I snap my puzzle piece into place before picking up another one. “So, at what point did she hit you?”
He laughs lightly, rubbing his face again. “When I gave her the money. She didn’t want to take it, got downright pissed, but then I told her what you told me to tell her, and well... she kind of got emotional, so I jetted out of there.”
“You told her?”
“Yeah.”
Go find your picket fence.
It’s as good of a goodbye as any, I figure. She wants the fairy tale with the happy ending. All I have are bullet holes in a house with no soul. I knew she wouldn’t want Aristov’s money, but I took it for her. A million dollars for Morgan. That was the deal. I took it so she wouldn’t go back to stripping, so she wouldn’t resort to stealing, so she wouldn’t ever have to pickpocket another motherfucker like me.
I took it because she deserves a shot at the kind of life she says she wants. Nothing will erase what he put her through, but maybe it’ll ease her hurt just enough for her to move on.
“You okay, boss?” Three asks.
I cut my eyes at him. “I’m fine.”
“You need anything else from me?”
“No,” I say. “Not tonight.”
“I’m gonna head home, then. I’ll see you later.”
He starts to leave, heading toward the door, as I sit down in my chair and run my hands down my face. Fuck. “Before you go...”
He glances back at me. “Yeah?”
“The brunette from Limerence, the one you, uh...”
“Lexie?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, look, about her,” he says. “I know she was supposed to be there tonight, that she was supposed to help, but she wouldn’t have flaked intentionally, you know. I don’t know what happened, but Lexie... she’s a good girl, so if you could maybe cut her a break, I’d—”
“She’s dead.”
He stalls, his expression falling. “What?”
“She’s dead,” I say again. “When we hit the club tonight, we found her in the basement.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, just standing there, staring at me, like he’s not sure how to react. I can see it in his eyes, though. The sadness. The pain. He liked her, for whatever reason, and he’s grieving. Look them in the eyes if you want to know what they’re not saying. My stepfather used to stress that.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Is it really any wonder why mine are fucked up?
“Well... that sucks,” he says, running a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it up. “But hey, on the bright side, Bruno’s back, so I guess we have snacks again, huh?”
I don’t have it in me to tell him not to get his hopes up on that, because Seven might have shown up but I wouldn’t call him back, so I just nod. He’s deflecting. I’m not going to be a bigger asshole and call him out on it.
“Goodnight, boss,” he say quietly, walking out.
I turn back to my puzzle, mumbling, “Goodnight, Declan.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
When I get no response to my retort, my gaze turns to the library doorway, where my brother stands. He’s staring in at me, watching me, his eyebrows raised.
“It looks like you’re standing there,” he says, “doing the same thing you were doing when I went to bed twelve hours ago.”
I glance at my watch. It’s shortly past noon. Huh. “You went to bed at midnight?”
“Yes,” he says. “I said goodnight, remember?”
No. “Vaguely.”
He stares at me some more.
“I’m still working on my puzzle,” I tell him, turning back to it. “I’m almost finished.”
I only have about five hundred pieces left out of the eight thousand that make up Michelangelo’s painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
“Have you even tried to sleep?” he asks. “I’m guessing not, since you still look like that.”
I glance down at myself. I haven’t even taken my boots off. I’m covered in dirt, sweat, fuck... even some blood. It’s not very visible on the black fabric, but it still covers my hands, caked under my nails. “I haven’t gotten around to it.”
“You know sleep deprivation can kill you, right? I mean, it probably won’t, but it could.”
“I’m fine,” I say, “but if it’ll make you feel better, Pretty Boy, I’ll go to bed when I’m done.”
“When’s that going to be?”
“Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
He grows quiet, but I can feel his judgment. Seems my answer isn’t good enough for him for whatever reason. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m the adult here, that I raised his little punk ass and not the other way around.
Before he can try to lecture me, a chime echoes through the house. Instantly, I hear Melody’s shrill voice as she panics in the living room, like she’s traumatized by the sound of a doorbell.
Leo forgets all about our conversation, rushing away to console her.
I ignore it, going back to my puzzle, working on it in silence. I assume my brother answers the door, because a minute or so later, he’s right back in the doorway. “Seven’s here to see you.”
“Good for him.”
“Yeah, he rang the doorbell,” Leo says. “Seems to think his open invitation has been revoked, so he’s waiting on the front porch.”
“Ask him if he’s come up with a reason yet.”
“Uh, okay...” Leo walks away, returning a minute later. “He says because he’s sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
Leo leaves, once more returning. “He says he thinks he can still be helpful.”
“Well, I think Valet parking is helpful, but that doesn’t mean I can’t park the fucking car myself.”
And again.
“He says he’ll do whatever you say.”
“Tell him I say to come back when he’s got something real to offer, because otherwise, I’m liable to shoot him in the fucking face.”
Leo hesitates before walking away.
I focus on the puzzle, piece after piece after piece, and fall into a trance. Tunnel vision. There’s a disconnect inside of me. My mind’s working, my muscles moving, but I’m on autopilot. A fucking robot. My blinks get slower, my eyes burning, the world around me a blur as the day drifts away, darkness falling.
Leo keeps popping in, trying to engage in conversation.
Are you hungry? No.
You sure? Pretty damn positive.
Need something to drink? I’ve got my rum.
Are you almost done? I would be, if you’d leave me the fuck alone.
I scrub my hands over my face, groaning, squeezing my eyes shut, but I instantly regret it.
Whenever I close my eyes, I see her. Scarlet.
I see her smiling. I see her crying. I hear her laughter flowing through me, sending chills down my spine. The sound of her moaning creeps through my bloodstream, the face she makes in the throes of passion the pulse that spurs it on. Whatever this is I’m feeling, I want it to stop. I want it to go away. I want to stop fucking seeing her every time I blink. I want to stop fucking thinking about her every time I pause to take a deep breath. She’s like an infection that’s settling into my chest. I would rip out my own organs if I thought it might purge her from my system.