Chapter Five
Sasha would’ve liked chocolate chips in her pancakes.
That’s what I’m thinking, as I sit at the kitchen table beside Lorenzo, slowly chewing a small bite. I’ve never made pancakes from scratch. Hell, I’ve never made anything from scratch. I wish I would’ve at least tried before, though.
Sasha would’ve eaten them every morning, if she could’ve, and I know, without a doubt, she would love Lorenzo’s pancakes.
I wonder if Kassian has made them for her.
I wonder what Kassian is making her.
I wonder if Kassian is even feeding her.
All day, every day, it’s in the back of my mind.
Is she eating?
Is she sleeping?
Is she breathing?
Will we make it through this?
Will I ever see her again?
Will she still remember me?
I get lost in my head, drowning in those thoughts, forcing down bites, so consumed by these torturous unanswered questions that I almost don’t hear the words spoken from across the table.
“I’m moving out.”
Blinking a few times, pulling myself out of my stupor, I glance over at Leo and wonder if I’m imagining things, because whoa...
Leo stares down at his plate, at his untouched breakfast. He looks nervous.
“What did you just say?” Lorenzo asks, his tone clipped.
“I’m moving out,” Leo says again.
“The hell you are,” Lorenzo says, dropping his fork with a clang. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I am,” Leo says. “Mel and I, we’re going to get a place together. Our own place. We’ve been talking about it for a while, and well, I think it’s time.”
“You think it’s time, do you?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you going to do that, huh? How are you going to afford that?”
“I’ve got my job,” Leo says. “I can pick up extra shifts, if I need to, but I’ve got some money saved up. And Mel, she’s about to graduate, so she’ll be getting a job soon, which means there’s no reason we can’t—”
Before Leo can finish, Lorenzo slams his hands against the table, the loud bang echoing through the kitchen, rattling plates and knocking drinks over. “There are plenty of reasons why you can’t. Do you need me to fucking name them for you, Leonardo?”
A strained, painful silence swells through the room. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Hell, I don’t know if anyone is even breathing. Lorenzo glares across the table at his little brother... a brother whose name he just used. I’ve never heard him do that before. The sound of it is downright chilling.
I shiver.
“I should go,” Melody whispers, rubbing Leo’s arm as she stands up from the chair beside him. “I’ll let you guys talk.”
“We should all probably do that,” Seven says from where he lurks across the room. “Morgan?”
I glance at him when he says my name, watching as he walks out of the kitchen, realizing he’s pretty much telling me to get my ass up and leave, too. My gaze flickers around the room, landing on Lorenzo, who looks seconds away from flipping the table over. Shit.
I get up without a word and walk out of the kitchen, barely making it into the hallway when chaos erupts. I head toward the library, where Seven stands in the doorway, looking worried as he stares back at the kitchen.
“What are the odds that ends well?” I ask.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who you want it to end well for.”
I think about that for a moment, as Lorenzo’s furious voice echoes out from the kitchen, followed by Leo shouting right back.
“What are the odds it ends well for anyone?”
“Not very good,” Seven admits, turning to me. “I should head home. Take care, Morgan.”
He walks away, heading for the front door, as I go into the library. Buster lays on the table, surrounded by a scattering of needles and thread. He bought a sewing kit. Unbelievable. Shaking my head, I pick up the bear, running my fingers along the rough knotted stitches on its side and chest.
Grabbing a needle, I carefully thread it, tucking what remains of Buster’s damaged ear in before doing my best to sew it closed so no more stuffing escapes. I’m trying to ignore the fighting in the kitchen, but neither guy is holding back.
Even the happiest homes aren’t always happy.
The angrier they grow, the more uncomfortable it feels, so after a while I snatch up the rest of the sewing kit and take the bear upstairs. Leo’s bedroom door is open, Melody sitting on the end of the bed, listening to the sounds from downstairs.
Look, I know I’m not any older than her, but I’ve been through so much that it feels like I’ve got a few lifetimes under my belt. When I look at Melody, I very much see a kid, one who has spent her life sheltered from the world, and at the moment, she looks scared.
It stirs up the mother in me, the woman who taught her little girl to face her fears. Monsters are real, but they only really have power if you let yourself be afraid.
“It’ll be okay, you know,” I say, stalling in front of the bedroom, capturing Melody’s attention.
She sighs. “I hope so.”
“It will,” I say. “No matter what.”
“Leo knew he wouldn’t take it well,” she says. “That’s why he hasn’t brought it up until now, but I pushed him to... I feel like it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her. “Leo’s allowed to have his own life, so don’t feel guilty. Lorenzo’s just...”
“Insane,” Melody mutters.
I laugh. “Well, yeah, but mostly he’s just worried. He’ll calm down.”
“You sure about that?”
“Pretty sure,” I say. “He might not like it, but he’ll deal with it.”
She smiles when I say that, but it doesn’t last long, as a loud noise echoes through the house, the sound of something banging, things clattering.
Yep, flipped the table over.
Bye-bye, pancakes.
Melody looks worried again, but I laugh lightly, turning away. “Of course, he has to throw his little temper tantrum first, but it’ll all work out in the end.”
