It’s nice not having a jackhammer going off in my head for once.
Doesn’t last long, though.
Headlights flash as a car pulls into the driveway. Seven gets up to look, glancing out the window, saying, “Looks like Declan... and a woman.”
And a woman.
Eyes turn to me, awaiting my reaction, but I just sit here, not doing a damn thing yet. Three barrels his way on into the house, dragging a skinny little brunette along with him, red high heels clattering along the floor as she drags her feet. She doesn’t look happy to be here. Quite the opposite. He pulls her into the living room, shoving her in front of him. Her terrified gaze skitters around, settling on Scarlet, her dark eyes widening with recognition. Uh-oh.
Scarlet averts her gaze, turning her back to the girl, staring down at her hands as she picks at the chipped red polish on her fingernails.
“Fellas,” Three says casually, greeting everyone, his attention turning my way. “Boss.”
The guys mumble in response.
“Nice of you to join us,” I say, studying the woman. “I see you’ve brought a guest along.”
“Yeah, this is, uh... shit.” Three snaps his fingers, like he’s trying to remember, before giving up and nudging her. “Tell them who you are.”
“Alexis,” the girl says, her voice shaking.
“That’s it! Sexy Lexie...” Three grins, like he’s proud of himself for remembering that nickname. “Lexie works down at Limerence. I ended up in a basement because of her.”
“I’m sorry,” she says right away, looking back at him. “I told you, I—”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Three says, cutting her off. “Yeah, I know, I heard you.”
“I didn’t want to do it,” she says defensively. “I swear I didn’t. I like you, Declan. You’ve always been so nice, but Mr. Aristov—”
“Is your boss,” Three says, again cutting her off before he looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “You hear that? She works for the Russian.”
“I heard,” I say.
“I don’t have a choice,” she whispers, eyes turning to me.
“We know,” Three says, putting his hand on her shoulder. “What Aristov says goes—no ifs, ands, or buts about it, huh? He tells you to fuck someone, you do it, no question. Get on your knees for him? You’ll do that, too, like a good little girl. He tells you to put something in somebody’s drink, to drug them, and you don’t hesitate, huh? You’ll do whatever he says. He makes the rules.”
The more Three talks, the more the woman looks like she wants to collapse... but she’s not the only one. Scarlet tenses, and before the last syllable is even from Three’s lips, her voice cuts in. “That’s enough.”
Everyone looks at her.
“That’s enough,” Scarlet says again. “We get it. Just... leave her alone.”
Gazes shift to me, again awaiting my reaction. You see, around here, I make the rules, and they don’t follow orders unless they come from my mouth.
“Get to the point,” I say, motioning for Three to continue. “I’m sure you mother taught you not to play with your food.”
Three squeezes the woman’s shoulder as he leans closer to her, saying, “Tell them what you told me about your boss, Lexie.”
The woman opens her mouth before closing it again, over and over.
“Just spit it out, Tweety Bird,” I say. “Tell me what the Puddy-Tat did.”
“He has these parties at his house sometimes, him and the guys that work for him... they get together and some of the girls are brought in, but they don’t always come back out. Sometimes... well, sometimes...”
“Sometimes they’re never seen again?”
She nods, taking a moment, not continuing until Three nudges her once more. “A few months ago, I went to one of his parties. I didn’t want to, but none of us really do. He’s been... different. Colder. And we knew... we heard he found Morgan.” Her gaze shifts to Scarlet, her voice dropping lower. “They told us he found you, that he killed you. We all thought you were dead.”
Scarlet’s bottom lip trembles, but otherwise, she doesn’t react, still not looking at the woman.
“Hey, yo, eyes on me,” I say, snapping my finger, getting the woman’s attention again. “As much as I’m thrilled by story hour, I need you to get to the point before my high wears off and I stop listening.”
“There was a girl there,” she blurts out, “a little girl. His daughter. She was there. He’s been keeping her out of sight, so none of us even knew she was around, but she drew him a picture and she wanted to give it to him, so she snuck downstairs.”
“You saw her?”
She nods.
“She was okay?”
She nods again.
I glance at Scarlet, wondering how she’s taking this, but she’s just sitting, listening in silence, still picking at her fingernails.
“Well, I appreciate you chirping for us, Birdie,” I say, looking back at the woman as I sit up, my left hand coming to rest on Scarlet’s knee. “Truly. It’s been enlightening. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispers.
“You got anything else you want to share?” I reach into my waistband and pull out my gun, cocking it and aiming it at her. “Any parting words?”
Three jumps back a few steps, moving away, because he knows my aim is shit and if he stands too close, he’s liable to get shot. Besides, I think he’s still traumatized from being splattered with brain matter last time. The woman tenses as terror rushes through her. I can see it, the horror in her eyes, her body trembling. She doesn’t raise her hands, doesn’t move, staring straight at me, but the floodgates open. Tears coat her cheeks, words spewing from her lips.
“Please, don’t do this,” she cries. “Please... I’m begging you... you don’t have to do this!”
“But I do,” I say. “I let you walk out of here, you run back to your boss, and then what? Huh? I’ll tell you what—you’ll spill your guts.”
“I won’t,” she says. “I swear. I’d never. Morgan... please... Morgan, tell him.”
Scarlet squeezes her eyes shut.
“Boss,” Three chimes in as he takes a step back toward the woman. The second he does, I aim the gun at him instead. At least he has the sense to raise his hands. “Maybe you don’t have to do this...”
“You brought her to my house, Three,” I say. “You know better. Maybe I should be shooting you for this.”
“But maybe you don’t have to shoot anyone,” he says. “She’s an in. We can use her somehow.”
“How?”
Three blanks when I ask that.
Might be the gun pointed at him.
Hard to think while that’s happening.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Pressure’s on, motherfucker.
“Next month,” the woman blurts out. “There’s another party. I can go. I’ll volunteer. I can help you, whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it. I swear.”
“See?” Three says. “Problem solved.”
Problem not solved, contrary to what he thinks.
He just made it domino into a whole host of other problems for me. Slowly, though, I lower the gun, taking the bullet out of the chamber, my finger leaving the trigger. “Fine.”