofbedinthemorning,Seven?”
“Myfamily,”hesaysquietly.“Theyhaveneeds.It’smyresponsibilitytomakesurethey’retakencareof,nomatterwhat.”
That’stheanswerIexpected.
“Doyouknowwhatgetsmeoutofbedinthemorning?”
Hedoesn’tevenhesitatebeforesaying,“Leo.”
Ilaughandsetthegunbackdown,seeinghimvisiblyrelaxonceit’soutofmyhand.“IwishIcouldagreewiththat.IwishIcouldsayhegetsmeoutofbed.Heusedto,youknow,buthe’sgrownup,andwhenitcomesdowntoit,hedoesn’tneedme.Notlikeheusedto.Hekeepsmegrounded,keepsmefromdoingalotofthingsIshouldn’t,butthat’snotbecauseheneedsme,Seven.It’sbecauseIraisedhimright,andifIbecomeadangertohim,heknowstocuthislosses.Snip,snip.”
“Sowhatgetsyououtofbed?”
Isitdown,notsurehowtoanswerthat,soIjustgowiththewordthatmakesthemostsense:“Hope.”
Surpriseflickersacrosshisface.
That,hedidn’texpect.
“Hope,”herepeats.
“Hopethatmaybetodaywillbeexciting,”Isay.“MaybetodayIwon’tbesogoddamnbored.Maybe,ifIgetmyassoutofbed,somethingwillactuallyhappen.MaybesomethingwillgetmybloodpumpingandI’llfeelthingsinsteadofwastingawayintedium.Maybe,justmaybe,todaywillbedifferentandI’llfinallyfindarealreasontogetoutofbedinthemorning.Idon’tbegrudgeyouyourpurpose,Seven.Irespectit.Youdowhatyouhaveto.Butdon’twalkinmyhouse,questioningwhatI’mdoing,becauseifyousteponmytoes,I’llshootyoursoff.Yougotme?”
“Yes,boss.”
Justashesaysthat,aringingshattersthesilence.Sighing,Ipullthephonefrommypocket.Blockedcaller.ItossitatSeven,annoyed.“TakethisfuckingthingbeforeIbreakit.”
Hecatchesit,noddinginacknowledgement,beforeleavingthelibrary.
Isitthereoncehe’sgone,listeningastheguysmovearoundthehouse,makingthemselvesathomeasusual,asIstareatthefreshholesinthefloor.It’sfunny,Ithink,howlookscanbesodeceiving.Hereweareinsuburbia,withpicketfencesandbigbackyards,perfectionfromtheoutside,yetnobodyknowswhatgoesonwithinthewalls.
Iworkonmypuzzlesomemore,tryingtodistractmyself,andhearthefrontdooropenafterawhile.Ifigureit’sLeogettinghomefromwork,soI’msurprisedwhentappingechoesthroughthelibrary,followedbythesoftfemininevoice.“Knock,knock…”
Scarlet.
Idon’tacknowledgeher,andshestandsthere,quietlywaiting,andwaiting,andwaiting,untilherpatiencegrowsthin.Groaning,sheshovesawayfromthedoorframeandtakesasinglestepcloser,rightoverthethreshold.
Grabbingthegun,Icockit,aimingitherdirection,myfingeronthetrigger,readytopullitwhenshetakesanimmediatestepback.
“Whoa,buddy,”shesays,raisingherhandsdefensively.“Testytoday.”
“Youstolemycar.”
“Iborrowedit,”shesays,pullingthekeysfromherpocketandholdingthemup.“It’srightoutside.”
Ilookather,raisingmyeyebrows,voicedeadseriousasIrepeatmyself.“Youstolemycar.”
“No,”shesays.“Ididn’t.YoutoldmetodowhateverIwanted.Thosewereyourexactwords.Dowhateveryouwanttodo,Scarlet.”
“Ididn’tmeantakemycar!”
“Yeah,well,youreallydidn’tspecify,didyou?‘Dowhateveryouwanttodo’meansIcoulddowhateverIwantedtodo.”
“Andwhat,youwantedtostealmycar?”
“Iwantedtodriveit,”shesays,“soIborrowedit.”
Myfingertipsaretingling,myheartpoundinghard.Theadrenaline,asitmergeswiththeanger,isonehellofarush.Italmostmakesmesicktomystomach,thewayittakesovermyinsides.
God,Iwanttoshootthiswoman…
“Soyouborrowedit,”Isay,repeatingherwords.
“Gotyouonatechnicality,huh?”shesaysassheleansagainstthedoorframe,likeshe’snotworriedatall.
“YouthinkIwon’tkillyou?DoyouhonestlythinkIwon’tpullthistrigger,technicalityornot?”
“Ithinkyoumight,”shesays.
“Thatdoesn’tscareyou?”
“Shouldit?”
Shesoundsgenuine,askingthat,likeshereallywantstoknowifsheshouldbescared.Iwanttosayyes,itshouldterrifyher,becauseitterrifiesdamnneareverybodyelse,butIdon’tknow…wouldIbescared?Idon’tthinkso.Thefearofdyingleftmelongago,thefirsttimedeathknockedatmydoor.Idon’tknowexactlywhatshe’sbeenthrough,butbeingastheheadoftheRussianmobiscurrentlyhuntingher,I’mthinkingshootingherinthefacewouldbemercifulcomparedtowhathemightwantherfor.
Butmercykillingsaren’treallymything.
“Where’dyougo?”Iask,loweringthegun,settingitbackdownonthetable.
“Home,”shesays.
“Home?”
“Yes.”
Imotionforhertocomein,andshestrollscloserasIsay,“Iwasn’tawareyouhadoneofthose.”
Shepausesinfrontofme.“Doesn’teverybody?”
She’snotmakingmuchsenseatthemoment.
Sheseemsalmost…dazed
Igraspherchin,tiltingherheadasIpullherfaceclosertome.Hereyesarebloodshot,glassy.“Areyouhigh?”
Shelaughsbitterlyatmyquestion.“No.”
“There’ssomethingoffaboutyou.”
Scarletclutchesmywrist,tryingtoprymyhandaway.“I’vehadaroughday,soexcusemefornotbeingmybright-eyed,bushy-tailedself,Lorenzo.”
Iletgowhensheavertshergaze.
She’sbeencrying,Irealize.Shesuckeditthefuckupbeforewalkinginhere,butthere’snodoubtshewascrying.
Ilookatmypuzzle,grabbingapiece,tryingitinafewplaces.“Where’shome,Scarlet?WiththeRussianasshole?”
Shelaughsbitterlyagainasshetakesastepover,helpingherselftomychair.Tiltingherheadback,shescrubsherhandsoverherface.“No,notwithhim.”
“Good,”Isay,“becauseifIfindoutyoutookmycarforarendezvouswiththatjackass,Iwillshootyou,technicalityornot.”
“YouthinkI’d…?ThatIwouldreally…withhim?”Sheblinksrapidly,staringatme,lookinglikeshemighttrytocryagain,thistimeinfrontofme.“That’sjust…wow.Youdon’tunderstand.Youjustdon’tgetit.Ifyoudid,youwouldn’tthinkugh!”
Shethrowsherhandsup,shakingherhead.Okay,shedidn’tcry,butIdefinitelyoffendedher.
“So,tellmeabouthome.”
“Doyoureallygiveashit?”
“Maybe.”
She’squietforamoment.
Icontinueworkingonmypuzzle.
“It’sawhitehousewithabrightreddoorandwoodenfloors.It’ssmall,Iguess,butit’stwostoriestall,twobedrooms,onebathroom,youknow,witheverythingelsethatcomesinahouse.Ithasalotoflittlespaces,cabinetsandclosetsandcubbyholes.”
“Andthat’shome?”
“Yes.”
“Sowhyareyouhere?”
“Becausehomeiswheretheheartis,Iguess,”shesays.
“Andwhat,yourheart’shere?Ineedsomeelaboration.You’reweirdingmethefuckoutwiththis.”
Shelaughsatthat.“No,butit’snotthere,either.Notanymore.It’sjust…it’shardtoexplain.Iwishitwasstillthere,andseeingtheplace,well,itjustremindsmethatit’sgone.”
“Sowhygothere?”
“BecauseIneedtoremember.”
“Rememberwhat?”
“ThatIhaveaheartstillouttheresomewhere.”
Idon’tknowwhattosaytothat.
AnythingIdosaywillprobablymakemesoundlikeanasshole.
Becauseit’seasier,youknow,toforgettheheartexistsatall.
ButI’mgettingtheideathatherheartmaybewhatgetsheroutofbedinthemorning,soIwon’tbegrudgeherthat.Toeachtheirown.
Thefrontdoortothehouseopensagain.Ihearacommotion,somethinggettingtheguysriledup,voicesloud.
Ipickupthegunagain,thinkingIprobablyoughttojustgluethefuckingthinginmyhandwiththewaytodayisgoing,andstepoutofthelibrary,pausinginthehallway,glancingtowardthefrontdoor,straighttosomeoneIquitefranklydidn’texpecttoeverseeagain.
Three.
HelooksatmeassoonasIaimthegun.Fearflashesinhiseyesasheraiseshishands.“No,no,wait!Please!”
“Aweek,”Isay.“You’vebeengoneforsevendays.”
“Iknow,”hesays,“butitwasn’tmyfault!”
Helooksprettydamnrough.Someoneworkedhimovergood.Freshbruises.Oldbruises.He’sfilthy.Hestinks.Icansmellhimthewholewaydownthehall.Itmakesmynosetwitch.“Whosefaultisit?”
“TheRussian,”hesays.“Aristov.”
Huh
“HesnatchedmethatnightatLimerence.Meandthisgirl,weweregoingatit,nextthingIknowIwakeupinsomefuckingbasement,chaineduplikeadog.”
“So,what,yougotroofied?KeptasapetfortheRussians?Whatdidtheywant?”
“Her.”
Three’sgazeflickerspastme.Idon’thavetoturnaroundtoknowScarletwillbestandingthere.
Ofcoursehewantsher.
“Hejustkeptsayingshewashis,”Threecontinues.“Hewantedtofindher.Hewantedmetohelp.”
“Anddidyou?”
Shockpassesacrosshisface.“What?Fuckno!Itoldhimtofuckoff.Hesaidhejustneededanaddress,thathe’ddotherest,thatIdidn’thavetogetmyhandsdirty,butIwasn’ttellinghimshit.”
“Sohow’dyougetoutofthere?”
“Iguessafteraweek,herealizedIwasn’tcracking,soheletmego.”
“Heletyougo,”Isaywithdisbelief.“Whichmeansheprobablyfollowedyou.”
Heshakeshisheadadamantly.“Hedidn’t,Iswear.Nobodydid,Imadesureofit!Itookfivetrainsandthreecabs,evenreroutedintothecity,justincase.Hewasgoingtokillme,Ithink,buthedecidedtohavemebringyouamessage.Hesaid—“
Ringingcutshimoff.Hefalters.
Sevenpullsmyphonefromhispocket,glancingatthescreen,shakinghishead.
Three’svoicechimesbackin.“Hesaidtoanswerthephonewhenhecallsyou.He’stiredofgettingyourvoicemail.”
Sonofabitch.
Guessthemysteryoftheblockednumberhasbeensolved.I’mstillnotansweringit.
Theringingstops.
Ilowerthegun,shovingitinmywaistband.
“Well,then,who’supformakingatriptoLimerence?”Iask.“There’salotofmoneyinitforyou.”
Handsshootup.
Everysingleoneofthemvolunteers—evenThree,asfuckedupashealreadyis,andSeven,whosewifewouldkillhimifhesteppedfootinthatplace.Myguys,theydon’tbackdownfromachallenge,especiallywherecoldhardcashisinvolved.
“GotellthatRussianbastardI’llthinkaboutacceptinghiscallwhenhegrowssomeballsandunblockshisnumber,becausepussiesdon’tgettalkedto,theyonlygetfucked.”
Iturn,togobackintothelibrary,catchingScarlet’sconcernedgaze.
“Oh,andsayitjustlikethat,word-for-word,”Isay,glancingbackattheguys.“Andifyousurvive,whenyoucomebackhereforpayment,don’tlethimfollowyou.Imeanit.Youendangermybrother,I’llkillyouallmyself.”ChapterTwenty-Four
Isalibrarystillalibraryiftherearen’tanybooks?
Wouldn’titbemoreofastudy?
That’swhatI’mthinkingabout,asIsitonthefloorinthelibraryrightbesidethedoor,kneespulleduptomychest,armswrappedaroundthem,backagainstthewall.Imean,he’sgotahandfulofbooks,maybeadozen,buttheshelvesareprettymuchbarren.Aretwelvebooksenoughtopushitintolibraryterritory?
Idon’tknow.
Don’treallycare,either.
ButI’vegottothinkaboutsomethingorelsemymindwilljustdrifttothoughtsI’mtryingdesperatelynottohave,soI’mthinkingabouthim,andhisroom,andhislife
Lorenzo.
He’sworkingonthepuzzle.I’veseenhimdoitbeforeinlittlespurts,buthe’sbeenatitnowforhoursconsistently,makingquiteabitofprogressasIwatch.He’smethodical,thewholeprocessclearlyserioustohim,butatthesametimeIthinkhe’sactuallyenjoyinghimself.It’sstrange.Everynowandthenhe’llgetthislookonhisface,likecontentmentandreliefandprideallrolledintoone.
I’veseenthemaninthethroesofpassion.I’veseenhimexcited,andagitated,anddangerouslycold.I’vewatchedhisemotionsfluctuatethespectrum,butIthinkthisisthefirsttimeI’veeverseenhimcalm
Like,thisistheguywhoraisedhislittlebrothertobetheresponsible,respectfulguyLeois.Thisistheguywhocouldactuallyhavealibraryandnotjustabarrenroomwithbulletholeslitteringthefloor.
Yeah,Inoticedthem…
He’swearinghisglasses,alightilluminatingtheareaaroundthetable,althoughtherestoftheroomisdark.Nightfellhoursago.We’retheonlyoneshere.Noneofhisguyshavecomebackyet.
Hedoesn’tseemworried,butIam.
KnowingKassian,theycouldallbedead.
AndIkindofliketheguys,youknow,whatIknowofthem.Notasingleonehasevermadeapassatme,thinkingbecauseI’vedonecertainthingsobviouslythat’sallIam.Menthattreatmelikeaperson…whataconcept.SoI’dratherthemnotlosetheirlivesbecauseI’mhere.
“I’mgoingtobed,”Isayquietly,pushingupfromthefloor.IknowLorenzohearsme,becauseheglancesmyway,buthesaysnothing.
Imakeitdownthehall,towardthestairs,whenthefrontdoorshovesopen.Myheartstallsabeat,thinkingfinallymaybeoneofthemisback,butLeowalksin,alongwithMelody.
“Hey,Morgan!”Melodysays.“Ilovethecolorofthattop!”
Iglancedown.It’ssomewatercolor-lookingmash-up.ItookthemoneyLorenzopaidmeandinvestedinsomenewclothesofmyown.“Thanks.”
Leosmilesingreeting,andIreturnhissmile,butjetoutoftherebeforeanyfurtherconversationhappens.Trekkingupstairs,Ikickmyshoesoff,pullingoffmyjeansandunhookingmybrabeforeclimbingintothebed,snugglingupwithapillow.
I’mnottired.
Hell,Ican’tevensleep.
Ilayhere,listeningtothesoundsfromdownstairs.
Maybeanotherhourpasses,Idon’tknow,beforethefrontdooropens,voicesrushingthroughthehouse.Carefully,Iclimboutofthebed,creepingoutintothehall,pausingasIleanagainstthebanisteratthetopofthestairs.They’reallhere,gatheringinthehallway,DeclanandFrankevensharingalaughaboutsomething.Ican’thearmuchofwhatthey’resaying,buttheysurvived,soIguessthat’ssomething.