I head to Lorenzo’s bedroom, making my way into his bathroom, searching drawers and cabinets for a first aid kit. He at least should have one of those, right? He might not give himself stitches, but he ought to have bandages. I manage to dig up a roll of gauze and take it into the bedroom, sitting down on the bed to finishing fixing up the bear. I wrap the gauze around his burned leg, covering it like a makeshift cast, and stitch a line of thread along the edge of it to secure it to the bear.
I hear stomping on the stairs eventually before Leo’s bedroom door slams, followed moments later by another set of footsteps. I listen as they hesitate at the top of the stairs, like he’s deciding where to go or what to do, whether to drop it or keep the fighting going up here.
“Don’t do it,” I mutter under my breath. “Just let it go.”
Lorenzo stands there for an entire minute, debating, before he exhales loudly, almost a frustrated growl, and makes his way to the bedroom where I am. He appears casual, unruffled, but I can tell it’s all an act.
My heart races, skin tingling when his gaze meets mine. He’s teetering on a brink. I know what it’s like to detach from reality, to shut down to keep from feelings things. I pity whoever might cross this man if he ever truly lets the coldness consume him. He’s clinging to a life raft right now. The moment he says fuck it and lets go, everyone’s going to drown in the waves he creates because he’s not going down alone.
Should that scare me? Probably.
Does it? Nope.
“I know how you’re feeling,” I say quietly.
“I’m fine,” he says, sounding fine, but I know he isn’t. He’s so damn far from fine there isn’t even a word for what this man is.
“I have a kid.”
“I’m aware.”
“So I know how you’re feeling,” I say again. “You want to wrap them in bubble wrap and protect them from the world, but you’re only human. We can only do so much for them.”
“Your kid is what, four?”
“Five,” I say. “She turned five after he took her.”
“Five,” he repeats, strolling into the room. “Pretty Boy is in his twenties. And besides, he’s not my kid.”
“True,” I say. “Doesn’t change how I know you’re feeling, though. You raised him. You want to keep him from harm.”
“I want him to not be such a fucking fool,” Lorenzo says, sitting down beside me.
“He’s just hopeful,” I say, “and he’s in love.”
“He’s a fucking fool,” Lorenzo says, lying back on the bed, covering his face with his forearm.
“It’s sweet,” I tell him. “Just because you don’t want all of that doesn’t mean there’s no worth to it. And really, lets be real... did you expect him to live with you forever? He’s grown, and you and him... you’re different people. He wants to cuddle and watch rom-coms with his girlfriend. You want to shoot at things and steal couches that were molested by strippers. This was kind of inevitable.”
His arm shifts. I can feel his gaze.
I don’t look at him, though, only getting a slight glimpse from my peripheral. If what I said pissed him off, he doesn’t say a word about it, just staring at me in silence as I tinker with the bear.
After a moment, he reaches out toward me, his hand on my back, gently rubbing it, sending sparks up my spine. I turn, caught off guard by the tender touch, and finally look back at him.
“Are you trying to fuck right now?” I ask. “Because we just had sex, like, an hour ago, before you ruined breakfast.”
He laughs, sitting up, his hand leaving my back to instead ruffle my hair. What the hell? He pushes up off the bed, strolling toward the bathroom.
“I need to shower,” he says. “I smell like pussy.”
“You go do that. I’m gonna... do something, I don’t know.”
“Do whatever you want, Scarlet,” he says, which is quickly becoming his favorite sentence—even though he totally regretted it last time he said that. “Just do me a small favor and keep yourself out of trouble, because I’m not in the mood to play White Knight right now.”
* * *
Kassian used to tell me I was stupid.
So pretty, yet so stupid. That is why you cannot be trusted to make decisions, suka.
How many times had he told me that? How many times had he used those words to justify the brutality he inflicted upon my life?
So many times I lost count.
I never once bought it, never once believed his bullshit, but sitting here at a wooden picnic table on the Coney Island boardwalk, I’m wondering if maybe he was onto something about me.
Stupid. So stupid.
I shouldn’t be here.
The boardwalk is packed, despite the weather still being cool, the amusement park not far off behind me, so close I can hear the rumbling of the Cyclone and the faint noise of the Wonder Wheel running, excited screams and children laughing and music playing... the sound of happiness.
I can still remember the first time I felt it, the first time I saw the lights illuminating the Coney Island night sky and heard the laughter and thought ‘this is where I’m meant to be forever’. Standing right here along this boardwalk, dirty and tired, having no food or money, fourteen years old and on my own.
Still so much a child at heart but looking way too much like a woman on the outside.
Enough to capture his attention.
Enough to pique his interest.
The late-July air had been sweltering, a touch of sunburn on my sweat-sticky skin, sand clinging to my legs beneath my cut-off jean shorts. I was thirsty, and hungry, my stomach angrily growling as I walked along, passing vendor after vendor on the boardwalk, the array of smells assaulting me.
I just wanted some food.
“Excuse me, do you have some change you can spare?” I asked, again and again, to people who passed, getting a nickel here, a quarter there, but most offered me nothing more than repulsion. Get a job. Get out of my face. Fucking scum. Disgusting piece of shit. The words bounced off of me, never getting under my skin, because I was in the city of dreams.
And dreams? I had plenty of those.
