“Yes.”
I motion for her to come in, and she strolls closer as I say, “I wasn’t aware you had one of those.”
She pauses in front of me. “Doesn’t everybody?”
She’s not making much sense at the moment.
She seems almost... dazed.
I grasp her chin, tilting her head as I pull her face closer to me. Her eyes are bloodshot, glassy. “Are you high?”
She laughs bitterly at my question. “No.”
“There’s something off about you.”
Scarlet clutches my wrist, trying to pry my hand away. “I’ve had a rough day, so excuse me for not being my bright-eyed, bushy-tailed self, Lorenzo.”
I let go when she averts her gaze.
She’s been crying, I realize. She sucked it the fuck up before walking in here, but there’s no doubt she was crying.
I look at my puzzle, grabbing a piece, trying it in a few places. “Where’s home, Scarlet? With the Russian asshole?”
She laughs bitterly again as she takes a step over, helping herself to my chair. Tilting her head back, she scrubs her hands over her face. “No, not with him.”
“Good,” I say, “because if I find out you took my car for a rendezvous with that jackass, I will shoot you, technicality or not.”
“You think I’d…? That I would really… with him?” She blinks rapidly, staring at me, looking like she might try to cry again, this time in front of me. “That’s just... wow. You don’t understand. You just don’t get it. If you did, you wouldn’t think... ugh!”
She throws her hands up, shaking her head. Okay, she didn’t cry, but I definitely offended her.
“So, tell me about home.”
“Do you really give a shit?”
“Maybe.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
I continue working on my puzzle.
“It’s a white house with a bright red door and wooden floors. It’s small, I guess, but it’s two stories tall, two bedrooms, one bathroom, you know, with everything else that comes in a house. It has a lot of little spaces, cabinets and closets and cubby holes.”
“And that’s home?”
“Yes.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because home is where the heart is, I guess,” she says.
“And what, your heart’s here? I need some elaboration. You’re weirding me the fuck out with this.”
She laughs at that. “No, but it’s not there, either. Not anymore. It’s just... it’s hard to explain. I wish it was still there, and seeing the place, well, it just reminds me that it’s gone.”
“So why go there?”
“Because I need to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That I have a heart still out there somewhere.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Anything I do say will probably make me sound like an asshole.
Because it’s easier, you know, to forget the heart exists at all.
But I’m getting the idea that her heart may be what gets her out of bed in the morning, so I won’t begrudge her that. To each their own.
The front door to the house opens again. I hear a commotion, something getting the guys riled up, voices loud.
I pick up the gun again, thinking I probably ought to just glue the fucking thing in my hand with the way today is going, and step out of the library, pausing in the hallway, glancing toward the front door, straight to someone I quite frankly didn’t expect to ever see again.
Three.
He looks at me as soon as I aim the gun. Fear flashes in his eyes as he raises his hands. “No, no, wait! Please!”
“A week,” I say. “You’ve been gone for seven days.”
“I know,” he says, “but it wasn’t my fault!”
He looks pretty damn rough. Someone worked him over good. Fresh bruises. Old bruises. He’s filthy. He stinks. I can smell him the whole way down the hall. It makes my nose twitch. “Whose fault is it?”
“The Russian,” he says. “Aristov.”
Huh.
“He snatched me that night at Limerence. Me and this girl, we were going at it, next thing I know I wake up in some fucking basement, chained up like a dog.”
“So, what, you got roofied? Kept as a pet for the Russians? What did they want?”
“Her.”
Three’s gaze flickers past me. I don’t have to turn around to know Scarlet will be standing there.
Of course he wants her.
“He just kept saying she was his,” Three continues. “He wanted to find her. He wanted me to help.”
“And did you?”
Shock passes across his face. “What? Fuck no! I told him to fuck off. He said he just needed an address, that he’d do the rest, that I didn’t have to get my hands dirty, but I wasn’t telling him shit.”
“So how’d you get out of there?”
“I guess after a week, he realized I wasn’t cracking, so he let me go.”
“He let you go,” I say with disbelief. “Which means he probably followed you.”
He shakes his head adamantly. “He didn’t, I swear. Nobody did, I made sure of it! I took five trains and three cabs, even rerouted into the city, just in case. He was going to kill me, I think, but he decided to have me bring you a message. He said—“
Ringing cuts him off. He falters.
Seven pulls my phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen, shaking his head.
Three’s voice chimes back in. “He said to answer the phone when he calls you. He’s tired of getting your voicemail.”
Son of a bitch.
Guess the mystery of the blocked number has been solved. I’m still not answering it.
The ringing stops.
I lower the gun, shoving it in my waistband.
“Well, then, who’s up for making a trip to Limerence?” I ask. “There’s a lot of money in it for you.”
Hands shoot up.
Every single one of them volunteers—even Three, as fucked up as he already is, and Seven, whose wife would kill him if he stepped foot in that place. My guys, they don’t back down from a challenge, especially where cold hard cash is involved.
“Go tell that Russian bastard I’ll think about accepting his call when he grows some balls and unblocks his number, because pussies don’t get talked to, they only get fucked.”
I turn, to go back into the library, catching Scarlet’s concerned gaze.
“Oh, and say it just like that, word-for-word,” I say, glancing back at the guys. “And if you survive, when you come back here for payment, don’t let him follow you. I mean it. You endanger my brother, I’ll kill you all myself.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Is a library still a library if there aren’t any books?
Wouldn’t it be more of a study?
That’s what I’m thinking about, as I sit on the floor in the library right beside the door, knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around them, back against the wall. I mean, he’s got a handful of books, maybe a dozen, but the shelves are pretty much barren. Are twelve books enough to push it into library territory?
I don’t know.
Don’t really care, either.
But I’ve got to think about something or else my mind will just drift to thoughts I’m trying desperately not to have, so I’m thinking about him, and his room, and his life...
Lorenzo.
He’s working on the puzzle. I’ve seen him do it before in little spurts, but he’s been at it now for hours consistently, making quite a bit of progress as I watch. He’s methodical, the whole process clearly serious to him, but at the same time I think he’s actually enjoying himself. It’s strange. Every now and then he’ll get this look on his face, like contentment and relief and pride all rolled into one.
I’ve seen the man in the throes of passion. I’ve seen him excited, and agitated, and dangerously cold. I’ve watched his emotions fluctuate the spectrum, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him calm.
Like, this is the guy who raised his little brother to be the responsible, respectful guy Leo is. This is the guy who could actually have a library and not just a barren room with bullet holes littering the floor.