Imakemywaybacktothebed,curlinguponmyside,huggingthepillowagain.Relieved.Fornow.BarelyaminutepassesbeforeIhearnoise,andIpeekoverjustasLorenzowalksintotheroom.Hemeetsmyeyes,soheknowsI’mawake,buthesaysnothing,tuggingoffhisshirt,strippingdowntonothingbeforeclimbingintothebedbesideme.
Hisarmssnakearoundme,pullingmebackintohim,hislipsgoingrighttomyneck,leavingatrailofkissesalongthesliverofexposedskin.
“Tellmeastory,”hesays,handslidingbeneathmyshirttopalmabreast.
Ismiletomyself.That’shisnot-so-subtlewayoftellingmehewantstostickitin.“Whydon’tyoutellmeone?”
“Youdidn’tlikethelastoneItoldyou,”hesays,tuggingatmyunderwear,pushingitdowntomyknees,justenoughforhisotherhandtoslidebetweenmythighs.Asoftmoanescapesmewhenhisfingertipsgrazemyclit,andIshovetheunderweartherestofthewaydown,kickingthemofftospreadmylegs,sohecanreachbetter.
“I’msureyoucancomeupwithabetterone.”
“Truestoryorfairytale?”
“Hmmm…both.”
Iyelp,surprised,whenheyanksmearound,overontopofhim.HelaysflatonhisbackasIstraddlehiswaist,hiscockrightthere,hard,pressingagainstme.Ishiftmyhips,rubbingagainsthim,myhandsflatagainsthisbarechest.Myshirtislongenoughtocovereverythingsohecan’tsee,butIknowhefeelsit.Heletsoutalowgroan,wrappinghisarmsaroundme,pullingmedownforakiss.
Ilosemyselfforamoment,kissinghimdeeply,roughly,groaningashenipsatmylips,tinglesflowingthroughmybodywhenhegraspsmyhips,pullingmeup.Ifeelit,hiscockpressingintome,slowlyslippinginsideasheteasesmewiththetip.Myheadgoesfuzzy,warmthconsumingme.
Itisn’tuntilhethrustsup,hard,fillingmecompletely,thatitknockssomesensebackintomybrain.Ipullfromhislips,barelyabletogetthewordout.“Condom.”
Helooksatme,hishandsmoving,runningalongthecurveofmyassbeforehegrabsmyshirt,pullingitoffandtossingitovertheedgeofthebed.Hisgazescansme,fromthetopofmyheadtowherewe’reconnectedashereachesoverandstartsrubbingmyclit.“DoIneedone?”
“I,uh…Imean…”
Whatkindofquestionisthat?
“I’llpullout,”hesays,shiftinghiships,pullingoutjustabitbeforepushingbackin.“Ifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout.”
“I,uh…Christ…Ican’tgetpregnant.”
“Youphysicallycan’t,oryoumeangettingpregnantistheworstthingthatcouldhappen?”
“Uh,Imean…”Fuck,hefeelsgood,deepinsideofme,nothingbetweenus.“Both.”
Istartmoving,rollingmyhips,slidingupanddownslowlyonhim.Mybrainisstilltryingtoargueapoint,chanting,‘condom,condom,condom,’likeatwelve-year-oldboy,butthehazeistakingitover,thetinglesblockingitout.‘Fuckit,’myheartfranticallybeats.‘Justlethimfuckyou,youknowyouwantit.’
Closingmyeyes,Igaspashethrustsupintome,meetingmyrhythm.Hisfingerssteadilystrokemyclit,rubbingcircles,sendingjoltsofpleasurealongmyspine,strongerandstronger,untiltheexplosionhits.
Mymusclesseizeup,mytoescurlingasheridesmethroughastrongorgasm.Assoonasitstartstofade,hegrabsmebythebackofmyneck,pullingmedownclosertohim,makingmelookhimintheface.
Ibracemyself,handsflatagainsthischest,holdingonashebuckshard,fuckingme,grippingtightereverytimemyeyelidsstarttoflutter,partsofmetryingtodriftaway.
Anotherorgasmhits,andIcryout,mybreathsstrained,butbeforeIcanrecover,Lorenzothrowsmeoffofhim,catchingmeoffguardashepinsmetothebed.
“What—?”
BeforeIcangetanythingelseout,Lorenzocoversmymouthwithhishand,squeezingmyface,silencingmywords.Shovingmylegsapart,hitchingmykneesup,hethrustsinsideofme,barelygivingmeasecondtoadjustbeforehestartstofuckme.
Hard.
Deep.
Fast.
BAM
BAM
BAM
Iscreamintohispalmassensationsflowthroughme.Pleasureandpainwarpseveryinchofmeasherestshisbodyweightontopofme,makingmychestache,mymusclesclenching.Myfingersdigintohisback,scratchingattheskin,ashebringshismouthtomyear,hisvoicelowandgritty.
“Onceuponatime,therewasawoman—awomanwithagorgeouslittlebodyandamouthmadeofsin.Theonlythingsweeterthanthiswoman’spussywasthethirstshehadinsideofher,athirstforfuckingandfighting,fortemptingfate,”hesays,andIletoutawhimper,grippingtohimtightly,asanotherorgasmstartstotakeoverFuck
IthitsmesointenseIbuckagainsthim,myfingernailstearingskinasIbitehispalm.
“JesusChrist,”hegrowls,yankinghishandawayfrommymouth,gripinginsteadtomyjaw,shovingmyheadaway,forcingthesideofmyfaceintothemattress.Hismouthisbackonmyear,tongueswirlingarounditbeforehesays,“Thiswoman,shetemptedfatesomuchitwasagoddamnmiracleshewasn’tdead,butshewaslucky,Ithink,becausefatebroughtheraman,onewhowouldkillforasipofthethirstinsideofher,whowouldstartawaroverthatsweet,sweetpussy.”
HiswordssendachillthroughmeasIclosemyeyes.Hefucksandthreatens,kissesandcaresses,grabsandbites,overandoverandoveragain,untilmybodystartstogiveout.Groaning,hepullsawayfromme,shovingmylegsfurtherapartashepullsout.Openingmyeyes,Iwatchinthedarkness,breathingheavily,ashestrokeshimself,comingrightthere,betweenmythighs.Herubsitinthen,gentlystrokingmyclitwithhisfingertips,beforeleaningdown,kissingalongmystomach,histonguecirclingmybellybutton,beforemovingdownevenfurther,hismouthonmypussy.
“OhGod,”Iwhisper,mytoescurling.Idon’tknowhowthehellhedoesit,bringingmybodyrightbacktolifeagainwithnothingmorethanthetipofhistongue.
He’sgentle,sofuckinggentle,almostpainfullysoashebringsmetoyetanotherorgasm.Igasp,grabbingaholdofhishair,archingmybackasthepleasureripplesthroughmytremblingthighs.AssoonasIcollapsebackontothebed,hemakeshiswaybackup,kissingalongmystomach,beforehismouthfindsmine
Ikisshim,tastingmyselfonhislips,butmorethanthat,Icantastehim.Everyinchofmybodyflushesatthatrealization.
“Ithinkyou’retryingtokillme,”Iwhisper.
Helaughsintomymouth,nippingatmybottomlip.“IfIwasreallytryingtokillyou,Scarlet,you’dbedead.”
***
Thesun’sstartingtoriseoutside,butyoucan’ttellitlookingatthehorizon.Thickgraycloudscovereveryinchofsky,blockingthewarmorangeglowfromappearing.Everythingjustseemstograduallygetlighter,likeaveilisbeinglifted,exposingwhatwasalreadyhiddenbeneath.
Sunrise,italwaysmakesmefeelhope,anotherdaydawning,anotherchanceatthingsturningaroundforme,buttoday?
Italljustfeltsohorriblybleak
“Tenmonths,”Isay.“Beforeweknowit,it’llbeayear.”
Anentireyear.Ican’tevenfathomit.
DetectiveJonesletsoutanexasperatedsighashescrubshishandsoverhisblearyface,rubbingtheovergrownscruffalonghisjaw.Helookslikeshit.Hissuitisrumpled.There’sastainonhiswhiteshirt.He’sinneedofatrim,hishairstickingupinafewplaces,andhissocks,well…theydon’tevenmatch.
He’samess
ButIhavenosympathyforhim.
Maybethatmakesmeabitch.
Iusedtocomehere,begging,pleading,feelinglikeaburdenforneedinghishelp,butthosefeelingsfadedasIbecamemorejaded.Thefirstfewmonthsweretheworst,though.Backthen,Ididn’tthinkthetearswouldeverstop.Butatsomepointalongtheway,myangersurfacedwhenIrealizedIwasonmyown,thatnobodycouldhelpme.Ihadtohelpmyself.
Andhereweare,tenmonthsin,andI’mstilltreadingwater,closertosinkingthanIamtoswimming.I’mslowlydrowning
Gabepicksuphiscoffeemug,gentlyblowingintoit,steamrisingout,surroundinghisfacelikeacloud.Igotherebeforehimthismorning,waswaitinginthelobbywhenheeventuallywanderedin,fifteenminuteslateforhisusualshift,whichisfifteenminuteshecould’vespentworkingonmycase.
Yeah,right…likethatwouldeverhappen.
“Youshouldn’tbehere,”hemutters,sippinghiscoffee.
“Yeah,well,whereelseamIsupposedtogo?”
“Whereveryou’vebeenthesepastfewweeks,”hesays.“Wherehaveyoubeen,anyway?”
“Around.”
Hecastsanannoyedlookmyway,notlikingmyevasiveanswer,butI’mnottellinghimwhereI’vebeenstaying.Thatinformationisclassified
“Aftertheattackattheclub,Ifiguredyou’dbelayinglow,maybefinallygettingthehelloutofthecity,”hesays.“EspeciallywithGeorgeAmellobeingdead.”
Igapeathim.“He’sdead?”
Henods,swirlinghischairbackandforth,stillsippinghiscoffee…stillnotdoinganywork.“Someoneshothim.”
Isigh,lookingawayfromhimtoglanceoutthewindow.
It’ssilentforafewminutes.
Georgeisdead,andit’sprobablymyfault.
“Iwenttothehousetheotherday,”Isayquietly.“Ihaven’tgonetheresinceeverythinghappened.”
Hemutterssomethingunderhisbreath.Idon’tcatchitall,justafewwordshereandthere,notably‘stupid’and‘deathwish’.
“Itlooksthesame,”Itellhim.“Itwasstrange.Seeingit,beingthere…itfeltlikejustyesterday,likenotimeatallhaspassed.Ididn’texpectthat.Ididn’texpectittostillfeelsoraw.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything,butthelookhegivesmesaysenough:‘getoverit’.He’sneverutteredthosewordsdirectly,butIknowhemeansthem,Iknowhethinksthem,everysingletimehelooksatmethisway.Pity.Hepitiesme.Notenough,obviously,orelsehe’dactuallydosomethingaboutmysituation,butjustenoughforhimtohumorme,forhimtopretendtowanttohelp.
“Maybeyoushouldtalktosomeone,”hesuggests.
“Iam.I’mtalkingtoyou.”
“Imeansomebodywhomightbeabletohelpyou.”
“Again,IthoughtIwas.”
Hesighs,settinghiscoffeedown.“Imeanatherapist,Morgan.Maybeagriefcounselor.”
“Idon’tneedashrink.Ijustneedsomeonetogiveafuckaboutme.”
“Comeon,don’tbethatway,”hesays,shovingoutofhischairtostepcloser,pausinginfrontofme.“YouknowIcare.I’mdoingeverythingIcan.I’mmonitoringthesituation.”
“Monitoringthesituation.”Ishakemyhead.“Thatsoundsahellofalotlikeyou’rejustsittingback,watchingithappen.”
Hegraspsmychin,histhumbstrokingalongmyjawlineashetiltsmyheadhisway.“It’sgoingtobeokay.Iswearit.Youjustneedtobepatientforalittlewhilelonger.Youwantthecasetostick,don’tyou?Whenwetakehimdown,youwanthimtostaydown,right?”
“Ofcourse.”
“Thenit’sgoingtotaketime.Wecan’trushthis.We’renotstopping,we’renotgivingup…we’rejusttakingthetimetogetitrightsowhathappenedbeforedoesn’thappenagain.Okay?”
Iusedtobuyhisbullshit.Usedtohangontoeverysyllable,believinghemeanteveryword.Andmaybesomepartofhimisgenuine,butthatdoesn’tmeanhe’sbeinghonest
IsometimessayI’mfinewhenI’mnot.Isaynothing’sbotheringmewhenI’mdistraught.
Littlewhiteliestokeepharmony.AndIcantell,bythat‘getoverit’lookGabegivesme,thathedoesn’tthinkthey’llevernailhim.
Isaynothing,whichthedetectiveassumesmeansI’vebeenplacated,judgingbythewayhevisiblyrelaxes,histhumbswipingacrossmybottomlip.
Thissonofabitch…
Hesmiles,asmuglittlesmile,ashetugsthezipperofhispantsdown.Hisfreehandsnakesinsidehisboxers,strokinghimselfbeneaththematerialashesays,“It’sbeentoolong,babe.I’vemissedseeingyou.”
Beforehecanwhipitout,Ismackhishandawayfrommyface.“Youbringthatthinganywherenearme,DetectiveJones,andyou’llneveruseitagain.”
Hiseyeswiden.“What’sgottenintoyou?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay,“butIknowwhat’snevergettingintomeagain,andthat’syou.I’mnotyourlittlefucktoy.Yourjobisn’ttousemeasyouseefit.Yourjobistoserveandprotect.Sodoyourgoddamnjob,detective,andkeepyourdickinyourpants,becauseI’vebeenwaitingfortenfuckingmonths,andI’mrunningoutofpatience.”
Igotnosleeplastnight,noneatall,everyinchofmeexhaustedandsore.Ihaven’tevenshoweredyet,leavingwhenitwasstilldark,whileLorenzosoundlyslept.Ididn’twanttowakehim.Helookedsopeaceful.SoIjustthrewonthefirstclothesIsaw,pulledmyhairbackinasloppybunandheadedout,remnantsofthemanalloverme.Icansmellhimonmyskin.
Gabejuststaresatmewithdisbelief,handstillinhispants,clutchinghisdick,buthemakesnomovetowhipitout,luckyforhim.
Afteramoment,aseriesofbeepsringout,suckingawaysomeoftheawkwardnessinfiltratingtheoffice.Heunclipsthedepartment-issuedcellphonefromhisbelt,glancingatitbeforefixinghispants.
“GotsomethingIneedtodealwith,”hegrumbles,wavingthephoneinmyfacebeforeheadingforthedoor.“Showyourselfout,MissMyers.”
Isithere,evenafterhe’sgone,staringacrosstheofficeoutthewindow.Nobodysaysawordaboutmebeinghere,nobodybotheringme.
It’slikeI’minvisible.
Eventually,myeyeswandertothemessydesk,tothestacksoffilescoveringthetopofit.Itblowsmymindhowoutdatedthingsarehere,casefileskeptasactualfiles,foldersfullofpapersinsteadofbeingstoreddigitally.
Notreallysecure,isit?
Iglancebehindme,outoftheoffice,double-checkingnobodyispayingmeanyattention,beforeshovingoutofthechairandslippingaroundthesideofthedesk.Thefileshavenamesscribbledontheminpen.Ishiftthroughthemquickly,glancingatthehandwriting.Blah.Blah.Blah.Bingo
Aristov.
Ibringthefiletothetopofthestack.It’sthick,burstingattheseamswithpaperwork.Flippingitopen,Iscanthroughsomeofit,skimmingparagraphsandpages,glossingovermostofit.
Drugs.Guns.Fraud.Murder
Alotofallegedlythisandallegedlythat,hesaid/shesaidbullshit,butnotmuchinthewayofevidence.Noballistics,nofingerprints,noforensics.Astackofwitnessstatements,eachonewreckedwithwriting,coveredinblackmarker:retracted…missing…deceased…uncooperative…unreliable…
Istallatthelastone,blinkingafewtimesatthenameonthetopofit:MorganOliviaMyers.Unreliable
“Whatever,”IgrumbleasIflipthepage.