It took more than an hour for me to amass a pocket full of change. I sat against a railing in the darkness, out of the way of the crowd, counting it.
I needed four dollars for a coveted hot dog at Nathan’s.
I only had a little more than three dollars collected.
Sighing, I shoved the change back away. I tried to be a good person, I did, but desperation has a way of bending morals. Lying, cheating, stealing... I hated doing it, but sometimes, I ran out of options, and I had to do what I had to do, blurring the lines. Begging relied on the compassion of others, and I’d learned quite quickly that people weren’t always compassionate. I had to look out for myself.
Shadows moved along the boardwalk as I contemplated my next move. A pair of shiny black dress shoes appeared in front of where I sat. Before I could react, a flash of crisp green paper dangled in my face.
I thought it was a dollar... until I saw the zeroes.
A hundred dollar bill.
My eyes darted to the man holding it. He was handsome, almost like a work of art, dark ink coating his fingers and part of his neck, wearing a dark fitted suit, despite the heat.
“Take it,” he said, waving the money at me, his foreign accent thick.
“I, uh... I can’t.” I shake my head. “That’s way too much money.”
He curved an eyebrow. “Too much?”
“I just need like, another dollar. Just enough to buy a hot dog tonight.”
He crouched down, still holding the money. “What will you do tomorrow? And the next day?”
I shrugged. “Same thing I did today.”
“But you will not take my money?”
“No.”
He laughed, like that amused him, before standing back up. “Come on, I will buy you that hot dog you want, pretty girl, and I will not take no for an answer.”
Right there. Right there. Just a few feet from where I sit right now. Kassian Aristov had watched me for over an hour as I begged for change, hungry, before he waltzed into my world and took over my life.
He told me once it was my tenacity that intrigued him. I was steadfast, determined to take care of myself, and that got him curious.
He knew, right then, that I would be his. He wanted nothing more than to break me.
“Excuse me, is someone sitting here?”
I look up at the sound of the male voice... New York accent, thank God. A man stands there—dark hair, light eyes, five o’clock shadow along his jawline. There’s a little girl with him, clutching hold of his hand. Four, maybe five years old, with bright eyes and a big smile, her dark hair French braided.
“No,” I say quietly, offering a smile. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” he says as they sit down across from me at the picnic table, settling in with hot dogs and an order of cheese fries with two forks.
“Daddy, look!” the little girl says excitedly, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and tugging on it as she looks past me, toward the rides. “Look at those things going all round and round still!”
He laughs. “I know, Jenny. I see. We need to eat now, so we can get home. We’ll come back another time, I promise.”
The little girl is too excited to eat, rambling on and on about the amusement park, climbing all over the table, giving her father a hell of a time. She’s not careful at one point, waving her arms all around, smacking her drink over and sending it spilling across the picnic table, splashing me with it.
“Jesus, Jenny, you need to calm down!” the man says, grabbing napkins, trying to clean up the mess, as he shoots me an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. She got you, didn’t she? She’s just excited...”
“It’s okay,” I say quietly, looking at the little girl, who seems to be on the verge of tears. “I’ve got a daughter. I know how it is.”
“Yeah?” He laughs. “How old?”
“Five.”
“Ah, so you do know how it is.”
“I’m six!” the little girl chimed in.
“Wow, six?” I feign shock. “I bet that means you can count pretty high, huh?”
“To a hundred!” she exclaims. “You wanna hear me do it? I can!”
I’m about to say yes, because you don’t turn down a proposition like that, when her father chimes in. “As much as we’d all love to hear it, baby, we’ve got to get going.”
“Next time,” the little girl tells me, nodding. “I’ll do it when we come back because Daddy said we would!”
I give her a smile. “Make sure you practice.”
“I will,” she says.
Her father shoots me a look that says he might not be too fond of my suggestion, like maybe she already practices too much, but I don’t feel bad for him, not at all.
He doesn’t know how lucky he is.
He doesn’t know how good he’s got it.
What I wouldn’t give to live in a house again swaddled with the incessant chatter of a little girl who just wants you to share in her excitement...
I sit here after they’re gone. Others come and go, resting for a bit before moving on, a few people politely greeting me but for the most part, I’m left alone. Six o’clock approaches, the beach closing.
Getting up, shoving my hands in my hoodie pockets, I keep my head down as I head down the boardwalk. It’s only a few blocks to the police precinct, darkness falling by the time I reach it. Shift change. Officer Rimmel, who usually works the front desk, is walking out, a young guy sitting there instead, one I’ve never encountered.
I always come in the mornings.
I’ve never been here at this hour.
“Hey there,” I say, smiling sweetly, trying to turn on the charm. “Any chance Detective Jones is still in the building? I meant to stop by earlier, and well, I got a little caught up with things and just made it.”
“I’m not sure,” he says, picking up the phone. “I can call up to his office. Who should I tell him is here?”
“I, uh... Scarlet.” Shit. “Any chance I can just run up there quick? It’ll only take a moment. It’s sort of a surprise, if you know what I mean.”
Gabe’s antics are notorious. Even a front desk rookie would know all about the way he is with female visitors. The officer hesitates before hanging up the phone, scowling and motioning toward the elevators. “Go ahead.”
