They laugh.
Bunch of sick fucks, finding it funny that their friend is splattered with brain matter.
I shake my head, shoving the gun at Seven, who takes it without question. White smoke surrounds us from the lube I use in the tube of the suppressor.
I know there’s one hell of a sex joke in there somewhere, just begging to be made, but I don’t have time for it right now, because the air’s so thick the damn smoke detector starts screeching in the hallway, as if I’m not drawing enough attention.
“Clean the gun,” I tell Seven before waving toward the mess on the couch. “The rest of you, do something about this before Three shits his pants.”
They laugh some more as Three grumbles under his breath, trying to pull himself together. He’s the whitest white boy around, with shaggy blond hair and light green eyes, freckles on his button nose, his cheeks all rosy, like he’s always blushing. He’s a cross between a California surfer and little Bobby Brady with the personality of John Wayne Gacy… you know, a murderous clown.
“Lorenzo? Everything okay?”
My brother’s voice rings out from upstairs. I turn, stepping back out into the hallway to respond, and come face-to-face with Scarlet. She stands there, eyes kind of wide as they regard me, a look in them that I recognize… a look that tells me she watched what I just did. It’s not fear, no. I’ve seen her scared. I watched her cower behind a bar in terror, remember? This is more so surprise, like maybe she didn’t think I had it in me, like maybe she hadn’t been taking me seriously until now.
Like she didn’t realize I lived up to my reputation.
“It’s fine,” I yell, waving toward the blaring smoke detector, fanning the haze away. “Stay upstairs.”
“Planned on it,” he yells back. “Just, can you keep it down? I have to work in the morning, bro.”
The blaring silences as I laugh to myself.
I’ll never get over the irony of me raising a straight-laced member of society.
“I need a drink,” I grumble, scrubbing my hands down my face as I walk away, detouring to the library for the bottle of rum. Scarlet follows me. I don’t see her, or hear her, so much as sense her. It’s a feeling ghosting across my skin from her eyes studying me.
“There has to be more,” she says finally.
“More what?” I ask.
“The Juniper Tree,” she says. “It can’t end like that.”
Taking a swig of rum, I turn to her. “You’re still going on about that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just a story. Stories have to end sometime. Hell, did you watch The Sopranos? Sometimes stories just stop. Shit just goes black. Wham, bam, over. No more, nothing left, the end.”
She makes a face. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, well, life sucks, Scarlet,” I say. “You know that as well as anyone. Sometimes beasts are just fucking beasts, no matter how much you love them, Belle. It’s a fact. I’ve seen love bring a monster back to life before, but most of the time, the monster just loves you to death.”
She shakes her head, looking away.
I take it she doesn’t like what I’m saying.
For a woman who claims she doesn’t believe in fairy tales anymore, unhappy endings are sure ruffling her feathers.
“A white picket fence,” I say, something clicking after a moment. That’s what she said outside. You’ve got a white picket fence. “Is that what you want? To be proven wrong? For some happily ever after to come along and sweep you off your feet? Take you away from this bullshit life and give you your picket fence?”
“You’re an asshole, Lorenzo.”
“That doesn’t sound like a denial.”
“Is it so wrong to want to be happy?”
“Is that what makes you happy? Really?”
She noncommittally shrugs a shoulder.
“Well, if it is, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I say, “because I can’t give you that. Don’t let the fence out there fool you. Around here, it’s just a fence. It came with a house that I bought because my brother liked it. Nothing more. But what I can offer, Scarlet, is to stand in your corner. You and I, we can be the best of friends, but don’t expect to find your fairy tale under my roof. You got me?”
She stares me down.
I think maybe I offended her. Not that it matters, though, because it’s the truth, and the last thing I want is for this woman to get it twisted and think I’m something I can’t be: her hero.
After a moment, she cocks her head to the side and says, “Are you for real?”
“As real as it gets.”
“Why would you be my friend? What do you get out of it?”
I consider that question as I sip from the bottle of rum, sitting back down in my chair. “The truth?”
“Please.”
“I’m bored,” I admit. “I came to the city because of a movie, too. The Godfather. But reality? It’s nothing like it is in the movies. Most days we just sit around, waiting for something to happen. It’s monotonous. The world, it’s all in black and white, but you? You’re so many shades of red, woman, and color me curious, but I find myself not so bored with your bullshit around.”
“You know, Kassian’s not just cruel,” she says, approaching. “He’s callous… soulless… vicious.”
“Cold-blooded, hardhearted, and a dozen other synonyms that mean he’s a real piece of shit?”
“Yes,” she says. “He’s not someone you mess with.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Mary Poppins, either.”
She pauses right in front of me. “Yes, but—”
Before she can finish, before she can rattle off something that’ll probably offend me, a hundred bullshit reasons why I shouldn’t befriend her, I snatch ahold of the back of her neck, gripping it tightly as I yank her down, forcing her to look me in the eyes, so close my nose brushes against hers.
Her breath hitches.
“I will slit his fucking throat and drink his blood, Scarlet,” I say, my voice gravelly, quiet, and goddamn serious. “He might scare you, and maybe it’s for good reason, but he doesn’t scare me. Because all those words you used to describe him? I’ve been called them, too. I’ve earned my distinction, I fought for my title, and whether or not he’s worth the fear he incites? Well, I’m still deciding. You got me?”
She exhales shakily, but instead of acknowledging what I ask, she lets out a laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Welcome to the madhouse. Feel free to stay as long as you’d like, but as long as you’re here, there are rules to be followed.”
“Like?”
“Like betray me and I kill you. Lie to me and I kill you. Ignore an order and I kill you. Otherwise, do whatever the hell you want. You think you can handle that?”
“As long as you don’t talk down to me because I’m a woman. You pull some misogynistic shit and I’ll kill you. We got a deal?”
Those words, they do something to me, hearing that threat come from her lips, so at odds with that low, sultry voice. It makes me hard in an instant.
“Depends,” I say. “Is telling you that I’d really like to fuck your throat right now misogynistic?”
She blinks a few times, like she didn’t expect me to say that. “Would you say that to your men?”
“If something they said turned me on, I would.”
My hand shifts, from the back of her neck to the front of her throat, my thumb and forefinger against her carotid arteries. I don’t press hard, just resting them there, faintly feeling the blood pulsing through her system. Her heart’s racing.
“Is it even possible for them to turn you on?” she asks, swallowing thickly, her throat vibrating against my palm.
“Oh, without a doubt,” I tell her. “Nothing is impossible. But those guys, you know, they’re crude, kind of scuzzy, so they’re more likely to disgust me than get me hard. Still, though... I don’t like to rule anything out.”
I let go of her, relaxing back in my chair, and expect her to pull away now that I’m no longer holding her there, but she keeps her position, her hands coming to rest on the arms of my chair as she leans over me.