Iskimthroughtherest.Blah.Blah.Blah.Nothing
“Youhavetobekiddingme.”IshoveitallasideasIscanthroughfilesagain.Therehastobeanotheronesomewhere.Therehastobemore.Besidesmyoriginalwitnessstatement,there’sverylittleaboutmyhistorywithKassianandnotagoddamnpeepaboutthepainofthepasttenmonths.“Motherfuckers.”
Ishoveastackoffiles,sendingthemscatteringalongthedeskasangerrunsthroughme.Havetheyevendoneanything?
Shakingmyhead,myeyesscanthedeskagain,andI’mabouttowalkawaywhenanamecatchesmyeye.Gambini.It’ssloppilyscribbledonafreshfolder.
Iknowthatname.
Ipickitup,andamabouttoscanthroughitwhenthephoneonthedesklightsupandstartstoring.Shit.Ijump,caughtoffguard,andshovethefilebeneathmyhoodie,securingitwiththewaistbandofmypantsasIgetthehelloutofthere.
IkeepmyheaddownasImakemywaytotheelevator,headingdowntothefirstfloor.Assoonasitdings,thedoorsopening,Istepoffandfreeze,hearingtheunmistakablesoundofafamiliarboominglaughechoingthroughthelobby.
Ohmyfucking—
Myheadsnapsup,myeyesgoingstraighttoamanjusttenfeetfromme.Icatchaglimpseofhisprofileashestandsthere,elbowsagainstthefrontdesk,leaningovertotalktoOfficerRimmelworkingthecommandcenter.Markel.He’slaughing,flirting,andshe’ssmilingathim.Smiling
Thewoman,withherneonpinknails,hasneversmiledatme.Notonce,intenmonths.
Astheelevatordoorsbehindmeclose,myeyesbouncefromMarkeltotheexit.Shovingmyhandsinthepocketofmyblackhoodie,Ilowermyhead,myeyesonthecheckeredlinoleum.
IhopelikehellIstayinvisibleasIforcemyfeettomove.
YoucandothisYoucandothisYoucando—
Shit
I’myankedtoanabruptstopasahandwrapsaroundmybicep.Turningmyhead,Icatchhiseyes,piercingthroughmeasI’mpulledtowardhimsofastIdamnnearlosemybalance.
“Suka,”hesays,grinning,usingthatwordsocasually,asifit’smyrealname.Bitch
Myheartpoundsfuriously.
Myheadisswimming.
I’mindeepshit.
Deep,deepshit.
‘Letgoofme.’Thosewordsdamnnearcomefrommylips,butIknowit’salostcause,pleadingatthispoint.He’snotgoingtojustletmeleave.SoI’vegotaboutfivesecondstosavemyself,tofindawayoutofthis,becausebeinginapoliceprecinctwon’tbeenoughtostophimfromthrowingmeoverhisshoulderanddraggingmeoutofhere.
One.Two.Three.Four.
“Pussycatgotyourtongue,suka?”heasks,lettingoutalaugh.“Haven’tyoumissedme?”
Five
Idon’tthink.Ijustreact.
Pullingmyhandfrommypocket,Ipointafingerathisface,pokinghimrightintheeye,jabbinghard.BAM.Heflinches,lettingoutonehellofasound,theshrieksoloudeveryoneturnsourwayinalarm.
“Youbitch!”Markelshouts,coveringhiseyewithhisfreehand.Iknowhe’spissedwhenhesaysitinEnglish.Hisholdonmyarmloosensinreactiontothesharppain,lettingmeslipfromhisgripandmoveaway.
Hetriestorecover,realizinghedoesn’thavehishandsonmeanymore,lungingmydirectionbuthe’stooslow.Chaoserupts,thecommandofficercallingforhelp,thepolicetryingtointervene,butit’stoolateforthat.
Iscreamatthetopofmylungs,screamsoloudmyvoicecracks.“He’sgotagun!”
Doeshe?Idon’tknow.Probablynot.Butwhogivesafuck?ItdoesexactlywhatIneedittodo,incitingpanicallaroundus.Peopletrytofleetheprecinct,thepolicefrenzied,asIrunfortheexit,shovingthroughthecrowd.
Idamnnearmakeitoutbeforesomeoneelsegrabsme.Ugh,pleasedon’tbeKassian.Turning,reacting,Iswingblindly,strikingsomething
“Jesus,whatthehell,Morgan?”
DetectiveJones.
Fuck
Herubshisshoulder,whereIpunchedhim,lookingaroundinconfusion,butIdon’thavetimetoexplain.Ipushhimoff,headingoutthedoorasMarkelshoutssomethinginRussian.
Ishovepastpeople,movingasfastasmyfeetwillgo.It’snotsafehere.Ineedtogetoffofthestreet.IneedtogetoutofBrooklyn,butthesubwayisn’tanoptionrightnow.Markelisprobablyalreadysoundingthealarms.They’llbewatching,swarmingthearea,tryingtosmokemeout.
Shit.Shit.Shit
Irunafewblocks,cuttingdownsomealleys,headingthedirectionofConeyIsland.Iknowthesestreetswell.I’verunthembefore.I’vehiddenintheabandonedbuildingsintheneighborhood.
ButKassianknowsthat.
Heknowsallofmyoldhaunts.
It’sthefirstplacehe’llcheck.
Sofuckit,Iinsteadswingrightintoabusycoffeeshop.It’snotaStarbucks,butclosetoit,somemass-producedfranchisefullofhipsterswearingbowtiesandsuspenders.Igetinline,nervouslylookingaround,makingsurethecoaststaysclear,notreallycaringtoactuallyorderanything.
Idon’tevenlikecoffee.
Yeah,yeah,Iknow.There’ssomethingwrongwithme.
“I’llhavewhateversheordered,”Isaywhenit’smyturn,motioningtothegirlwhowentbeforeme,someyoungblondethatremindsmeabitofMelody.Idigsomecashfrommypocket,payingtheastronomicalfeeforthedrink.
“Name?”thecashierasks,grabbingacupandamarker.
“Scarlet,”Itellhim.
Iwaitsomemorethen,waitingformydrink,stilllookingaround,observingeverybody.
Izeroinonaguyworkingaloneatasmalltablenearthedoor,hisgazefixedtohislaptop,stickerscoveringthefrontofit.Bands,I’mguessing.Music.He’swearingablackt-shirtwithadrummeronit.Scatteredalongthetablearepapers,acellphonesittingontopofaclosedtextbook.
“Scarlet?”abaristacalls,shovingacaramel-coloredfrozendrinkupontothepass.Guessthat’smine.Isnatchitup,stickinginastraw,asIheadforthedoor.
“What’syourfavoriteAvengedSevenfoldsong?”Iask,pausingbesidetheguyaloneatthetable,tryingtoturnonthecharmandactinterested.
HelooksupatthesoundofmyvoiceasIleanover,againstthetable,allupinhisspace.“Nightmare.”
“Noshit?”Ismirk,strawagainstmylips.“That’smine,too!”
Hegrinsatmyresponseandseemstobeatamomentaryloss,whichisforthebest,becauseIdon’tevenknowwhoAvengedSevenfoldis.Ijustsawthestickeronhislaptopandrolledwithit.Poorguy.Igrabthecellphonewhilehe’sdistracted,tryingtocomeupwithsomethingwittytosay,slippingitupthesleeveofmyhoodiebeforepushingawayfromthetableandwalkingout.
Igoanotherblock,passinganapartmentbuildingjustassomeoneisleaving.Dartingover,Igrabthedoorbeforeitcloses,slippinginsideasItakeasipofthedrink.
Iexpectittobebitterandgross,butit’sactuallylightandsweet.Huh.IpulloutthestolencellphoneasIleanbackagainstthewallnearthemailboxes,pressingabutton,breathingasighofreliefwhenitcomestolife.Nosecuritycodeneeded
So,okay,Idon’texactlyhaveanyfriends
IusedtocallGeorgeinapinch,butIdon’tforeseehimcomingbacktolifetohelpme.
I’veturnedtoGabebefore,butseeinghowIjustassaultedhim,he’soutofthequestion.
Sothatleavesmewithoneperson.Lorenzo
Otherthan911,it’sreallytheonlynumberIknow.
Or,well,IhopeIknowit.Imemorizedit,weeksago,whenItriedtocallhimtopaybackthemoneyIstole,butmymemory’sabitshaky,so…
Idialit,bringingthephonetomyear,assirenswailinthedistance,flyingby.Thephoneringsandringsandrings,andI’mabouttogiveup,whenthelinefinallyclicksandavoicegreetsme.“Gambini.”
Ipause.It’snotGambini.Nottechnically.Sevenanswers.Itcatchesmeoffguard.
“Hey,Seven…it’s,uh,Morgan.”
“Morgan,”hesays.“Everythingokay?”
Nope.“Yep.”
“That’sgood,”hesays.“Didyouneedsomething?”
Yep.“Nope.”
He’squietforasecondbeforesaying,“Tellmewhat’swrong.”
“Idon’tknowthatI’dsayanything’swrong…”
“But?”
“Ikindofgotmyselfintoabitofapickle.Notsurehowtogetbackout.”
“Abitofapickle,huh?Whereareyou?”
“ConeyIsland,”Isay.“There’sthisapartmentbuildingrightonwest17th.Biguglybrickone.I’mkindof,youknow,hangingout.”
“Hidingout,youmean?”
“Prettymuch.”
Helaughs.“SoBrooklyn,huh?”
“Yep.”
“I’llbethereintwenty.”
HehangsupbeforeIcansayanythingtohim,butIrespondanyway.“ThankGod.”
***
IgotstuckonaFerriswheelonce.
IthinkIwasfiveorsixatthetime.
Somethingshorted,theoperatorscrewedup,andthereIwas,stuckinabucketthirtyfeetinthesky.Insteadofbeingscared,though,Ifounditalmostcalming,beingsohighup,wherenobodycouldreachmeandnothingcouldtouchme.
Istillfeelthatwaymostofthetime.
Likerightnow,asIsithere,legsstretchedoutalonggrayasphaltshinglesontheslopedroofofthehouseinQueens,surroundedbythekindofquietsuburbanneighborhoodwherecarpoolandplaydatesarethingsthatexist,Ifeelokay
That’ssayingsomething,youknow,afterthedayI’vehad.Itseemsalmostsurreal,andI’dthinkitdidn’treallyhappen,exceptthefileinmylaptellsmedifferently.Gambini
I’vereaditalready.
Actually,okay,I’vereaditafewtimes.
Canyoublameme?Prettydamnsureyouwouldreadit,too,ifyoucould.
Sighing,IsuckdownthelastofmyfrozensugarycoffeewhenIhearadooropennearby.Glancingdown,IwatchasLorenzostepsoutofthehouse,acloudofmuskysmokesurroundinghim,ajointbetweenhislips.
It’sthefirstI’veseenhimtoday.AfterSevenvaliantlyrescuedme,bringingmebackhere,IdiscoveredthelibrarydoorclosedforonlythesecondtimesinceIstartedcomingaround.
He’sgotaheadachetoday,Sevenexplained.Mightnotseehim.
Yet,thereheis…
Hishairisunkempt,allovertheplace,likehehasn’tdoneadamnthingtoitsinceIwoundmyfingersthroughitlast.Therestofhim,though,seemstobeputtogether—whiteshirt,darkjeans,blackboots.Hesmokesquietly,alone,watchingtheneighborhood,beforeSevenjoinshim.
“I’mheadinghome,boss,”Sevensays.“Wifeismakinglasagnafordinner,ifyouwantmetobringyousome.”
“Iappreciateit,”Lorenzosays,“butIcanfendformyself.”
Pfftt,fuckthat.
“Youcanbringmesome,”Icalldown.“I’mnotdumbenoughtopassuphomecooking.”
Sevenlaughs,wavingtowardme.“IthinkI’vedoneenoughforyoutoday,Morgan.”
Imakeafaceathim.
SevenpullsoutLorenzo’skeysandphone,passingthemoverbeforedeparting.Lorenzoshovesitallinhispocket,continuingtosmokeinsilence,watchingasSevendrivesoff,leavingusalone.
Lorenzotosseswhat’sleftofthejointdown,smashingitwithhisbootasheturnsslowly,hisgazeflickeringuptowhereI’msitting.
Hegoesbackinside,notsayingaword.
Ifigurehewentbacktohislibrary,butafteramoment,thewindowfromhisbedroomshovesopenandheclimbsoutontotheledgebeforemaneuveringaroundandpullinghimselfupontotheroof.
IwishIcouldsayIgotupherethatsmoothly,orthatIevenconsidereddoingitthatway.
Istolealadderfromaneighbor’sbackyard.
It’sproppedupagainstthesideofthehouse.Oops
Hesitsdownbesideme,kneesbent,elbowsleaningagainstthem,hisgazesurveyingtheneighborhoodforamomentbeforehelooksmyway.Hescansmeslowly,hisattentiondriftingtothefileonmylap.
Iknowhecanseehislastnameonit.It’swrittenclearasday.
“Yougotafileonme,Scarlet?”heasks,hisvoicecasual,nothingaccusatoryinhistone.
“No,”Isay,lookingdownatit.“Well,IguessItechnicallydonow.It’syourpolicefile.”
“Mypolicefile.”
“Yeah,it’severythingtheyknowaboutyou,”Iexplain.“Ikindofstoleitfromthedetective’soffice.”
“Youstoleit.”
“Yes.”
“Takesballstobreakthelawinapoliceprecinct.”
“Yeah,well,justaddittothelistofotherlawsIbroke.Iprobablyhavewarrantsoutformerightnow.Disorderlyconduct.Criminalnuisance.Assaultonapoliceofficer.Italladdsup.”
“Soundslikeyouhadaninterestingday.”
“Very.”
“Kindofjealous,”hesays,eyeingmeforamomentbeforeturningaway.“So,what’sthefilesay?”
“WhatmakesyouthinkI’vereadit?”
“Youwouldn’tgothroughthetroubleofstealingitifyouweren’tnoseyasshitaboutwhat’sinside.”
Rollingmyeyes,Ipickupthefolderandflipitopen.Thereisn’tmuchtoit,justafewpapers.
“LorenzoOliverGambini,”Isay,readingthetopsheetbeforecuttingmyeyesathim,watchingashewhipsoutanorange,likehecarriesthemaroundinhispocket.“Oliver?Really?”
“IdistinctlyrememberyourmiddlenamebeingOlivia,”hesays,“whichisn’tmuchdifferent.”
“Yeah,butthat’sme,”Isay.“You’reyou.”
“We’realotalike,youandI.”
Hesaysthatcasually,andI’mnotsurehowtotakeit,becausemybrainsuddenlygetshunguponsomethingelse.“Wait,youknowmymiddlename?”
Shruggingashoulder,hestartstopeelhisorange,likehimknowingmymiddlenamedoesn’tmeananything,likehimrememberinganypartofmynameisn’tabigdeal.Butitis,soIjustgapeathim,tryingtomakesenseofthat.
“What’sthefilesay,Scarlet?”heasksagain.“Lessstaring,morespilling.”
“It,uh…”Ilookawayfromhim,backatthepapers.“BornandraisedinKissimmee,Florida.Yourfatherwasmurderedwhenyouwerefour.Yourmotherandstepfatherdisappearedaboutfourteenyearsafterthat.YouofficiallybecamelegalcustodianofoneLeonardoMichaelAccardionyournineteenthbirthday,althoughyou’dbeentakingcareofhimforayearbythatpoint.”
“Youalreadyknewallofthat,”hepointsout,seemingratherboredbymyfacts.
“Youinheritedanalmost200-acreorangegrovethathasmorethandoubledinsizeandprofitunderyourcontrol.Yourbusinessseemsontheupandup,sonoAlCaponeleveltakedowninyourfuture,althoughtheysuspectyou’vegotsomethinghinkygoingondownthere.”