I don’t linger, not wanting him to change his mind, hitting the elevator and heading straight up to the third floor. Gabe is locking up his office to leave when I get there, and I watch, following him to the locker room on the floor.
I slip inside behind him.
His locker’s in the far back, tucked away in the corner. He approaches it, starting to undo the combination lock as I creep closer. He turns the knob, glancing back, a look flashing across his face when he spots me. My stomach drops at the sight of it. Anger. Hunger. Something I don’t like. There’s a sinister twinkle in his eyes. He doesn’t raise any alarms, though, continuing what he’s doing, taking the lock off to open his locker.
It’s a fucking mess in there.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Myers,” he says, his eyes flickering all around me. “You alone?”
“Of course,” I say. “Thought I’d catch you before you left. I felt bad about how I acted last time, bad about how we left things.”
He’s so easy. That’s all it takes. I can see the distrust in his eyes, but he’s not going to pass up an opportunity if he thinks one might exist. As soon as I’m within reach, he grabs ahold of me, dragging me closer. I wrap my arms around him, grimacing when he buries his face in my neck, kissing and biting at the skin.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
I know, I know... ugh... look away.
“Where’s your little attack dog?” he asks, a bitter bite to his voice. “You know, the mutt you sent here to threaten me this morning?”
“Who?”
“Scar,” he says—although not long ago he claimed to have never heard of anybody called that. “Tell me you haven’t taken up with that guy, Morgan. I told you—”
“Anyone named Scar is trouble, I know,” I say. “He’s got his own motivations, though. It has nothing to do with me.”
“Sure seemed to,” he says. “Told me he’d cut off my dick if I ever touched you again.”
My eyes widen. He said that?
Gabe pulls back some to look at me, his hands roaming. It makes my skin crawl, and I ball my hands into fists, keeping myself from punching him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gabe says, grinning. “Kassian... Scar... doesn’t matter who thinks they own you. Won’t ever stop us. Isn’t that right?”
“Right,” I whisper when he turns me around, shoving me against the row of lockers as he fumbles with his pants. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My heart races as I panic, my body shaking, wedged between him and the cold metal. “Wait... Gabe, wait... condom.”
He sighs, reaching past me, shifting things aside in his locker but coming up empty. “Damnit.”
“Don’t you have some in your office?”
“Yes, but—”
“Just go grab one.”
He groans, pushing away and saying, “Wait here.”
My stomach twists as he walks away, leaving me here alone. The second he’s out of sight, I dive right for his locker, knowing I’ve only got like thirty seconds until he gets back and then I’m fucked.
Figuratively. Maybe literally, at the rate I’m going.
I’d rather neither way happen, to be honest.
So I grab stuff, sorting through it, looking for anything that might be something, but it all seems to be nothing. No files, no papers, no journals, no flash drives. Shit. I’m about to give up, on the verge of panicking, when my hand hits something wedged along the back at the bottom.
A DVD.
I yank it out, heart racing. It’s tucked into a worn protective sleeve, a lone word written on the front of it in faded black marker: Aristov.
“Thank you God, and Jesus, and even fucking Krampus,” I mumble, shoving the DVD in my hoodie pocket, gripping it tightly as I scurry away.
I get to the door of the locker room just as it swings open. Gabe.
“Whoa, where are you running off to?” he asks, grabbing my arm to stop me. “Come here.”
“I can’t do this,” I say, trying to pull away. “I’m sorry, I just... I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t, so I’m just going to go now.”
“What?” He grips tighter to my arm. “What are you talking about?”
“This,” I say, shoving away from him. “Don’t touch me. I told you before... don’t ever touch me again.”
“What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry.”
I find part of me means those words. God knows I probably shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be sorry about anything, especially if he is working for Kassian, and this DVD in my pocket is certainly suggesting that might really be what’s happening.
But still... I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for whatever led us to this moment.
I used to believe in him, and the sorry part of me still thinks part of him might be good.
But it is what it is, and I can’t stick around here, so I shove out of the locker room to get away from the precinct... fast. I’ve got probably about a minute before Gabe figures out what I’m up to.
I don’t have time to wait on the elevator, so I head for the stairs, scaling them as fast as my legs will carry me down to the first floor of the building.
I almost make it out, am already past the desk officer, when Gabe’s frantic voice rings out from the stairwell. “Stop her!”
Shit.
I run, shoving past people. I can hear others following, shouting for me to stop, but I keep going, out of the precinct and down the block, away from the subway, running into the first alley I come across.
They’re right on my heels.
Shit. Shit.
Looking around, frantic, my mind works fast. I could hide, but they’d find me. I could run, but they’d catch up. My gaze shifts toward the nearby dumpster. Ugh. Heart racing, I yank the DVD out and fling it beneath the dumpster, turning away from it just as somebody rounds the corner.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Officers appear, my hands are in the air, and I don’t know what’s happening, but guns are in my face out of nowhere.
Guns.
Okay, it’s not the first time someone has aimed a gun at me, and being as my life has gone to hell, I’m guessing it probably won’t be the last time, either. But right now there are three of them, and they’re kind of looking like they might want to shoot.
