Slick Rick, the asshole named Ricardo, the one who clearly hasn’t yet succeeded in sending a message to the guy they call Scar.
“You need something, cupcake?” he asks, eyes scanning me. I’m wearing the equivalent of pajamas, yet he still gawks at me like I’m indecent or something.
“I need to see the boss,” I say, pushing past him into the office.
I don’t make it far before he grabs my arm to stop me.
“He’s busy,” he says. “Come back later.”
I yank away from him. “I can wait.”
George is sitting at his desk, on the phone. His raised voice echoes through the room, so enraged it keeps me from approaching. Instead, I linger by the entrance as Ricardo shuts the door and takes a seat, rubbing his hands along the thighs of his black slacks, like his palms might be sweaty. Not good.
“What the fuck do you mean they said nothing?” George yells. “How do you get robbed when they say nothing? Huh? What, they walk in and you just hand over the money, they don’t even have to ask?”
He pauses long enough to take a deep breath, long enough for whoever’s on the line to try to explain, but it does nothing to calm George down.
“I don’t care!” he yells. “There’s no excuse! Do something about it! Nobody steals from me!”
He doesn’t bother hanging up, instead slamming his phone down on the desk, over and over and over, shattering the screen. I don’t even think he notices me here, tunnel vision sending his attention straight to Ricardo. “Why hasn’t that thieving son of a bitch been dealt with?”
“I’m working on it,” Ricardo says. “I called him, trying to get another meeting, and his lackey said he was busy.”
“Busy robbing me!”
I’m almost inclined to chime in, to ask if they’re talking about Scar… because if so, he was actually busy stalking me to my apartment, but I remain silent instead. Not my problem.
“I’ll try again,” Ricardo says, “right now.”
Ricardo gets up, slipping out of the office. George’s gaze trails him but stalls on me. Shit. “You need something, Morgan?”
“I, uh... was just trying to see about maybe picking up some more work this week?”
That’s not what I wanted.
I wanted to get some information about Scar, but I’m pretty sure that’s a topic I shouldn’t bring up at the moment.
“Come back tomorrow,” he says, shoving out of his chair. “I don’t have time to deal with your schedule right now.”
“Oh-kay,” I mumble as he storms past me, leaving me in the office alone. I glance around. No cameras in here. I don’t know how long he’s going to be gone, so I make it fast, scooping up his discarded, shattered phone, muttering, “Please work.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
It works.
Screen lights up, asking for the security code. Shit. I immediately try the usual combinations, repeating numbers and birthdays, before hitting 1-2-3-4 and rolling my eyes when it opens. I scroll through his contacts, finding a number listed under Scar. Opening the top desk drawer, I pull out a pen, jotting the number down on my hand before returning the phone to how I found it. I drop the pen back into the drawer, seeing the cash still just lying there that I gave him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck it.
I snatch it up, shoving it in my pocket, before shutting the drawer again and heading for the door, running right into someone as soon as I step out.
“Whoa buddy,” I say as Ricardo appears in front of me.
That was close.
He narrows his eyes at me. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving,” I say, trying to move when he grabs my arm for the second time tonight.
“What were you doing?”
“Pretty sure I don’t answer to you,” I say, yanking away, “so keep your hands to yourself, cupcake.”
I leave, because there’s no way I’m hanging around here. The money feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket, glowing like a beacon, screaming thief… thief… thief…
Once back in my apartment, I head for my black duffel bag, scouring through it to pull out my cheap little cell phone, flipping it open. Dead. Plugging it into the charger, I wait until it comes alive before punching in the numbers scribbled on my palm, calling Scar.
It rings... and rings... and rings.
Voicemail picks up.
“It’s, uh... me... whatever. I’m sure you know who I am. I’ve got your money, so come get it, I guess.”
I flip the phone closed, staring at it for a moment before tossing it back in the bag. I’m not sure how long it’ll take him to show up, but I hope he makes it quick.
I want to be done with this.
I have more important things to deal with.
Chapter Seven
“Where is she?”
The Tin Man’s voice was angrier than the little girl had ever heard it, laced with bitter venom as he hissed every syllable. She trembled, hiding in the bottom of the kitchen pantry, tucked behind some boxes.
One week.
She’d been at that house for seven long days, and every minute that passed made her hate it more and more. It made her hate him. She hated him more than she’d ever hated anybody, more than Buzz and Woody hated Sid from next door.
He was horrible.
Her stomach growled as she chewed on a piece of dry bread that she’d stolen from the counter, hoping it would soak up all of her queasiness, but it wasn’t working.
“I don’t know,” another man said, one of the flying monkeys, the one who stuck closest to the Tin Man. He was more like the Cowardly Lion, she thought, because he was big, and looked mean, but maybe he was more of a softie, because the Tin Man spooked him sometimes.
But then again, the Tin Man spooked everybody.
“Unacceptable,” the Tin Man growled. “Find her! You hear me? I will not do this again. I want to know where she went and what she is doing. Now!”
“Yes, Vor,” the Cowardly Lion muttered, stomping out of the kitchen as the Tin Man lost his temper, glass shattering against the wall near the pantry. The little girl whimpered, nearly choking on the bread, and tried to crawl further back into the shadows as footsteps came her way.
The door opened, light blasting her. Those cold gray eyes met her gaze, a frown on his face. Guess he found me. He stared at her in strained silence before crouching down, getting on her level. “What are you doing in there?”
She shrugged.
He scanned her, pursing his lips. The Tin Man wore a fresh, crisp suit the same color as his eyes. It made him look even more robotic, like he really had on armor. His gaze shifted to the hunk of bread she clutched as he scrunched up his nose. “You stink.”
Her brow furrowed.
“You have become feral,” he said, his lips twitching before a small laugh escaped, light and amused, his anger gone, just like that. Scary. “You have not bathed all week. You are filthy. You still have on the same nightgown and your hair has not been brushed.”
She scowled, knowing that was true. She was dirty, and she probably did stink, but it didn’t matter. She was just waiting for her mother to come. She promised she would find her.
“I have been patient with you,” he said. “You hide from me. You avoid me. I have not punished you for breaking the rules. You leave your room when I tell you not to, you snub my kindness, refuse to eat what I have sent up and instead choose to steal from my kitchen. You steal. I understand you are upset, kitten. Your mother has hurt you. She hurt me, too.”
“You hurt her,” the little girl said. “You made Mommy cry.”
“I know I did,” he said, not denying that, “but she gave me no choice.”
“Why?”
“That is not a question we ask. It does not matter. But we are here now, you and I, and she is not, so we must learn to live without her... together.”
The little girl shook her head.
“You will obey me,” he said.
She shook her head again.
He didn’t like that answer.
Reaching into the pantry, he grabbed her arm, yanking her out of it and throwing her across the room. She skidded along the kitchen floor, dropping her bread, stunned, and started to cower, knocking a stool out of the way as she pressed back against the bar.