“Somethinghinky,”hesayswithalaugh.“What,likewe’rerunninggunsthroughthegrove?Becausethey’dberight.”
“TheyseemmoreconcernedaboutCubanimports.”
“Ah,yes,priorities.Therum.”
“Theydon’thaveanyevidence,though.”
“Ofcoursenot.”
“Theydo,however,haveashitloadofstoriesaboutyou.You’rekindoflikeBigfoot.”
“Bigfoot?”
“Yeah,everyone’sheardabouthim,mostpeoplethinkhe’samyth,withnothingmorethanacoupleblurrypicturesandunreliablefirst-handaccountsasproofofhisexistence.Mostofthisfileisn’tevenaboutyou.It’sabunchofscarystoriesaboutaguywithascar.Halfthisshitisn’tevenbelievable.”
“Like?”
“LikeyoulitabuildingonfireinManhattanwithabunchofmeninsideofit.”
“Igavethemachancetogetout,”hesays.“Notmyfaulttheydidn’ttakemeseriously.”
“Youblewupastoragebuildinginapublicpark.”
“Ijustflickedalighter,”hesays.“I’mnottheonewhomadetheplaceexplosive.”
“Youdetonatedagrenade,killingmostofthemobbossesinthecity.”
“See,okay,that’sbullshit.Theywerealreadydeadbythetimethatgrenadewentoff.”
“I,uh…wow.”
Idon’tknowwhattosay.
“Inmydefense,”hesays,notsoundinglikehereallycarestodefendhimself,“theywereallterriblepeople,soit’snotliketheydidn’tdeserveit.”
“Soyou’veneverhurtaninnocentperson?”
Asmiletoucheshislips.“Dotheyexist?”
“What?”
“Innocentpeople.”
“Children,”Isay.“Yourbrother.”
Ialmostsayme,butwell,IthinkI’vecrossedtoomanylinestoeverqualifyasinnocent
“Iwouldneverhurtakid,”hesays.“Iguaranteethere’snothinginthatfilethatsaysIwould.”
Ilookdownatit,frowning,pullingoutascrappieceofpaperwiththedetective’shandwritingonitandholdingitouttoLorenzo.
Suspectedtohavebeeninvolvedinthedeathof14-year-oldSallyWaltersinKissimmee.
Hetakesthepieceofpaperfromme,lookingatitforafewsecondsbeforeballingitup,crushingitinhispalm.Hetossesitbehindhim,ontotheroof,andgoesbacktopeelinghisorange.
Thefactthathe’snotrefutingitbothersme.Mystomachgetstiedupinknots.
“Isherautopsyreportinthere?”heasksafteramoment.
“No.”
“Soyoudon’tknowshewasstrangled?”heasks.“Don’tknowshewasbrutallyrapedbeforebeingputoutofhermisery?”
“No.”
Buthedoes,andthefactthatheknowsitmakesmyheaddizzy,bileburningthebackofmythroat.Idon’twanttothinkhe’scapableofsuchathing.No,scratchthat.Idon’tthinkheis.Killingpeople,yes,I’veseenhimdoit,butrapeisdifferent.It’sanotherlevelofcrueltyinflictedbyadifferenttypeofmonster.I’vemetmanyofthosemonstersinmylife,buthe’snotoneofthem.
“Fortherecord,Ididn’tdoit,”hesays.“Shewasmyfirstgirlfriend.Onlygirlfriend.Ididn’thurther.Ijustgotluckyandstumbleduponheraftermystepfatherwasthrough.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,”herepeatsashestandsup.“AnythingelseinthebookofbullshitthatIshouldknowabout?”
“No,”Isay,closingthefileandholdingitouttohim.“Youcanhaveit,ifyouwant.”
“Howniceofyou,”hesays,snatchingitfrommyhand,clutchingsotightlythefolderbends,asheleaves,slippingbackdownoffoftheroof,intothebedroom,slammingthewindowclosed.
Itouchedanerve.Abadone.AndIknowhe’sjustgoingtogobackdownstairsnow,intohislibrary,andIwon’tseehimagaintonight.Ugh,Idon’tlikeit.Mystomachisstillinknots.
Ididn’tthinkitwaspossible,but…Imight’vehurthisfeelings.UghUghUgh
Pushingtomyfeet,Iquicklymakemywayacrosstheroof.Iscurrydowntheladder,joggingaround,andshovethroughthefrontdoorjustasLorenzostepsbackintothelibrary.
Fuck.
“Hey,holdon,”Isay,runningtowardhim,skiddingtoastopinfrontofthelibraryjustasthedoorisabouttoshut.Reachingout,Ipushit,shovingitbackopenbeforeitcanlatch.“Ugh,Lorenzo,wait.”
Heturnstome,stillclutchingthedoor.Helookslikehewantstoslamitinmyface…ormaybe,like,punchme.Idon’tknow.
“You’vegottenseconds,”hesays.
Itakeadeepbreath,notsurewhattosay.
“Nine…eight…seven…”
“Ididn’tthinkyoudidthattothatgirl,”Iblurtout,becausefuckit,he’scounting,andIknowwhenhereaches‘one’I’llhavemissedmychance.“Iknowthat’snotthekindofmanyouare.Iknowyouwouldn’thavedonethattoher.Iknowyou’rebetterthanthat.”
Heletsoutabitterlaugh.“Yeah,right.”
He’sabouttoslamthedoorforrealthistimesoIshovemywayinsidetheroom.There’saflashofsomethinginhisexpression.Anger.Something.Idon’tknow.Ican’tpayitanymind.I’vealreadycrossedthatthreshold.Nogoingbacknow.
“Isweartofuck,Scarlet,ifyoudon’twatchyourself…”
“Yeah,you’llkillme,”Imutter,grabbingaholdofhim,myhandsframinghisface,tryingtoforcehimtolookatmebuthe’sstubbornasshitandgoestopullawayinstead.“I’mserious,Lorenzo.Stopbeingsofuckingpigheadedandjustlookatme.”
HelooksatmewhenIsaythat.Whoa.Heactuallylistens
I’mcaughtsomuchoffguardbyitthatIdon’tsayanythingrightaway,juststaringhimintheeyes.
“Timesup,Scarlet,”hesaysquietly.
Beforehecantrytopushmeaway,makemeleave,Ireachuponmytiptoesandpressmylipstohis.Ikisshim,softly,slowly,mypalmsgentlyagainsthischeeks,holdinghisfacethere.
Hedoesn’tkissmeback.Atleast,notrightaway.ButIcanfeelhimrelaxingmoreandmoreeachtimeourlipstouch,hisangerwaning.
Hetasteslikeoranges,sweetandtangy.
Myhandsshift,graspingthesideofhishead,asIkissdownalonghisjawline,brushingagainstthescruffonhischin.Imovetotheotherside,kissingthecornerofhismouthbeforemylipsgrazeagainstthescarslicingthroughhischeek.
ThesecondIdothat,hepullshisheadback.Heshootsmeastrangelook,Ican’treallyreadit,beforehemovesawayfromthedoor,awayfromme.Hestrollsacrosstheroom,tossinghiscasefileontothecornerofthetablenearhispuzzle,beforesittingdowninhischair
Hegoesbacktoeatinghisorangeasifnoneofthatevenhappened.Thedoorstaysopen,andI’malreadyhalfwayintheroom,soItakethatasinvitationtocometherestofthewayin.
“Senile,”hesays,shakinghishead.“Iknowthat’snotwhatyourScarletLetterstandsfor,butitsureasfuckoughtto.”
Iapproachhim.“I’mnotoldenoughtobesenile.Besides,youknow,IthinkI’mprettyclear-headed.”
“You’resofthearted,Scarlet.Softinthefuckinghead,too.It’sdangerous.You’redangerous.”
Ilaughatthat,pausinginfrontofhim,pushinghishandsoutofthewayandshovinghimfurtherbackintothechairasIclimbontohislap,straddlinghim.Heletsoutanexasperatedsigh,likeI’mbotheringhim,butIwouldn’treallycallhimangryanymore,soI’mchalkingthatuptoawin.
Nuzzlingintohisneck,Ikissandnipattheskin,trailingmytonguealonghisthroat,feelingitasheswallowsthickly.
Hetrieslikehelltoignoreme,cockinghisheadaway,finishinghisorangeinsilence.Assoonashe’sdone,though,Ipullback,grabbinghishand,wrappingmylipsaroundtwoofhisfingers,lappingtheremnantsofjuicefromhisfingertipswithmytongue.Isuckonthemslowlyashewatchesme,cockinganeyebrow,notsayingaword,butIcanfeelhimashegrowshard.
Ipullhisfingersfrommymouthandstarttosaysomething,toteasehim,butIdon’tgetthechancetosayaword.Hegrabsmebythebackofthehead,pullingmetohim,kissingmeroughly.
Ieagerlykisshimback.
Handsshoveatclothes,pushingandtugging,doingjustenoughtofreehimasmypantsarepulleddowntomythighs.HestrokeshimselfafewtimesbeforeIsinkdownontohim,groaningintohismouthashefillsme.
Hegraspsmebytheass,squeezing,buthishandsjustrestthere,nottryingtotakecontrol,lettingmelead.Iridehimslowly,notbreakingthekiss,goosebumpscoatingeveryinchofmyskin.
JesusChrist,hefeelssogood.
Hishandsstartroaming,squeezingandscratching,hisfingersrakingalongthesmallofmyback.
“Fuck,”hegrowls,pullingfrommymouth,butit’sonlylongenoughtoshedmeofsomeclothes.Heyanksoffmyhoodie,takingoffmyshirt,andIunhookmybra,lettingitdroptothefloor.
Hekissesmeagain,afewsmallpecks,beforehismouthmoves,leavingatraildowntomycollarbones.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhim,lacingmyhandsthroughhishairasheburieshisfaceintomychest,histongueexploring.
Ihissatajoltofpainashebitesdownonanipple,closingmyeyes,mytoescurling.Tinglesconsumeme,fromheadtotoe,andIincreasemypace,fuckinghimfaster,comingdownonhimharder,feelinganorgasmstirring.Healternatesbetweenbitesandlicks,kissingandsuckingatmybreasts.Iknowhe’sleavingmarks.Icanfeelthem.Theysting.Myskinisraw,butIpullhimtometighter,wantingitrougher,wantingtofeeleverypartofhiminsideeverypartofme.
“Fuckme,”Iwhisperbreathlessly,scratchingathisscalpasItiltmyheadback.“FuckmeuntilIforgeteverything.”
Hepullsback,andIloosenmygrip,realizingrightawaythatmight’vebeenthewrongthingtosay.There’sasinistertwisttohislipsthatsendsachilldownmyspine.BeforeIcansayanotherword,heshovesupoutofthechair,pullingoutashedropsmeontomyfeet.Yankingmeovertothetable,heturnsmearound,shovingmeflatdownagainstit,rightontopofhispuzzle.Mypantsareforcedtherestofthewaydown,shacklingmyankles,ashekicksmylegsapartasfarasthey’llgo.
“Beverystill,”hesays,aslightedgetohisvoice.“Trynottofuckupmypuzzle.”
“Nopromises,”Iwhisper.
Hebraceshimself,hishandgrippingmyshoulder,andthrustsinsideofme.Iletoutadeepgroanasmyeyelidsflutter.Fuck.Hewastesnotime,doingexactlywhatIasked.
Hefucksme.It’spowerful.Brutal.Hipsslamintomefrombehindashefillsmedeeply,overandover.Skinslappingnoisesechothroughtheroomashedrivesmeintothetablesoharditstartstomove.Igripontotheedgeofit,tryingtoholdon,tryingtostaystill,buthemakesitimpossible.Painandpleasuremergeinsideofme,consumingme,anditdoesn’ttakelongbeforeIstarttogrownumb.Tinglesencompassme.Mymindblanksout.Nothingexistsexcepthiscockinsideofme,himontopofme,slammingintomefrombehind.Icryoutwitheverydeepthrust,incoherentnoises,likeeverythinginsideofmeisbeingpurged.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck
Orgasmripsthroughmemorethanonce.Ilosetrackoftime.Ilosetrackofeverythingbuthim.Anhour,oraminute,whoknows?
Hebitesdownonmyshoulderwhenhefinallycomes.Itbringsmebackaround,myeyesopening,andIblinkslowly,feelinghimspillingdeepinsideofme.Hedoesn’tpullout.Warmthflowsthroughme,mymusclestwitching,mypussythrobbing.
Idon’tknowthatIcouldevergetenoughofthis.
Hepullsout,butIstaythere,lyingagainstthetable,watchinghim.Hepullshispantsup,buttoningandzippingthem,beforeploppingbackdowninhischair.Exhalingloudly,hescrubshishandsdownhisfacebeforepullingouthisAltoidstin,retrievingajointandlightingit.
“Ifyou’rehopingforanotherround,you’llbewaitingawhile,”hesays.“Myheadisfuckingkillingmetoday.”
Ismilesoftly.“I’mgood,thanks.”
Hesmokesinsilenceforamoment,hisgazescanningmebeforeheasks,“Wereyouseriousaboutwhatyousaid?”
“Yes,”Ianswer.
“DoyouevenknowwhatI’mtalkingabout?”
“No,butifIsaidit,Imeantit.”
Hestartstosaysomethingwhenringingcutsthroughtheroom.Pullinghisphonefromhispocket,heglancesatit,browfurrowing.
Hiseyesflickerbacktomeashepressesabutton,bringingittohisear.“Gambini.”
There’sabriefmomentwhereLorenzodoesn’tspeak.
“Ah,Aristotle,”hesays,soundingamused.“Iseeyoufinallygrewasackandunblockedyournumber.Goodforyou.I’mproud.”
Mysmilefalls.Kassian
Ican’tseetheman.Ican’tevenhearhisvoice.Milesseparateus,asdothousandsofpeople,butknowinghe’sjustabreathawayonthephonemakesitfeellikehe’srightinfrontofmeagain.
Myinsidescoil.
Myknees,theygoweak.Idesperatelywishtheywouldn’t.ButKassianislikepoison.Justatinytasteonmytongueisenoughtotakemedown.Ihateit,reactingtohim,butIcan’thelpit.Itignitesaspark,floodingmewithmemories,aflip-bookofallthecruelthingshe’sdone,thewayshe’ssingle-handedlybrokenmyreality.
Lorenzo’seyesstayfixedonmeashesitsthere,listeningtoKassian.IwishIknewwhathewassaying,butatthesametime,I’mterrifiedtohearwhatmightcomefromhismouth.
“Thatdoesn’tworkforme,”Lorenzoresponds.“Whydon’tIcometoyouinstead?”
Mystomachsinks.
“Gotit,”Lorenzosays.
Hehangsup,slippingthephonebackintohispocket,beforestandingupfromhischair.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.“Whatdoeshewant?”
Pausingbehindme,Lorenzo’shandbrushesagainstmyass,beforeslidingfurtherdown,betweenmythighs,caressingme.Myquestiongoesunanswered,unsurprisingly.Heslipsasinglefingerinside,carefullyslidingitinandout,asheleansdown,trailingkissesalongmyshoulderblade.I’msore,buthe’ssogentle.
Imoan
“You’reinsatiable,”hesays,hismouthtrailingalongmyspine.
“You’rejustaddictive,”Iwhisper,“andI’mturningintoajunkie.”
Heslidesanotherin.
Iclosemyeyesashefinger-fucksme.
Iwhimper,groaninghisname.“Lorenzo.”
Everythingelseisincoherentasanorgasmstirs.Mybodylocksup,mymusclescontractingattheswellofpleasurethatfadesawayalltoofastagain.
Pullinghishandaway,hereachesforme,andIopenmyeyesinjustenoughtimetoseeitashisfingersbrushagainstmymouth.Mylipspart,andhepusheshisfingersin,thetasteofbothofusonmytongue.