Gabe shoves past them, into the alley, and comes right for me, breathing heavily, his face bright red. Oh, man, he’s pissed. Instinctively, I take a step back, my hands faltering, until the officers start shouting, “Don’t you fucking move!”
“Okay, okay!” I freeze. “Geez, relax.”
Gabe grabs ahold of me, roughing me up as he pats me down, searching places his hands ought not go, before he shoves me against the side of a nearby building, slamming my face into the bricks so hard my vision blurs.
“Geez, detective.” I cringe as he yanks my arm behind my back, standing flush against my body, pinning me there. “I’m pretty sure this breaks protocol.”
“Where is it?” he asks, his free hand still searching. “Where’d you put it, Morgan?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play stupid with me,” he growls. “I swear, if you don’t give it to me right now—”
“You’ll what?” I ask, cutting him off. “You’ll fuck me right here, in the alley, in front of these officers? Teach me a lesson? Show the world what a big, powerful man you are?”
“No,” he whispers, his mouth near my ear. “I’ll call Aristov so he can come pick his little runaway up... just like I did with your daughter when she found her way to my office last month.”
Those words knock the breath from my lungs.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he shoves me harder against the building.
I nearly black out.
“You wouldn’t,” I say. “Tell me you didn’t...”
“Oh, but I did,” he says. “She ran away from him, crying about how she wanted her mommy. You missed her by about ten minutes that morning. Pity, really, since that’s probably the closest you’ll ever get to her again, you dumb bitch.”
Something in me snaps when he says that, my last shred of civility toward this man gone.
I’m not sorry anymore.
I shove off of the wall, throwing my head back, slamming him right in the fucking nose with the back of my skull.
BAM.
He loosens his grip on me, grunting, caught off guard by the blow, and I twist my own arm, damn near yanking it out of socket to get away from him. He pulls himself back together, but not fast enough, because I raise my foot up and kick him right in the nuts.
BAM.
He hunches over, letting out one hell of a screech, as I shove him out of my way, barely making it three steps before reality slams into me.
Guns, remember?
Oh, fuck me...
I put my hands up again, surrendering, but it’s too late to go peacefully. Someone tackles me, throwing me face-first to the alley, knees in my back as handcuffs secure my wrists. My cheek stings, asphalt scraping the skin on my face, guns still aimed at me as men shout orders I can’t possibly comply with since I’m pinned to the ground.
I’m yanked to my feet after a moment and come face-to-face with Gabe. Blood pours from his nose, his face contorted with a mix of anger and pain, but he doesn’t feel even an ounce of the hurt I feel.
Fuck him.
“Book her,” he says, staring me dead in the face as he tries to stop the bleeding. “Assault on a police officer.”
* * *
The arrest process is bullshit.
I answer what I have to, but I have the right to remain silent, so screw the rest of their questions.
I’m not in the mood to talk.
They transfer me to Central Booking in another part of the borough, where I’m moved from cell to cell, from place to place, in a piss-scented building filled with a lot of nosey-ass people.
Hours.
So many hours.
Signs posted everywhere guarantee the process will be over within twenty-four hours, but as I surpass hour twenty-three, I start to think the signs are lying to me.
Finally... fucking finally... I’m allowed to make a call, dragged to a room by a disgruntled officer and shoved in front of a phone.
My charge doesn’t seem to elicit friendliness from their kind, that’s for sure.
“You get three calls,” the officer says, glaring at me. “Make them quick.”
There’s really only one number I can think to call.
I dial it once. No answer.
I dial it twice. No answer.
So I try for a third time, thinking I’m out of luck. Either it’s coming up blocked on his caller ID, or he recognizes the number and doesn’t accept jailhouse calls. It rings and rings and rings, and I frown, about to give up when the line clicks and his voice cuts on, annoyance in every syllable. “Gambi—”
“Don’t talk,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m being recorded. There’s a big sign right above the phone that says so. So I wouldn’t have called, but I kind of needed to, okay?”
He says nothing, but I know he’s listening.
Or well, he hasn’t hung up yet, so I know he’s still there—pretending to listen, at least.
“I went on sabbatical to my favorite precinct and got arrested in the alley near it. I’m going to be arraigned tomorrow sometime. But really, that’s beside the point. I just...” Shit, how do I say this without giving up the goods? “Remember the time at my apartment where we went falling off the roof of the building and I played a bit of Hide & Seek? My hiding spot was so good they didn’t find me, but you did... you found me easily. I was hoping to play again, you know, if you want to go do some seeking, same basic spot this time.”
He’s still quiet.
I don’t know if he understands.
I don’t know if I’m making sense.
But I can’t just say ‘look at the fucking dumpster beside the precinct’ because who knows who else is listening and might go look themselves?
“I got you,” he says after a moment, his voice low.
“You got me?”
“I got you.”
He hangs up without another word.
I don’t know if he’s got me, really, but I’m hoping like hell he does. Hanging up, I look at the officer, who watches me curiously, like I’m speaking in riddles and he’s trying to crack the code.
“So, any idea when I’m getting out of here?” I ask, motioning to one of those ‘twenty-four hours’ posters. “Pretty sure time’s up.”
“Time’s up when we say it’s up,” he says. “We can hold your ass here for as long as we want... especially if we misplace your paperwork.”