Hewatchesme,smiling.
“Hewantstohaveaconversation,”Lorenzosays,pullinghisfingersfrommymouthashestartstowalkaway.“SoI’mgoingtohumorhim,youknow,forthemoment,justtohearwhathehastosay.”
Ishoveawayfromthetablewhenhesaysthat,movingsofastittearsapartasectionofhispuzzle,piecesstickingtothesweatyskinofmystomach.Ugh.Iripthemoff,tossingthemontothetable,asIyankmypantsup.
“Youcan’t,”Isay.“Youcan’tjustgotohim.”
“Whynot?”
“Becauseitdoesn’tworkthatway.”
Hestallsinthedoorway.“Andwhatwaydoesitwork,Scarlet?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay,“butnotlikethis.Notonhisterms.He’snotsomeoneyoucanjusttalkto.He’snotsomeoneyoucanrationalizewith.Iknow.Don’tyouthinkI’vetried?Hemanipulatespeople,andhetwiststhings,andheusesittohisadvantage,andhedoesn’ttakenoforananswer.Ever.Whenhemakesuphismind,that’sit.Youcan’tappealtohishumanitybecausethereisnone.”
“Wellit’sagoodthingthat’snotwhatI’mdoing.”
“Whatareyoudoing?”
“I’mgoingtokillhim.”
Thosewordsknockthebreathfrommylungs.
Igasp.
“Wait,youcan’t!”Ishoutashewalksout,runningafterhim.“Please,Lorenzo.Youcan’tjustkillhim!”
He’sgothisphonetohisear,callingsomebody,ashereachesthefrontdoorofthehouse,lookingbackatme.Thatwoundedlookflashesinhisface,likeIagainoffendedhim,ashegrindsout,“Don’ttellmeyoucarewhathappenstothebastard.”
“No,but—”
“But,”hesays,cuttingmeoff.“There’salwaysabut,isn’tthere?”
“Youdon’tunderstand.”
“You’reright,”hesays.“Idon’t.Theguyterrifiesyou,andfortheloveoffuck,Idon’tknowwhy.What’shegotonyou,huh?Whatisitabouthimthathasyouwoundsotightthatyou’restandinginmyhallway,halfnaked,shaking,notwantingmetogoblowhisbrainsoutsoyou’llstop?Imean,doyoulikethis?Isthatit?Areyouhavingthetimeofyourlifepissingyourpantsoverthisasshole?Becauseifthat’sthecase,carryon,baby.Don’tletmestopthisgameyou’replaying.”
Icanfeeltearswellinginmyeyes,myvoicecrackingasIsay,“It’snotlikethat.”
Hesensesit,Ithink,becausehisexpressionhardens,thatangerrushingbackintohim.“Soyou’rejustapussy,huh?Maybethat’swhatyourScarletLetterstandsfor.Justafuckingscaredy-cat.ButI’mnotputtingupwiththatshit.Itmakesnosense.”
Lorenzowalksout,slammingthefrontdoorbehindhim,andIclosemyeyes,tryingtokeeptearsfromfalling.
Faceyourfearsandwipeyourtears.
“Sasha,”Iwhisper,eventhoughhe’sgone,wrappingahandaroundmywristtightly,mypalmcoveringthetattoo.“It’sallforSasha.”ChapterTwenty-Five
Thediceclatteredalongthekitchenbartop,comingtoastopinthecenterofit.Thelittlegirlstooduponthestool,practicallyclimbingontopofthebar,crawlingacrossit.
“One…two…three…”
Shepointed,countingthedots,asaloudhuffsoundedoutacrossfromher,socloseshecouldsmellthestalestenchofbreath.Vodka.ShescrunchedhernoseupattheCowardlyLion.Yuck
Hestaredatherimpatiently.“Well?Whatisit?”
“I’mcountingthem,”shesaid,lookingbackatthedice.
“Hurryitup,”hesaid.“Idon’thaveallday.”
Thelittlegirlwasprettysurehedidhaveallday,sinceallheeverseemedtodomostdayswashangaroundthere,butshedidn’tsaythat,countingthedots.
Sixonone;fiveontheother.
“Sixandfive,”shesaid.
“Whichis…?”
Shehesitated,countingthedotsalltogether.“Eleven.”
“Eleven,”heagreed,snatchingupthedicetorollthemagain,lookingatherpointedly.“Well?Whatisit?”
Aroundandaround,againandagain,hekeptrollingandshekeptcounting.Learning
Footstepsheadedtheirway,theTinManstrollingintothekitchen,hisbrowfurrowingasheglaredathersprawledoutacrossthebar.“Whatareyoudoing?”
“Counting,”shesaid.
“I’mteachingherhowtoadd,”theCowardlyLionchimedin,takingadrinkfromhisbottle.“She’sterribleatit.”
Thelittlegirlgroaned,sittingbackonthestool.“It’snofun!”
“Lifeisn’tfun,”theCowardlyLionsaid,pointinghisbottleather.“Youdon’twanttobedumb,doyou,littlegirl?”
“I’mnotdumb,”shesaid,crossingherarmsoverherchest.“Mymommy—”
“Mommyordummy?”heasked,laughingthatmeanwayhesometimesdid.“Likemother,likedaughter,eh?”
“Enough,”theTinMansaidasheapproached,snatchingthelittlegirloffthestoolandsettingheronherfeet.“Runalong,kitten.”
Shestompedoff,headingupstairs,andploppeddownatthedeskinthebedroom,crayonsandpaperscatteredallaroundinfrontofher.Herchestfeltalltight,likeherheartwassadtonight.
Sixmonths.Halfayear.
Thelittlegirldidn’tknowhowmanyweeksthatwas,muchlesshowmanydays.ButshedidknowitwastheendofDecember,whichmeantChristmaswascoming.
Grabbingafreshpieceofpaper,shestarteddrawing,asthefirstbitofwintersnowfelloutsideherwindow.Shedrewuntilthesunsetoverthecity,untildarknesscreptin.
Whenshefinishedherfirstpicture,shemovedontoanother,notstoppinguntilthatonewasdone,too.
“Perfect,”shesaid,holdingthemup,grinning,beforesnatchingupBusterfromthecornerofthedeskandmakingherwaybackdownstairs.Itwasgettinglate,reallylate,andallthewingedmonkeysweregone.
ShewonderediftheTinManwassleeping,withhowquietitwas,butflickeringlightfilteredoutfromtheden.Thedoorswerecrackedopen,sosheslippedbetweenthem.
TheTinMansatinhischairnearthefire,holdingabottleofvodka,hissuitallrumpled.
“Daddy?”shewhispered,carefullyapproaching.
“IthoughtItoldyoutorunalong.”
Hedidn’tevenlookupashesaidthat,legsspreadout,hisbodyslouched.Hisvoicewaslow,likesandpaperagain.
“Idid,”shesaid,“but…”
Hiseyesrose,bloodshotbutgray.Notallblacktoday.“But?”
“Idrewyouapicture,”shesaid,holdinguponeofherdrawings.
Heregardedherinsilenceforamomentbeforemotioningforhertoapproach.Shewalkeduptohim,holdingthedrawingout,standingstillashetookit.Itwasapictureofthebeach,theonehe’dtakenhertomonthsago.She’devendrawntheridesthathadbeennearby,liketheFerriswheel.She’dhopedhe’dtakeherbackthere,maybewhenitwasopen,buthehadn’tletherleavethehousesincethen.
Afterlookingatthepicture,hesetitonthetable.“Whatelsedoyouhave?”
Thelittlegirllookedattheseconddrawing,herheartracing.“ApictureofMommy.”
“Apicture,”herepeated,“ofyourmother.”
Shenoddedbeforeremindingherself:useyourwords.“IdrewitforherforChristmas.Ididn’tknowhowtodrawher,really,Ididn’tknowifherhairgotlongorwhatsheworeormaybeshegottaller,butIdrewherlikeIremember,andmaybeIcanseeheronChristmas,oryoucangiveittoher?”
Hefrownedandheldhishandout.“Giveithere.”
Shehandedittohim.
Heclutchedthesidesofthepaper,hiskneemoving,rockingbackandforth,ashestaredatthepictureinsilence.
“Ididn’tknowifyouhadwrappingpaper,”shecontinued.“Canwegetatreenow?Icandecorateitandputthepictureunderit.Mommylikedthestarontop.”
Hesighed.“Wearenotgettingatree,kitten.”
“We’renot?”
“Whatisthepoint?Soyoucanclimbit?”
“It’sChristmas,”shesaid.“SantaClausbringspresents.”
“WedonotcelebrateChristmas.”Hesetthepicturedowninhislap.“Wearenotreligious.”
“ButSanta—”
“Isnotreal.”
Shegasped.Itfeltlikehehither.“You’relying!”
“No,yourmotherlied,”hesaid.“Sheliedtome.Sheliedtoyou.Thatisallsheeverdid.Lie,lie,lie,lie,lie!”
Heshoutedtheword‘lie’soloudthatsheflinched,takingastepback,tearsstinginghereyes.
“No!”Sheshookherhead,clutchingBustertightly.“Whyareyousayingthatstuff?”
“Becauseitistrue,”hesaid,snatchingupherdrawing,crumplingitashewaveditather,nearlysmackingherinthefacewithit.“Thiswoman?Yourprecious‘Mommy’,withthoseeyesandthosehipsandthoselips?Sheliedtoyou,kitten—hideouslies!ShemadeyouthinkIwasthebadone,butthatwasher.Shebetrayedme.Shekeptyoufromme,myownfleshandblood.Youweremine!Iwouldratheryouaredead…Iwouldratherendyourlifethaneverletthatsukahaveyouforherself.Shegetsnothing!”
Thelittlegirltookanotherstepback,awayfromhim,herbottomliptrembling.“Stopsayingthatstuff!It’snotright,sostopit!”
“Youdonottellmewhattodo.Itellyou!WhatIsaygoes!”
“Ihateyou!”sheyelled.“Youhavenoheartinyou!”
Sheranout,headingupstairs,movingasfastasherlegswouldcarryher,tearsstreamingdownhercheeks.Shehatedhim.Shehatedhimsomuch.Shewenttoherroomandslammedthedoor,jumpingintothebed.
“He’slying,”shewhispered,huggingBuster,squeezinghereyesshut.“Mommylovesus.Mommydoesn’tlie.He’sjustmean,andbig,andugly!”
Footstepsechoeddownthehallway,comingnear,stompingagainstthewood,determined.Angry.Herbedroomdoorflungopen,slammingintothewall,andthelittlegirlcurledtighterintoaball.Themomentshefeltthemattressdip,shesawhisface,bitterandbloodshotandrightthere
“Youwanttohateme?”heasked.“Iwillgiveyoureasonto.”
Sheheldherbreath,terrified,waitingforthehurtshethoughthe’dmakeherfeel,likethewayhehurtmother,butitdidn’thappen.
No,thishurtwasdifferent
Hegrabbedherarm,yankingBusterfromhergrasp.
Shegasped,tryingtosnatchhimback,buttheTinManwastoostrong.HeclutchedBuster,handwrappedaroundthebear’sneck,andstormedawaywithoutanotherword.
“No!”Thelittlegirljumpedoutofbed,chasinghim.“Please,Daddy!No!Please!I’msorry!”
Shetriedtoshovearoundhim,togetBusterback,grabbingaholdofhisshirt,clutchingittightlyasshetriedtostophim,buthejustdraggedheralong.
Thelittlegirlbeggedthewholewaydownthestairs.Heheadedfortheden,stillutterlysilent,onamission,sherealized,ashenearedthefireplacewithBuster.
“No!”shescreamed,collapsingtothefloor.“Please,Daddy!Idon’thateyou!Please,canIkeephim?I’msorry!”
Hewalkedstraighttothefireplace,ignoringherwords,actingasifshewereinvisible.HeheldBusterout,overthefire,theflameslappingatthebear,asparksettinghisfootonfire.
Shescreeched.“Idon’thateyou!No!Please!Iloveyou,Daddy!”
HepulledBusterbackwhenshesaidthosewords,beatingthebearagainstthewall,extinguishingthesmallflameonhissingedpaw.Heturnedtoherasshehyperventilated,hervisionblurrybutshecouldseeBusterwasokay.
Hewasn’tinthefire.
TheTinManapproached,crouchingdown,holdingthebearupinherface,butthesecondshereachedforit,hepulleditaway.“Youloveme,kitten?”
Shenoddedfrantically.
“Useyourwords.”
“Iloveyou,Daddy.”
Hiseyesscannedherfacebeforeheleanedover,pressingakisstoherforehead,whispering,“Youliejustlikeher.”
Standingup,stillcarryingBuster,hewalkedbackovertothefireplace,butinsteadoftossinghimintotheflames,hesethimonthemantle.
“Youtouchhim,Iburnhim,andIwillburnyou,too,kitten.YouwillgethimbackwhenIsayyougethimback.Untilthen,hewillsitrighthereasareminder.”
TheTinManwalkedout,andthelittlegirljustsatthere,staringatthemantle,rocking,sobbing,asshewhispered,“I’msosorry,Buster.”ChapterTwenty-Six
“Boss?”
“Yes,Seven?”
“Areyousureaboutthis?”
Whoeversaidtherewerenosuchthingsasstupidquestionswaswrong.I’veheardsomestupidquestionsinmylife.Usuallytheycomeinclusters:Whydoyouhavethatgun?Whatareyoudoing?Areyougoingtokillme?Uh,duh.I’msureashellnotgoingtoshootmyself.Thefearofdeath,youknow,ittendstooverridecommonsense,whichmakestheend,forsome,prettydamnpathetic.OhGod,whyareyoudoingthis?Howcouldyou?BANG.
Certainlynotthekindof‘lastwords’Iwanttohave.
AndSeven,well,Ihaverespectfortheguy,buthe’snotoriousforaskingstupidquestions.
“DoIlooksureaboutthis?”
“Yes,”hesaysrightaway.
“Well,thereyougo,then.”
Truthfully,I’mnotsureatall,butI’dneverletanyoneknowthat,notevenSeven.
Andbeforeyousayshit,I’mwellawarethatIjusttoldyou,butyoudon’tcountsostoptryingtoinjectyourselfintothedamnstory.Thisisanimportantmoment.
Thehousebeforemeisprettydamnbig.Threestoriestall,wideandsquareinshape,isolatedfromtheotherhousesintheneighborhood,offtowardthewaterfrontjustalongtheoutskirtsofBrightonBeach.It’sdarkout,apitch-blacknightwherethecloudsovershadoweverything,butthefrontofthehouseisilluminated.
Thetoptwofloorsarecompletelyblackedout,butdownstairsIseesomedimlightsonthroughtheblindsinsomeofthewindows.He’shome.Iknowheis.Heinvitedmeover.Andhe’snotalone,likeIknewhewouldn’tbe,sothatdoesn’tbotherme.
Whatdoesbotherme,though,isthatitalllookssonormal.JustonceIwanttoshowupsomewhereandtheplacebeadungeon,withguillotinesandtorturechambers.Hell,givemeafuckingdragon.I’llslayit.Butno,it’salwaysthis,alwaysamaskofnormalcytheywearwithease.
Igetit,youknow.I’mahypocrite.LookatwhereIlive.Butwecan’tallbesoccermomsdrivingmini-vans,downingprescriptionpillswithentirebottlesofMerlot.Someofusarejustcrackwhoresswiggingfifthsofvodkaonstreetcorners.
Ifitwalkslikeaduck,ifitquackslikeaduck,it’safuckingduck,youknowwhatI’msaying?AndjustonceIwanttoshootagoddamnduck.
Figurativelyspeaking.
Yeah,we’veswungbackaroundtotheanimalmetaphors.WhatcanIsay?Mylifeisexhausting.
“Comeon,”ItellSeven.“Can’tbelateforourdatewiththeStepfordwife.”