“Ah, so you’re one of those...”
His eyes narrow. “One of what?”
“Those big guys that get off on picking on women. What, your mommy didn’t love you enough, so you’ve gotta take it out on us?”
He looks like he wants to punch me, but being as there are cameras everywhere, he can’t. Instead, he roughly grabs my arm and drags me back to a holding cell, whispering, “you should probably get comfortable,” before shoving me in.
More hours.
So many more hours.
I doze off, lying on the filthy concrete floor, but it doesn’t bother me much, considering I used to live on the streets. Do you know how many nights I slept on the cold ground when I was fourteen?
Pfftt, that’s nothing.
Do you know how many days I survived chained up in a basement?
I’m eventually woken, taken to yet another cell. Time passes, almost another entire day, before someone shouts my name. “Morgan Myers!”
“Showtime,” I mutter, staggering off to a little room, where I see a bald guy behind plexiglass with a file on me. Public defender.
“They’re offering a deal: plead guilty to misdemeanor disturbing the peace and you walk right out of here a free woman, the rest of the charges dropped.”
“Wait, what? What other charges?”
The man rattles off a whole host of offenses, like they’re trying to nail me for every teeny-tiny infraction they could possibly think of.
“Okay, wait... so what if I don’t want those charges dropped?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’ll probably end up in Rikers for years.”
Ugh, don’t want that, either, but I’m not sure just walking out of here is something that’s possible. I’ve been stationary for too long under my real name, which means Kassian has had forty-eight hours to sniff out my very public location.
And my suspicion is confirmed a few minutes later when I’m ushered into the courtroom and see him.
Him.
I come to a halt.
My feet won’t move anymore, cementing right into the floor. Shit. Kassian stands in the back corner, dressed impeccably in a dark suit. I’ve heard his voice, and I’ve breathed his same air, but this is the first time, in so many months, that the two of us have come face-to-face. The first time I’ve looked at him the same time he was looking at me, our eyes meeting for no more than a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.
I’m pulled away, forced to keep going, and avert my gaze as I’m lead to the front of the courtroom.
The District Attorney and the judge exchange words, but I’m not paying them much attention. I keep glancing over my shoulder, toward the back corner. I can’t help myself.
Kassian isn’t smiling. He isn’t laughing.
He just stares at me, his expression a blank mask.
“Miss Myers?”
I turn to the judge when he calls my name. “Yes?”
“You need to plead on the charge of disorderly conduct.”
“Oh.” I hesitate. “Guilty.”
He says something else. I don’t know. My ears feel clogged, everything foggy as my heart crazily pounds. I glance behind me again, stalling this time when I find back corner empty.
Kassian is gone.
The judge is still talking but all I keep thinking is Kassian is here somewhere, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce.
“Miss Myers is hereby ordered to be held for pick-up by the seventeenth precinct...”
Whoa.
I look at the judge, confused, before turning to the public defender. “What?”
“You have an outstanding warrant,” he says.
That only confuses me more. “A warrant? For what?”
He shrugs.
The man shrugs.
Like he doesn’t give a shit at all.
I raise my hand, trying to get the judge’s attention before he can bang his gavel.
“Put your hand down,” the public defender hisses. “He’ll hold you in contempt if you disrupt his proceedings.”
I ignore that, because really, at least those charges would make sense. The seventeenth precinct is in Midtown, Manhattan. There’s no reason for me to have charges there.
“Excuse me?” I call out. “Your honor?”
The judge looks at me.
Man, he looks like he’d like to smack me with the gavel, but instead he says, “Yes, Miss Myers?”
“A warrant?” I ask. “What kind of warrant?”
“Conspiracy,” he answers.
That’s it.
Conspiracy.
“What kind of conspiracy?” I ask, but it doesn’t matter, because the man bangs his gavel and I’m dragged away.
Hauled back to another holding cell to wait again.
Back to being watched by the disgruntled officer, who personally seems to be monitoring me, a fact that isn’t really surprising.
He’s probably on somebody’s payroll.
A hundred bucks says it’s Kassian’s.
“So, any chance you know what a ‘conspiracy’ charge is?” I ask him.
“It means you conspired to do something.”
“Well... no shit. But what?”
He shrugs.
Another shrugger.
Awesome.
It’s only an hour this time before someone comes for me, two men in plainclothes, only their badges giving them away as officers. Big, and built, the rough-and-tumble types. The officer that had been watching me steps back, letting out a low whistle. “The violent felony squad, huh? Must be a doozy.”
My stomach is in knots as a sinking feeling consumes me. None of this ever felt right, but this without a doubt is wrong. These guys hunt down the bloodthirsty murderers. I’ve never even fired a gun.
Although, okay, I probably would, if I had one.
But I don’t, so I haven’t.
Which means there’s no reason for them to come for me.
I’m handcuffed and shackled, like a hardened criminal, before being led out of the back of the building, where inmates are loaded up to be taken over to Rikers. An older white man in a gray suit lingers in the darkness, casual as can be, waiting beside an unmarked Crown Vic, a black SUV parked right behind it at an angle, blocking my view of the exit of the underground garage.
The man in the suit opens the back door of the car, and I’m immediately shoved into it, the door slammed. It’s like a little prison, a cage separating me from the front, the windows all obscured.
“We’ll follow, just in case,” one of the plainclothes says. “Any problems, radio us.”
“You know I will,” the man in the suit says.
The man climbs behind the wheel and pulls out of the garage, not saying a word to me at all. It’s nighttime, well past sunset, maybe even pushing midnight. It’s hard to tell. I look around, glancing behind me, seeing the SUV is, in fact, following.
“Is all of this really necessary?” I ask, my shackles jingling as I turn back to the man in the suit, glaring at him through the bars of the cage.
He glances in the rearview mirror. “You broke a detective’s nose two days ago, did you not?”
“His nose is broken?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” I’m pleasantly surprised. “Well, I mean, in my defense, he deserved it... off record, of course. You can’t double jeopardy that, right? Wait, shit, that’s not the Conspiracy charge, is it? Is this like some special prosecutor thing, making an example out of me for assaulting your prized detective?”
The man laughs. “I have no interest in seeing you prosecuted.”
Those words rub me wrong. “What, exactly, are you interested in doing?”
“Just delivering you where you need to go.”
My heart races so hard my chest starts to hurt. I look out the windows at the neighborhood around us, but it’s hard to see much of anything. I know we’re not in the city, though. We haven’t crossed a bridge, but we should’ve by now, I think, so we’re still deep in Brooklyn.
“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter, leaning forward, smacking my head against the cage. He’s delivering me somewhere, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem to be Midtown for a warrant.
“What did you say?” the man in the suit asks.
I look up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You know he’s a terrible person, right?”
His brow furrows. “Who?”
“The asshole you’re taking me to.”
A look of surprise passes across his face. “How do you know—?”
“Oh, give me a break,” I say, cutting him off. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. Give me some credit here, officer.”
“Detective,” he corrects me.
“Detective. Of course. Well, detective, you’re not the only one that can detect shit, you know, and I’m detecting this little field trip we’re taking isn’t to the seventeenth precinct for a Conspiracy warrant.”
“You’d be correct,” he says.
“So you’re going to take me to him instead, huh? How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it. Triple it. Just let me out right here and the money is yours.”
“Nice try, but no.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll kill me if I don’t come through.”
“Yeah, well, he’ll kill me if you do.”
He laughs at that. Laughs. “He’s not going to kill you... or, well, I don’t think so. I hope not. He said he wouldn’t, anyway. I told him I wasn’t getting involved if this was leading to a murder.”
I sigh, exasperated, as I lean back in the seat, trying to wiggle out of the handcuffs but they’re too tight, cutting into my wrists.
The SUV is still right behind us, riding our bumper.
There’s a crackling then, the sound of a radio, but not the police radio, no... a fucking Walkie-Talkie.
They’re talking off the airwaves. Of course.
“We’ve had a car tailing us for a few minutes,” a voice cuts in. “Could be a coincidence, but we’re going to double back and run a traffic stop, to be safe.”
“10-4,” the detective says. “We’re almost there. Meet at the spot.”
Almost there.
That means I’m running out of time. I need to figure out something fast. The SUV backs off, and I can see lights flashing, but before I can get a good look at what’s happening, we make a sharp turn.
Then another.
And another.
A few turns later and we’re whipping into an old parking garage. We follow the arrows, going round and round and round, making our way to the very top. The unmarked Crown Vic pulls onto the roof, the cars growing scarcer with each level we navigate. There are none up here at all. The car creeps along the empty spaces, coming to a stop somewhere along the edge of the space where there are no lights.
I’m guessing no cameras, either.
No witnesses.
As the detective puts the car in park, a thought passes through my mind, something I couldn’t bring myself to entertain until that moment.
Sickness swells up inside of me.
A lump forms in my throat.
He said he was delivering me where I’m meant to be, but what if where I’m meant to be is... dead?
Before I can even wrap my head around that possibility, lights flash onto the roof, cars approaching. Cars, plural. I spot the SUV but the others are a blur. Two more, I think. I can’t really tell. My vision is blurring and it’s too damn dark.
The detective gets out, no hesitation, and opens up the back door, reaching his hand in. I pull away, shifting along the seat. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
I hear doors slam nearby, footsteps approaching. Sighing, the detective reaches further in, snatching ahold of my arm and dragging me out. Panic bubbles up inside of me. He’s right there, in the doorway. I’ve got little range of movement, but more right now than I will have in a few seconds.
Fuck this.
Now or never.
Lying back, I move quickly. As soon as the man reaches for me again, trying to force me from the backseat of the car, I thrust my legs out, my feet slamming against him.
BAM.
He staggers backward, gasping, wide-eyed as he clutches his chest.
I knocked the air right out of his lungs.
I rock myself out of the car, springing to my feet. Shadows move around me. I can’t escape them, not while shackled, but I’ll be damned if I’m going down without fighting.
Before the detective can catch his breath, I tackle him, knocking him onto his back on the parking deck. I land on top of him with a grunt, and he tries to shove me away, tries to shove me off, but I’m not giving up.