SeventrailsmeasIwalkthepathstraighttothefrontdoorofthemansion.Adoormatliesthere,somethingwritteninRussianonit.Mightsay‘fuckoff’butitprobablysays‘welcome’,sincehe’sinthebusinessofpretendingtobeaccommodating.
Itrytheknoboutofhabit.It’slockeduptight.Thepeephole,Icantellit’sacamera,whichtellsmethewholeplaceisprobablywired.AchimeechoesthroughthehousewhenIpressthedoorbell,loudenoughthatIcanhearit,andittakesdamnnearaminuteforwhoever’sansweringtoundoallofthelocksonthedooranddisarmanalarmsystem.
That’sahellofalotofsecurity.
Thedooropens.
BrotherBearisstandingthere.Markel
He’ssquinting,hisrighteyelidswollen,theeyehorriblybloodshot.Laughterburstsoutofme,makinghimgrowrigid.
“Condolencesontheeye,”Isay,pointingathisface.“You’rejustastepawayfrombeingme,buddy.Yououghttobemorecareful.”
“Youthinkthisisfunny?”hegrowls,comingatmewhenavoiceshoutsoutfrominsidethehouse.
“Markel!Whereareyourmanners?”
“Mymanners?”Markelasks,steppingback,outoftheway,asAristovapproachesthedoor.
“Yes,”Aristovsays.“MisterScarisourguest.”
“Helaughedatme!”
“Ilaughedatyoureye,”Icorrecthim.“Idon’treallyfindyoufunny,Baloo.”
Helooksasifhewantstoattackme,butAristovgrabshisshoulder,pullinghimawayfromthedoor.“Nowisnotthetime,Markel.”
Markelgrumblestohimself,stormingoff.
“Youwillhavetoexcusemybrother,”Aristovsays.“Heisusuallyourvoiceofreason,butheisalittleupsettonight.Acertainlittlepussycatclawedhimwhenhetriedtobringherhome.”
Sevenclearshisthroatbehindme,saying,“Morgan.”
“Morgan,”Aristovrepeatswithadrylaugh.“Suchaplainnameforsomeoneso…colorful.”
Thewayhewordsthatmakesmymusclestwitch.Itwasdeliberate,withoutadoubt.
“Anyway,joinme,”Aristovsays,movingaside,motioningintothehouse.
Isteppasthim,rightinside.
Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.Idiot,right?Walkingintoanotherlion’sden,likeit’snothing.Butsomethingyououghttoknowisthisisn’tthefirsttimeI’vedoneit.Alionismorecomfortableinhishome,surroundedbyhispride,andwhenhegetscomfortable,hisguardgoesdown.He’sconfident,whichbecomescocky,becausehethinkshecan’tbetouched,andcockyturnsintocareless,whichworkstomyadvantage.
Besides,what’stheworstthatcanhappen?
Heshootsme,BANG,dead?
I’lljustcomebackandhauntthesonofabitch.
Sevenfollowsmeinside,andIseehimvisiblytensewhenAristovshutsthedoor,takingthetimetosecureallthelocksandrearmthealarmsystem.
“Joinmeintheden,”Aristovsays,glancingatme.“Wecanspeakprivatelythere.”
IfollowhimwithSevenonmyheelstheentireway.
Assoonaswestepinside,Aristov’sgazeflickerstoSeven.“Iwillnotharmyourboss.Promise.Soyoucanrelax,helpyourselftoadrinkinthekitchen,makeyourselfathome.”
“I’llpass,”Sevensays,ahardedgetohisvoice.
Aristovsmiles.“Suityourself,MisterPratt.”
Pratt
BrunoPrattisSeven’sgivenname,somethingtheyclearlyknow.Aristovdidhishomework.Heknowsmorethanheshould
Reachingtothefloor,Aristovgrabsablackduffelbaganddropsitontopofasquarewoodentable,surroundedbyleatherfurniture.Itlandswithathud.Heunzipsit,shovingitopen,flashingthecontents.
Money.
Alotofmoney.
Stacksandstacksofmoney.
“Amilliondollars,”hesays,matteroffact,answeringanunaskedquestionashetakesaseatinoneofthechairs.“Allhundreddollarbills.”
MygazeshiftsfromthemoneytoAristov.“Youdoubledthereward.”
Henods.“AllyouhavetodoisgivemeherlocationsoIcanbringherhome.”
“Home,huh?Shetoldmehomewasawhitehousewithareddoorandwoodfloors.Thisdoesn’treallyfitthebill,Aristotle.”
Hisexpressionfreezesonhisface,hissmilelikeplastic.“Thatwasneverherhome.”
“Yousureaboutthat?”
Heleansbackinthechair,crossinghisarmsoverhischest.“Mysweetgirl,shedoesnotknowwhatisbestforher.”
“Butyoudo?”
“Ofcourse.EverythingIdoisforherowngood.”
Thisisforyourowngood.HowmanytimesdidIhearthosewords?Toomany,andneveronceweretheygenuine.Foryourowngoodwassynonymouswithviolenceinmylifeforwaytoomanyyears.
“Whatdoyouwantherfor?”Sevenasks,chimingin.“That’salotofmoney.Shemust’vedonesomethingtodeserveit.”
Aristovlooksathim.“Youaremarried,Mr.Pratt,correct?Youhaveafamily,yes?”
Sevendoesn’tanswer,juststaringathim,butthat’sasgoodasa‘yes’toAristov.
“Iimagineyoudoeverythingforthem,”Aristovcontinues.“Iamthesameway.Wearenotmuchdifferent.IdowhatImustfortheonesIlove.”
“Youloveher?”Sevenasks.“That’swhatyou’resaying?”
“Oh,absolutely,”Aristovsays.“Ilovethesukatodeath.”
Suka
Thatwordstickstomymind.
“Seven,whydon’tyougogetthatdrink,”Isuggest.“Givemeamomentalonewithhim.”
Sevenhesitates,likehedoesn’twanttogo,buthewalksoutafteramoment,leavingme.
Strollingover,IsitdowninanemptychairnearAristov,alreadytiredofthislittlegamehe’stryingtoplay.Ihelpmyselftoabottleofliquorfromthetable,examiningthelabel.Russian.“Vodka,I’mguessing?”
Aristovregardsmecuriously.“Ofcourse.”
It’shalf-empty,pisswarm,butitdoesn’tmatter.Icrackitopen,takingaswigstraightfromthebottle,andhissattheintenseburnthathitsmychestwhenIswallow.
Aristovlaughs.“Good?”
“Strong.”
Heswipesthebottlefrommeandtakesabigdrink,guzzlingitlikehe’ssuckingdownwater.
“Vodkaislikeawoman,”hesays,pullingbottlefromhislips.
“Therougher,thebetter?”
Heoffersittomeagain.“Soyouunderstand.”
Shrugging,Itakeitback,takinganothersip,lettingtheburnbuzzthroughmysystem.Mytoleranceisprettydamnhigh,sinceCubanrumflowsthroughmybloodontheregular,butRussianvodkaisawholedifferentballgame.It’slikegasoline.Paintthinner.Icanfeelit,mybodyhumming.I’mprettysurethat’swhathewants.Hethinkswe’rebonding.HethinksifIgetdrunk,I’llslipup,buthedoesn’tknowme.
I’mnotgivinghimshit
MygazescanstheroomasIdrink.Aristovistalking,justramblingawayaboutmorewayswomenarelikevodka—likehowtheemptierthebottlegets,thebetterhefeels.Ipretendtolistenuntil,well,Idon’tgiveashittopretendanymore.Soonerorlaterhe’llgetthemessage,andI’dpreferittobesoonerratherthanlater.TheonlyreasonIbotheredcomingistosolveScarlet’sproblem.
Mygazedriftstowardafireplacealongthewall,feelingthewarmthradiatingfromtheflames,smellingahintofthewoodsysmoke.Iadmirethefireforasheyammersawaybeforemyattentionagainshifts,thistimetothemantleaboveit.
Ateddybearsitsthere.
I’mnotevenkidding.
It’sobviouslyold,stuffingspringingoutofholes,missingagoddamneye,andfilthyfromscruffyheadtocharredfoot.It’soutofplace,surroundedbyallofthisforcedelegance.
Serialkillers,youknow,theysometimeskeepsouvenirs.Trophies,theycallthem,remindersoftheshitthey’vedonesotheycanrelivethemomentsagainandagain.Jewelry.Panties.Photographs.Bodyparts.Whatevergotthemoff,whatevergotthebloodpumpingdownbelow.
Andthisbear,glowinglikeabeacononthemantle,isscreamingtrophyatme.Myinsidescoil,mystomachchurningmoreandmorethemoreIlookatit.We’retalkingaboutamanwithareputationfortraffickingwomen.He’sinthebusinessofsellingbodies.I’mputtingnothingpasthim.
Ifthatbearindicateswhatmymindisconjuring,I’llburnthishousetothegroundwithallofusinsideofit,justsoIdiewiththepleasureofbeingabletousherthatassholepersonallystraighttohellinthefire.
“Buster.”
Thesoundofhisvoice,loudernow,drawsmyattention.IglancebackatAristov,raisinganeyebrowinquestion.Buster?
“Thebear,”hesayscasually,helpinghimselftothebottleclutchedinmyhand,pullingitfrommygrasp.“ItisnamedBuster.”
“Younamedthefuckingthing?”
Helaughs.“Ididnotnameit.Itcamewiththename.Astupidone,Isay,butwhatdoyouexpectfromalittlegirlwithsomuchstupidinherblood?”
Helaughs,yetagain,thesoundrunningthroughme,strikingsomethingrawandsettingmeoff.Idon’tthink,justreact,pullingmygunoutandcockingthesonofabitch,aimingitathisforehead.
Seconds.Mereseconds.Thatwasallittook.Myfingerhoversonthetrigger,lightlypressingit.I’llblowhisfuckingbrainsout.
Whatkindofsickfuckmesseswithalittlegirl?
Hestaresatme.
Hedoesn’tcower.
Doesn’tbeg.
Doesn’taskthosestupidquestionsIalwaysget.
No,hetakesaswigofvodka,aslightsmileonhislips,andjustwaits,likehedoesn’tthinkI’lldoit.I’mnotamanwhohesitates,butI’malsonotamanusedtodealingwithsuchfearlessness
Afterafewseconds,whilehe’sstillbreathing,hepullsthebottlefromhislips,pointingitatmeasheasks,“Didshetellyouabouther?”
“Who?”
“MyMorgan,”hesays.“YourScarlet.Thatiswhatyoucallher,no?”
“Whatabouther?”
“DidshetellyouaboutSasha?”
Sasha
Idon’tanswerthat,havingnoideawhathe’stalkingabout,butthat’salltheanswerheneeds.
Helaughsyetagain.
“Oh,no,ofcourseshehasnottoldyou,”hesays.“Whywouldshe?Sillyman,withagun…goahead,shootme.Shewillbeheartbrokenwhenyoudo.Youwillbekillingher,too.Eitherway,Iwin.”
BeforeIcandoanything,heshovesupfromthechair,hisforeheadmomentarilypressingagainstthemuzzleasherisestohisfeet.Ikeeptheguntrainedonhimashestrollsovertothefireplace.Hehesitates,standingthere,staringatthemantle,beforehegrabsthebear.Hishandwrapsaroundthething,clutchingitbytheneckasheapproaches.
Hedropsitonthetableinfrontofme.
“Takeit,”hesays.“Itisonlycollectingdustherenow.IamsureitwillmakeMorganhappytoseeitagain.”
Hestepsbymetowalkaway.Ikeeptheguntrainedonhim,butIstilldon’tpullthetrigger.
Colormecurious.“Who’sSasha?”
Aristovstallsinthedoorway,glancingbackatme.Idon’texpecthimtoanswer,figuringhe’llgivemesomelineaboutaskingScarlet,whenheletsoutadeepsighandsays,“Mydaughter,ofcourse.”
Daughter
Ofcourse
PuzzlepiecesIneverbotheredtoconnectshovethemselvestogether,likeIshould’vealreadyriddledoutthebiggerpicturehere.Themanhasadaughter,andit’snottakingageniustofigureoutwherehemight’vegottenthatdaughter.
Orrather,whogavehimthatdaughter.
Isawthescaronherstomach.
Iseeiteverytimeshetakesoffherclothes.
It’sthere,moreprominentthantheotherscarspepperingherbody,butshe’sneverbroughtitup,soIalwaysletitgo.Whateverstoryisbehinditmustbeoneshedoesn’twanttotell.BecauseI’vegivenherampleopportunitytospillit.Tellmeastory.Butshe’dratherspewsomebullshitfairytales.
Iknowscars,though.Iknowthekindofscarabulletleavesbehind.Iknowthekindleftfromaknife.Gashes,andwelts,andburns—thescarsarerecognizable.Icanreadabodylikeabookandtellyoueverythingithasbeenthrough.Alitanyoffuckinghorrorstorieswrittenrightontotheflesh.Iknowthestoryofametalshoveltotheface,bluntforcetraumathatshould’vekilledateenageboybutinsteadturnedhimintoanightmare.
Butthemostrecognizablescarsaredeliberate,theonescausedbyacarefullycontrolledcutwithascalpel.Iknowwhenyou’vehadyourappendixremoved,whenyou’vehadopen-heartsurgery,whenyou’vehadatracheotomy…
AndIknowwhenyou’vehadC-section.
It’sdamnnearimpossibletohidethattruth.
Easiertoignore,though.
Believeme,Iignoredit.
Can’tignoreitanymore.
I’mafuckingfool
“Whereisshe?”Iask.“Yourdaughter?”
Hesmiles.“Shootme,MisterScar,andyouwillneverknow.”
***
Idon’ttakekindlytobeingthreatened.
Blackmail?Coercion?Notfuckinghappening
Igetit,youknow…thereareconsequencestoeveryaction.Causeandeffect.Ifthis,thenthat.Butthereareconsequencestoinaction,too,andthat’ssomethingpeopledon’toftenrealize.
Scarletislivingtheconsequencesrightnowbecausenobodyhasstoppedthisfromhappening.
Mystepfather’svoicebouncesaroundinmyheadasIsitinthepassengerseatofmycar,slouchingdowninthedark,theobnoxiousding-ding-dingingoftheputonyourfuckingseatbeltwarningechoingthroughthesmallspace.
Aclearconsciencejustmeansyou’vegotabadmemory.Heusedtosayitallthetime.AndI’vegottatellyou,rightaboutnow,IwishIcouldcatchacaseofamnesiaandhavemymemorywiped,becausemyconscienceismuddledtonight.
“Speak,”Isaysharply,myvoicemakingSevenjumpashespeedstowardQueens.Hekeepscastingsidelongglancesmyway,notsayingadamnword,subtletynothisstrongsuit.“Askyourquestionsorgetoutofmycar.”
“Whathappened?”
“Whathappened?”Irepeat.“Youwannamaybespecifyabit?Becausealothashappenedinmylife,Seven,andI’mnotinterestedinspillingmygutstoyoulikealittlebitch.”
Hehesitates,turningontheblinkertomakealeftturn.Oncehe’sontothenextroad,mergingbackintotraffic,heletsoutanexaggeratedsigh.“Letsgowithwhydoyouhaveateddybear?”
“Giftfrommyfavoritephilosopher,”Isay,glaringatthethingasitrestsonthedashboard.
Sevendoesn’tunderstand,butit’snotmyplacetoexplainittohim.Hell,I’mstilltryingtowrapmyheadarounditall.Igetit,it’sallthere,buthowtodealwithitisanothermatter.
Themorehestaysoutofit,thebetteroffheis.
“Look,they’vegothistory,”Isay.“Hewantsherback.Shedoesn’twanttogo.He’sgettingdesperate.That’sallyoureallyneedtoknow.Iwasgoingtoshoothim,butIdecidednotto,sohereweare.You’reallcaughtup.Nowgetmetomyhouse,andthengohometoyourwife,anddon’tworryaboutwhatelsemight’vehappened,becauseit’snotyourproblem.Justworryaboutyourself.”
Henodsonceandsaysnothingelse,therestofthedrivecompletesilence.
Well,exceptfortheseatbeltwarning.
ThehouseislitupwhenIgetthere.Sevengivesmemykeys,andItakemyphone,beforesnatchinguptheoldteddybear,carryingitbyitsburnedfoot.
Iheadinside,sayinggoodnighttoSeven.
ThefirstthingIhearwhenIopenthefrontdoorisanothergoddamnsongbeingsung.
SomeoneputBabyinacornerandPatrickSwayzegotpissed.BlahBlahBlah.Youknowwhatitis.
Leoandhisgirlfriendarecuddlingonthenewcouch.Isliprightpastthem,headingforthelibrary,findingitemptyanddark.ThefirstthingInotice,though,ismypuzzlehasbeenfixed,thebrokenpiecesstuckbacktogether.
NoScarlet,though.
Walkingbackout,Iheadforthestairs,hearingmybrothershoutoutasIpassthelivingroom.“Hey,bro!”
Istallinthedoorway,noddingingreeting.“YouseenScarlet?”
“No,”hesays.“Mightbeupstairs,though.”
“Ifigured.”
“Iseeyougotusanewcouch.”Herunshishandalongtheleatherarm.“Where’dyougetit?”
“Stoleitfromastripclub.”
Helaughs,likeI’mjoking,soIjustwalkoffbeforehecomestotherealizationthathe’scuddlinghisgirlfriendonacouchwheredozensofmenhaveprobablyjackedoff.
Itrudgeupstairs.It’sdark.Ithinkmaybeshe’stryingtosleep,butthebedisempty,asisthebathroom.Iturntoleavewhenmygazecatchessomethinginmyreflectionabovethedresser.
Reachingover,Iflickonthelight,stoppingwhereIam.Lipstickissmearedonthemirror,twowordsscribbledinred.
I’msorry
She’sgone.
Iknowit.
Thosewordstellmethat.
That’sasgoodasa‘goodbye’asI’mprobablygetting,asfarasfarewellsgowiththiswoman.
Idon’tlikeit.ChapterTwenty-Seven
Sunriseiscoming
There’sahintoflightonthehorizon,thepitchblackskyadeeppurplehueintheeast,slowlypushingtowardblue.Anotherhourorsoandtheskylinewillbestreakedwithcolors,orangeandpinkandwhiteasthesunsettlesin,daylightarriving.It’sweird,thetwitchofanticipationIfeel.
Ihaven’twatchedthesuncomeupinweeks.I’mstillawakewheneverithappens,myinternalclocksettoseeit,butthecloudsorbuildingshaveblockedmyview.
Imissit.
Imissher
Itrynottothinkaboutitsomuch.Maybethat’shardforyoutounderstand.Butdwellinggetsmenoclosertofindingtheendtothisdrawn-outnightmare.SoIcompartmentalize.Ituckitaway,deepinsideofme,lockingitupsomewheresafewheretheworldcan’ttouchit,whererealitycan’treachitortrytotakeitfromme.Itgetsmethrougheveryminuteofeveryhour.Withoutit,I’mnotsureI’dsurvivemuchlonger.
“Shoveyourapologyupyourass,Scarlet.Idon’tacceptit.”
Thevoicecallsoutbehindme,loudandbrash,agenuinehintofangerinhiswordsthatmakesachillflowthroughme.
Lorenzo.
I’mstandingontheledgeontheroofofthisapartmentbuildingagain,oneofthelastplacesIshouldbe,probably,butIknewI’dbeabletocatchthesunrisefromhere.
Guessheknewit,too.
Didn’ttakehimlongtofindme.
Ididn’texpecthimtobother,tobehonest,butthere’sthatlittlepartofmethatselfishlyhopedhecared.Heshouldn’t,becauseIbringnothingbuttrouble,butstill…Iyearntomeansomething.
Doyouknowwhatthat’slike?
Toknowyou’repoisonbutstillbedesperateforsomeonetosipfromyouanyway?
“Didyoukillhim?”Iaskquietly,staringoutatthecity,overtowardBrooklyn,whereIknowhewentlastnight.WhereIknowheheardmytruth.Howmuchofit,I’mnotsure,butknowingKassian,itwouldbejustenough
“Wantedto,”hesays.“Thoughtaboutit.Almostdidit.Butno,he’sstillalive.”
ThereliefIfeelsickensme.Theworldaroundmespins.Iclosemyeyes,totakeadeepbreath,tryingtocalmmyacheychest.
IhearLorenzoapproach.Hepurposelysnuckuponme,makingnonoiseonhiswaytotheroof,buthe’sbeingdeliberateaboutitnow,warningmehe’scomingcloser.
Openingmyeyesagain,Icarefullyturnaround,wordsonthetipofmytongueabouthowItrulyamsorryhegotmixedupinmymess,whenthewindisknockedrightoutofme.Itfeelslikeafistslamsintomygut.Igasp.Myheartstalls.MyvisiongrowshazyuntilIseenothing.
Ialmostcollapse.
Mykneesgoweak,legsstartingtobuckle,footslippingontheedgeoftheledge.Isway,damnnearfalling,thesighthittingmeliketank.
Buster.
Lorenzoholdstheteddybearupsidedownbyitsfoot.It’sinworseshapethanI’veeverseenit,butIknowthatbear.
I’drecognizeitanywhere.
“Jesusfuck.”SomethingflashesinLorenzo’seyes.Italmostlookslikefear.Hedartsforward,snatchingaholdofme,yankingmebackontotheroof.Islipagain,almostfalling,thistimeontohim,buthekeepsmeupright,slammingmebackagainsttheledge,pinningmetherewithhisbody.“IsweartoGod,ifyouthrowyourselfoffthisroof,I’mjumpingafteryou,andI’mgoingtocatchyou.”
Whoa.Idon’tknowwhattomakeofthosewords.
Myeyeswiden,myheartracing.
“I’llcatchyou,”hesaysagain,hisfacesoclosetomineIcanfeelhisbreathonmyskin,“becauseinthosefewsecondsbeforeyouhittheground,I’mgoingtofuckingchokethelifeoutofyoufordoingthatshit.Yougotme?”
“Igotyou,”Iwhisper,surprisedIcanevenspeak.
Hekeepsmepinnedthere,pressedflatupagainstme,staringmedeadintheface.I’mfrozen,likeI’mmadefromstone,unabletomove…unabletolook.He’sholdingitinhishand,andIdon’tknowwhy,andIdon’tknowwhatitmeans,butit’stheclosestI’vegottentoherintenlongmonths.Ineedittobereal.
“Igotyou,”hesays,hisvoicelow,serious,andIthinkatfirsthe’sjustechoingwhatIsaid,untilheraiseshiseyebrows,emphasizingthem.“Igotyou.It’sokay.”
Iblinkrapidly,myeyesburning,alumpinmythroatthatI’mstrugglingtoswallowback.
“Igotyou,”hesaysforthethirdtime,“butI’mtellingyou,ifyoustartfuckingcryingonmerightnow,ifyoustartboo-hoo’ing,there’sachanceI’lljustthrowyouoverthesidemyself,sodon’tdoit.”
“I’mtryingnotto,”Iwhisper,myvoicecracking.
“Good,”hesays.“YouthinkIcanletgo?Youthinkyoucanstanduponyourown?”
Inod.
Heletsgoofme,takingastepback.
Assoonashedoes,myfeetcomeoutfromunderme,andIsliderightdowntotheroofonmyass.Myshirtcatchesontheledge,theoldcrumblybricksscrapingmyback,asanoisecomesoutofme.Aloudnoise.Aninhumannoise.Iquicklycovermymouthtostifleit.
Tearsburnmyeyes,obscuringmyvision.
Busterisrightthere,inchesfrommyface.
Ireachforthebear,graspingholdofitsarm,andLorenzorelinquishesittome,nothesitatingatall.AsIclutchittomychest,Ipullmykneesup,foldingintomyself.Tearsbreakfreeandstreamdownmycheeks.
Icry.
Fuckit
Ican’tholditbackanymore.
Mychestaches,mystomachclenches,andIcan’tcatchmybreathbecauseIcrysohard.I’mhyperventilating,amess,fallingapart.Lorenzojuststandsthere,notconsolingme,buthedoesn’tleave,either.Hestaysrightinfrontofme,staringoutintothecity,asIsob.
“Iaskedonethingofyou,”hesayswhenIcalmdown.“Onething.That’sit.Isaiddon’tcry.”
Ilaughatthat,althoughmytearsarestillfalling,laughingandcryingatthesametime,likeamaniac.It’snotfunny,no,butit’ssofuckedupthatIcan’thelpmyself.“Sorry.”
“Jesus…don’tapologize,either.Stopsayingyou’resorryallthefuckingtime.”
IwanttopointoutthatI’vesaiditonlymaybethreetimestohimtotal,andthatIshouldbeapologizing,butIkeepmymouthshutasIwipemyfaceonmyshirt,tryingtodrymyeyes.Iknowitmakeshimuncomfortable.Emotion.Remorse.Tears.Apologies.Thewholenineyards.
Ipressmyfaceagainsttheteddybear,inhalingdeeply.Dustticklesmynose.Itsmellsmusty.Itdoesn’tsmellatalllikesunshineorinnocence.There’snoherinthebearanymore.
Idon’tknowwhathappened.
Moretearsfall,silentonesthistime.Iwipethemawayandjustsitthere,huggingBuster.
Afteramoment,Lorenzoletsoutadramaticsighbeforesittingdownontheroofbesideme,maybeafootofspacebetweenus.We’renottouching,buthe’scloseenoughthatIcanfeelhiswarmth.
“Areyoudonecryingnow?”heasks.
Ilaughagain.“You’resuchanasshole.”
“Iwasgoingtotalktoyou,”hesays,“butyoumightblowsnotonmewithallthatblubbering.”
Ishakemyhead,wipingmynoseonmysleeve.I’mamess,butthere’snothingelseIcandoaboutit.Itisn’tlikehebroughtalonganytissues.
Turningmyhead,Igazeathim.Theskyissteadilylightening.Icanmakehimoutbetternowthanwhenheshowedup.Uneasinesswaftsfromhimashepicksattheskinaroundhisfingernails,outofhiselement.ForthefirsttimesinceI’vemetthisman,he’slettinghisnervesshow,hisguardloweringjustenoughformetoseeit.Icantellhedoesn’twanttobedoingthis,buthe’sdoingit,andthat’snotsomethingIeverexpectedfromhim.
Hedoesn’towemeanything.
Heglancesatme,surveyingmyface.Reachingover,hegrabsmyrighthand,turningitover,palmup,mywristbendingashepushesthetattootheretowardme.MyScarletLetter,hecallsit.
Iglancedownatit.“Sasha.”
“Pity,”hesays.“Ihopeditwouldendupstandingfor‘saladtosser’.Iwaslookingforwardtoit.”
Irollmyeyes,snatchingmyhandbackaway.
“Itwasdifferentatfirst,”Isay,runningmyfingersalongtheridgesofthetattoo,feelingforthescarbeneathit.Icanevenstillseeit,ifIlookhardenough.“Hecarvedan‘S’intomywrist.Ihatedit…hatedseeingit.Itstoodforsomethingelsebackthen.”
“Suka.”
Icringe,hearingthatwordinhisvoice.
“Yes,”Isay.“SoafterIescapedhim,Icovereditwithher…theonlygoodthingthatevercamefrommebeinghissuka.”
It’squietafterthat,thetwoofussittinghere,asIstareoutalongtheroof.
Heknowsmytruth.
“What’syourfirstmemory?”Iaskafterawhile.
Hedoesn’thesitate,answering,“Thenightmyfatherwasmurdered.Iremembercomingdownthestepsandseeingthegunintheman’shand.FirsttimeIeversawone.”
“Doyourememberyourfather?”
Heshakeshishead.
“Idon’tremembermyparents,”Isay.“MyfirstmemoryisofasocialworkertellingmethehomeI’dbeenlivingindidn’twantmeanymore.Iwasfive.Irememberbeingsoupset.Ijustwantedafamily.Iwantedamom,butInevergotone.SowhenIhadSasha,IwasdeterminedtogiveherwhatInevergot.Iwasgoingtobethebestgoddamnmomontheplanet.”
“I’msureyou’reagreatmother.”
“Itriedtobe,”Isayquietly.“IwasonlysixteenwhenIhadher,andIhadnoideawhatIwasdoing,butIknewwehadtogetawayfromKassian,soItookherandran.Itwasn’tperfect,butwewerehappy…untilhecaughtuptous.Hetookher,andheleftmefordead.Ihaven’tseenhersince.Idon’tknowwheresheis.”
Tearsbreakfreeagain.
I’mtryingnottocry,becausethemanisactuallylistening,butit’shardholdingitbacknowthatI’vebeencrackedopen.
Iwenttothepolice.IwenttoChildProtectiveServices.I’vetalkedtolawyersandsocialworkersandprivateinvestigators.Nobodywantstogetinvolved.Theyallrefusetohelp.
Kassianispowerful.He’swealthy.He’sterrifying.Sotheyalljustcalledita‘domesticproblem’andsentmepacking.
Inthebeginning,Istakedouthishouse.Ikeptaneyeontheclub.Ifollowedhismenaround.NotoncedidIseeher,oranysignthatKassianevenhadher,butIknew.
Iknow.
He’sgothersomewhere.
“Didyou…?”Itrailoff.“Imean,wasshe…?”
“Ididn’tseeher,”Lorenzosays,answeringaquestionIcan’tbringmyselftofinish.“Thebearwasonafireplacemantle.Hesaiditwasjustcollectingdust,sohefiguredyou’dwantit.”
Iclosemyeyesasthosewordssinkin.Theyhurt,likeapunchtothechest,strongenoughtoknockmyheartoutofrhythmsoitmightneverbeatrightagain.“Busterwashersecurityblanket.Shelovedthisbear.Shecarriedhimeverywhere.Shewouldn’t…shewouldn’tjustgivehimup.Especiallynow.She’sgottabeterrified.Shejustturnedfive,andshe’sneverbeenawayfrommeuntilthishappened,andnow…nowshe’sreallyalone,andthere’snothingIcandotohelpher.”
“Ifshe’sanythinglikeyou,Scarlet,she’sresilient.”
“Butsheshouldn’thavetobe,”Iwhisper.“Shedoesn’tdeservethis.She’s…perfect.She’ssmart,andbeautiful,andsojustgood.There’sthiskindnessinsideofherthatissopure,liketheytookthesunriseandstuckitinthisfiercelittlebody.She’swalkingsunshine.Andtenmonthsisalongtimeforthesuntogowithoutshining.It’salongtimeforhertogowithoutbeingshownshe’sloved.AndIdon’tknowhowmuchlongerit’llbe,andallIcanthinkis…willsheevenrememberme?AndIthinkthat’swhatterrifiesmemost,thatwhenmystoryends,theverylastwordswillbe,‘andsheneversawheragain’.Becausethatcouldhappen.”
“Fuckthat.”
IlookatLorenzoasIbrushstraytearsfrommycheeks.
“Seriously,fuckthat,”hesays.“That’snothappening.”
“Howcanyoubesosure?”
“BecauseI’mnotgoingtoletit.”
Ishakemyhead,lettingoutanincredulouslaugh.
“Look,Igetit,”hesays.“Youhavenoreasontotrustme.”
“Youhavenoreasontohelpme.”
“Oh,bullshit,”Lorenzosays,shovingtohisfeet.“I’vegotplentyofreasonstohelpyou.”
Istareathim.“Nameone.”
“Icannameadozen.”
Iwaveathim.“Well,then,goon,I’mlistening.”
“One,”hesays,“I’mboredasshitandit’ssomethingtodo.There’snotalotelsetodorightnow.”
“That’saterriblereason.”