I can’t punch, can’t kick, but hell, I can head-butt, so I slam my forehead right into his face. BAM. All that extra security he brought and I’ll still break his fucking nose like I did Gabe’s. The detective screams, and my vision blurs, the pain echoing through me, so I know he has to hurt.
“Jesus, fuck!” a voice calls out as arms wrap around me, tearing me off of him. “I told the guy nobody would die tonight, so don’t kill him.”
That voice rushes through me as I’m set on my feet. I’m dizzy, but I manage to shove away from those arms to turn around, to look at him.
Lorenzo.
“Seriously?” I yell, staring at him with disbelief as he stands in front of me. “This was you?”
“Yes,” he says, grabbing the detective’s hand to help him up. “Why? Who did you think it was?”
I just gape at him.
“Some asshole who wants to kill her,” the detective mutters, covering his face with his hands. “At least, that’s what she said.”
Lorenzo’s eyes widen before he lets out a laugh. A laugh. He’s laughing. What the fuck?
“This isn’t funny!” I growl, lunging at him, slamming into him, shoving him back, nearly knocking him down.
His guys, all present, come right at us, like it’s an instinctive reaction to protect the boss, but Lorenzo stops them with a raised hand, his other grabbing my hip. “Whoa, stand down, fellas. We’re still all friends here. Scarlet’s just a little upset. No biggie.”
He stares at me, his hand still touching me, his face inches from mine. I kind of want to break his nose, too, while I’m at it, because of the amused twinkle in his eyes.
But I can’t deny the relief that rushes through me at the realization that I probably won’t be thrown off this roof tonight, the realization that someone jumped through hoops to get their hands on me but that someone wasn’t Kassian.
Lorenzo saved my ass. Again.
“It’s still not funny,” I say. “I thought he seriously had me.”
“I got you,” Lorenzo says. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?”
“Probably a few more times.”
“And I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says, scolding me. “I even asked nicely.”
“Yeah, well, the trouble with trouble is that it doesn’t always look like trouble, Lorenzo.”
“This was very obviously trouble, woman.”
Woman. He flings that word at me like it’s a term of endearment. “Can’t help myself, I guess.”
He reaches out, pushing the hair from my face, brushing the back of his hand along my tender cheek. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even really look amused anymore. No, he looks concerned. “You look like hell.”
“I feel it.”
His hand drifts down to my neck, his fingertips stroking a spot there. “Tell me what happened.”
“Can you, uh... I don’t know... uncuff me first? Remove the shackles, too, maybe?”
Lorenzo pulls his hand away, motioning for someone to help me. One of the officers in plainclothes pulls out a set of keys and removes my restraints. I flex my wrists, rubbing them, relieved to be free. The detective casts me a cautious look as he moves to lean against his car.
He’s still breathing kind of funny.
“Is he okay?” I ask, worried he might be having a heart attack or something.
“You okay, Jameson?” Lorenzo calls out.
“Fine,” the detective mutters.
“He’s fine,” Lorenzo says. “Now tell me what happened.”
Ugh, I don’t want to, but I know I need to tell him, so I just spill the whole shebang, starting with going to Coney Island and faltering when I recount the confrontation in the alley.
Lorenzo absorbs every word, waiting until I grow quiet before he says, “I’m going to kill him.”
Matter of fact. Just like that.
I’m going to kill him.
The detective groans. “Really, Gambini? I wish I hadn’t heard that.”
“Why? You gonna arrest me for it?”
“No, but now I’ve gotta pretend you never said it.”
Lorenzo laughs, turning to the officers, thanking them for their assistance, telling them to get on out of there. He twirls his pointer finger around in the detective’s face when the guy pushes away from the side of the car to climb in it. “Send me a bill for the nose, Jameson.”
“You know I will,” the detective says. Oops.
The Crown Vic drives off, followed by the SUV, leaving me here with just Lorenzo and his guys, who seem to be watching me warily for some reason. Even Seven is more tense than usual, off to the side, sort of behind Lorenzo. Standoffish.
I’m not sure what to make of it.
“Seven, I need you to find Detective Fuckface,” Lorenzo says. “I want his address. I want his mother’s address.”
“Yes, boss,” Seven says.
“The rest of you... I want you on Aristov. I want to know where he goes, what he does, and who he talks to. I know where he lives, and I know where he works, but I want to know everything else the man does. You got me?”
They murmur in agreement.
“Good, get out of here,” Lorenzo says. “Report back when you’ve got something.”
The guys disperse without another word, piling into the cars and leaving us here all alone, up on the roof of the parking garage with no car.
Lorenzo reaches into his back pocket once they’re gone, pulling something out and holding it up.
The DVD I tossed under the dumpster, Aristov written on it in faded black marker.
“You found it?”
“I did,” he says. “Took me a minute to riddle out what you were babbling about, but I put the pieces together and there it was.”
“I wonder what’s on it,” I say, reaching for the DVD, but Lorenzo pulls it back from my grasp before I can get my hands on it.
“Something you don’t want to see.”
My stomach sinks. “You’ve looked?”
He nods once.
“What is it?” I ask. “Tell me.”
Lorenzo says nothing for a moment, just staring at me, before carefully holding the DVD out so I can take it this time.
“Watch it, if you feel the need,” he says, his voice quiet. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, Scarlet.”