“Butit’sareason,nonetheless,”hesays.“Two,Idon’tliketheguy.Hethinkshe’sbetterthanme.That,alone,makesmewanttogoafterhim.”
“That’saslightlybetterreason.”
“Three,I’vealreadyknockedout…”Hepauses,countingunderhisbreathing,usinghisfingers.Unbelievable.“…fiveself-proclaimedmobbosses,andsixisanice,well-roundednumber,sonumbersixneedstohappen.”
“That’sjustaridiculousreason.”
“Four,”hecontinues,“Idon’tlikekids,don’twantkids,butonethingIdislikemorethankidsarepeoplewhohurtkids,sofuckhim.”
“Okay,”Iwhisper.
“Five,IraisedmybrothertosavehimfromafatheralotlikeAristov.SoifIcanhelpsaveyourdaughter,tospareherthesameway,you’regoddamnrightI’min.”
“Igetit.You’vemadeyourpoint.”
“Idon’tthinkIhave,”hesays.“Six,Ilikeyou.”
Thatonecatchesmeoffguard.“Youlikeme.”
“Yeah,Imean,you’reapaininmyasssometimes,butyou’renothalf-bad.”
“I’mnothalf-bad.”
Hegazesdownatme,aslightsmileonhislips.“You’regorgeous,andsmart,andfunny…youeatthewholeorangeanddon’tjustsuckthejuiceoutandthrowitawaylikeotherpeople.Thatmakesyouacatchinmybook.”
I’mnotsurehowtoreacttothat.Tearsswiminmyeyes,butnowhe’sgotmeblushing.Whatthehell?“I’macatch?”
“Don’tletthatshitgettoyourhead,”hesaysrightaway.“NeverintheredidIsayIwasn’tstillthrowingyourassbackwhenthisisalldone.”
Hesaysthat,butI’mstillblushing.“Noted.”
“Seven,youjustcriedlikeabitchinfrontofme,andIneverwantthattohappenagain.Idon’tlikeit.”
“Areyoudoneyet?”
“No,”hesays.“Reasonseightthrougheleven,thatpussyofyoursisbeautiful.”
Irollmyeyes.
Hislegshootsout,kickingmyshinhardenoughthatIwince.
“I’mserious,”hesays,hisvoicesoundingprettydamnseriousashesaysthat.“Rollyoureyesallyouwant,butIhappentothinkpussyisadamngoodreasontogotobattle.”
“Fine,”Isay,“isthatit?”
“Justonemore,”hesays,squattingdowninfrontofme.“Reasonnumbertwelve,you’vegotamini-meouttheresomewhere,andIkindofwantthechancetomeetalittleScarlet.”
“Youdon’tlikekids,”Ipointout.
“True,Idon’t,”hesays.“Butshe’syourkid,whichmeansthere’sadecentchanceshe’snothalf-bad,either.”
Istareathim.
Idon’tknowwhattosay.
Hiswordssoundsogenuine.Thisisn’tthereactionIexpected.NottosayIdidn’tthinkhehaditinhim.ButI’musedtobeingkickedwhileI’mdown,andIhaven’tquitefiguredoutwhattomakeofLorenzo.Sometimes,whenIlookathim,Iseethedangerous,cold-heartedcriminal,theonethathaskilledatleasttwomensincewemettwomonthsago,butothertimesIseeamanwithadeepsoul,generousandwarm,thekindofmanawomancouldfallinlovewithifshewasn’tcareful.
ButIhavetobecareful.
“Comeon,”Lorenzosays,standingupagain,offeringmehishand.“Thesun’supnow,whichmeansanotherdayofbullshitisuponus,andIreallyneedtoacquiresomebreakfastifI’mgoingtodosomethingaboutyourlittlePearl.”
Itakehishand,lettinghimyankmetomyfeet.IknowImustlooklikehell,havingcriedmyeyesoutandforgonesleep,buthedoesn’tseembotheredbyit.“Pearl?”
“Yeah,thekidinTheScarletLetter?Didn’tyoureadthebookinschool?”
“Idroppedoutatfourteen,”Iremindhim.“Iwaspregnantatfifteen.Readingtheclassicswasn’treallyonthesyllabusattheAristovresidence.”
Hedoesn’tsayanythingforamoment,hisfacetwistingwithagrimace.“Ijustdidmathinmyhead.”
“Andthatdisturbsyou?”
“WhenthemathI’mdoingishowoldAristovwaswhenheknockedyouup,yeah.”
Iwanttopointoutthathehasnoideaexactlyhowdisturbingthattimeofmylifewas,butIletitdrop.I’mtiredofthinkingaboutKassian.I’mtiredofthewayhestillcontrolsmylife.SoIpullmyselftogether,tuckBusterundermyarm,andglancearound,myeyesgrazingoverthecolorfulhorizon.
Thesunisup,shiningbrightly.
Ididn’twatchithappen,butIstillfeellikeaweighthasbeenlifted.Ialmostfeelhopefulagain.
IglancebackatLorenzo,noticinghe’swatchingme.“Istillthinkyou’reafoolforhelpingme,butthankyou.Really.”
Hestaresinsilenceforamoment,hisexpressionpassive,beforehesays,“Yeah,well,who’smorefoolish…thefoolorthefoolwhofollowshim?”
“Goodquestion,Obi-wan.”
IstarttowalkawaywhenLorenzograbsmyarm,stoppingme,pullingmetowardhim.“You’veseenStarWars?”
“Ofcourse.”
“See,I’msurenowmorethaneverbeforethatI’mgoingtohelpyou.”Lorenzo’sexpressioncrackswithasmile.“Reasonnumberthirteen,Scarlet:Imayjustbeyouronlyhope.”ChapterTwenty-Eight
Thelittlegirldidn’tlikeplayinggamesanymore.
Shewasstuckinastupidmatchoftug-of-war,diggingherheelsintotheground,tryingtoholdon,buttheTinManwastoostrongforher.
Everytimeshepulledaway,hetuggedharder
Shelockedherselfinthebedroom,notwantingtoeverseehim,sohetookthedooroffofthehinges,givinghernospace.Sherefusedtoeat,nothavinganappetite,notevenwhenhegothersomepeanutbutterandjelly,soheforce-fedher,shovingthefoodinhermouth.
Hesaidifshestarvedtodeath,itwouldbebecausehedecidedit.
SoshetookupHide&Seekagain,buthe’dproventobepersistent.Thebestpartaboutlivinginapalace,though,wasthatthereweresomanyhidingplaces.Anewoneeveryday.Sometimeshefoundher.Othertimeshedidn’tevenlook.Shepreferredhimnottobother,becausewheneverhesoughther,hemadeherhearthurt.Hiswordsgotallugly.Healwaysmadehercrywithhislies.‘Yourmotherdoesnotloveyou,kitten.Ifshedid,shewouldbeherewithus.’
Itwasacoldnight,snowingoutside,whenthelittlegirllaybeneathabedinaguestroomonthesecondfloor,rightabovetheden.Noisesfilteredup,reachingherears.TheTinManhadn’tlookedforherbecausehehadvisitors,hisflyingmonkeysandsomewomen.Itwaslate,pitchblack,whenthenoisebelowgotlouder,chanting,countingbackward.
NewYears.
ThelittlegirlhadreallymissedChristmas.NoSantaClaushadcome.Shethoughtmaybesomethinghadstoppedhim,likemaybetheTinManscaredhim,too,ormaybeshejusthadn’tbeengoodenoughthatyear,butameanvoiceinherheadwhispered,‘maybehe’sjustnotreal.’
Itwasawholedifferentyearnow.Shetriedtoremembertheonebeforeit,buthermemorywasbeingfuzzy.
Shedidn’tlikeit.
Shelaytherewithhereyesclosed,tryingtorememberhermother,howshelaughed,andloved,butthelittlegirlcouldonlyseemtopicturehersleepingonthekitchenfloor.
Shewantedtorememberthehappiness.Howcouldshedothat?Maybeshe’djusthavetogooutandfindhermother.Seekherout,insteadoftheotherwayaround.
Someofthenoisefromdownstairscamecloser.Whispering,footstepsalongthesecondfloor.Thelittlegirltensedwhenitmovedintotheguestroom,feetshufflinginthedarkness.
Twopeople.
Highheelsandapairofboots.
Theymoaned,makingkissingnoises,beforefallingontothebed,hittingthemattresssohardthespringsalmostsquishedthelittlegirl’shead.Shegaggedasacloudofdustsurroundedher,ticklinghernose.Ohno.Uh-oh.Shehadtosneeze.
Shetriedtostopherself,sotheywouldn’thear,butholdingitinonlymadeitcomeoutlouder
Thesneezeechoedthroughtheroom.
Thekissingabruptlyended.
Feethitthefloorandtheblanketflippedupsecondsbeforeanupsidedownfacepeekedbetweenasetoflegs.TheCowardlyLion.Hescowledbeforedroppingtheblanketagainandsittingbackupwithagroan.
“Everythingokay?”thewomanasked.
“Canyou…?”Hegroanedagain.“Gobackdownstairs.There’ssomethingIneedtotakecareof.”
Uh-oh,forreal.
Thewomandidn’targue,leavingtheroom.Assoonasshewasgone,theblanketflippedupagain.“Getouthere.”
Thelittlegirlcrawledoutfromunderthebedandstoodupbesideit,frowning.Shetriedtojustleave,buthegrabbedherarm.
“Whoa,busybody,wheredoyouthinkyouaregoing?”
“Tobed,”shesaid.“I’mtired.”
Hecockedhisheadtotheside,givingheraglassystare.“Me,too.I’vebeentiredforalongtime.”
“I’msorry,”shesaid,gratefulwhenheletgoofherarm.“Youshouldgotosleep.”
“Tried,”hesaid.“Foundalittlemonsterhidingundermybed.”
Shescrunchedupherfaceatthat,whichmadehimlaugh.
“Comeon,tellme,”hesaid.“Whyareyouhiding?”
“Becausehe’smean.”
“And?”
“Andthat’sall,”shesaid.“He’sjustnotnice.”
TheCowardlyLionblinkedafewtimes,liketherehadtobemoreanswer,butshedidn’thaveanythingelsetosay.
Wasn’tthatenough?
“You’reright,”hesaid.“He’snotnice.”
Hereyeswidened.“Youthinkso,too?”
“Ofcourse.He’samudak.Arealpieceofwork,thatone.Buthidingfromhimwillnotmakehimnicer.”
“Whatwillmakehimnicer?”
“You,”hesaid.“Believeitornot,youmakehimnicer.Itsoftensus,love.Itmakesusallsquishy.Butsometimesthatsamelovebecomesaliability.”
“Whatdoesalie-bullymean?”
Hesmiled.“Itmeanshecan’tlivewithyou,buthecan’tlivewithoutyou.Eitherway,itisaproblem.Soyoushouldgivehimreasonstolivewithyou,becauseyourmothergavehimtoomanyreasonstolivewithouther,andweseewheresheisnow.”
“Where?”thelittlegirlasked.“Whereisshe?”
“Nothere.”
‘Nothere’soundedgoodtothelittlegirl.
“Comeon,”hesaid,standingup,graspinghershoulders.“Let’sgosaygoodnight.”
Heledherdownstairs,keepinghisgriponher,takingherstraighttothecrowdedden.Peopleweredrinkingandsniffingwhitepowderagain.TheTinMan’seyeswerestraightblackastheyzeroedinonher.Shedidn’tlikehisblackeyes.Theyscaredher.
“Foundthisoneupinaguestroom,”theCowardlyLiontoldhim,“hidingunderthebed.”
“Thatisnotverycreative,”theTinMansaid.“Ofallplacestohide,youchoosewhereeveryoneknowstolook.Didyouwanttobefound?”
Sheshrugged.
“Shesaysyouaremean,”theCowardlyLionadded.“Youaren’tverynice.Sheaskedhowtomakeyounicer.”
ThelittlegirlglaredbackattheCowardlyLion.“Nobodyevenlikestattletales.”
TheTinManlaughedatthat,likesheamusedhim,openinghisarmsandmotioningforhertocomecloser,butshedidn’tbudge.
“Youknow,obediencemakesmenicer,kitten.Maybeifyougivealittle,Iwillgivealittleback.”
“WillyougiveBusterback?”
“No.”
Thenno,shewasn’tmoving.Shewasn’tgiving.Shedidn’tcareifhegotnice.She’dalreadydecidedshewasleaving.Shedidn’tneedhim.ShewasgoingtofindhermotherandtheyweregoingtostopplayingallthisHide&Seek.Shedidn’tneedadaddy.
Especiallyonesomean.
TheTinMandroppedhisarms,givingup,wavingheraway.“Gotobed.”
“I’llmakesureshemakesitthere,”theCowardlyLionsaid,pullingthelittlegirlfromtheroom,leadingherupstairs.
Thelittlegirlignoredhim,pretendinghewasn’teventhere,asshesettledintothebed,coveringherselfupwiththeblanket,pullingitthewholewayoverherhead.
Themattressdipped,theCowardlyLion’shandrufflingherhairthroughtheblanketashesatdownbesideher.“ItisNewYears,sweetgirl.Itisthetimefornewbeginnings.Resolutions.”
“There’snopoint,”thelittlegirlmuttered.
Theblanketwasrippedfromherhead,andshemadeaface,tryingtosnatchitbacktocoverup,buttheCowardlyLionrefusedtolether.“Whatiswrong?”
“It’sallstupid,”shesaid,tearsinhereyes.“Idon’tlikeholidaysnomore!Santadidn’tcome,Igotnopresents,andIdidn’tevengetmywishtocometrue!”
“Whatwasyourwish?”
“IwantMommy.Iwannagohome.”
TheCowardlyLionblinkedatherforalongmomentbeforethrowingtheblanketbackoverherhead,coveringherupashestoodtowalkaway.Thelittlegirllistenedtohisfootstepscrossingthefloorbeforehecalledbacktoherquietly,“Goodnight,sweetSasha.HappyNewYear.”
***
ThestoryconcludeswithGrievous(ScarletScarsBookTwo),availableFebruary6,2017!Acknowledgments
Truthbetold,IneverexpectedtowriteabookaboutLorenzoGambini,muchlessgivehimhisownseries,soneverinmywildestdreamsdidIexpecthimtoweaselhiswayrighttothetopofthelistofmyfavoritecharactersI’veeverwritten(Iknow,Iknow…we’renotsupposedtoplayfavorites).Sofirstandforemost,Iwanttoacknowledgeyouall…allofthereaderswhowrotemeortweetedmeorvisitedmeatbooksigningstotellmethattheyneededmoreofthisman.Fromthebottomofmyheart,Ithankyou,andItrulyhopeyouenjoyhiscrazylittlejourney.
Tomyfriendsandmyfamily,Iloveyouall.Youknowwhoyouare.Andtothebookbloggers,bookstagramers,booktubers,facebookers,tweeters,andwhateverelseI’mmissinghereinthebookcommunity…thankyou,truly,forlovingreadingsomuchthatyouputyourvoiceoutthere.I’msoblessedtobeabletofollowmydreamofstorytellingbecauseofthosereaderswillingtogivemywordsachance,andI’mforevergratefulforthesupport.
Lastbutnotleast,toSebastianStan.Youdidn’tdoadamnthingtohelpmewritethis,butthefactthatyouexist?Ilikethatshit…;)AbouttheAuthor
J.M.DarhoweristheUSATodayBestsellingAuthorofparanormal/erotic/romanticsuspensenovelsaboutthebaddestbadboysandtheladieswholovethem.Fangirlatheart,J.M.isobsessedwithbooks,music,andallthingsMarvel,especiallythegloriousSebastianStan.ShespendsherdaysinatinytowninNorthCarolina,churningoutwordsandchasingdownPokemon.
@JMDarhower
JMDarhower
www.JMDarhower.com
contact@JMDarhower.comAlsobyJ.M.Darhower
MonsterinHisEyesSeries:
MonsterinHisEyes
TorturetoHerSoul
TargetonOurBacks