Grievous by J. M. Darhower
It’s like the striking of a match.
All it needs is that spark.
“I want you to keep an eye on my brother,” I order the rest of my guys. “Five and I will go get Three.”
Jameson stands there, eyeing me warily, as the men scatter. “That sounds like a math problem.”
“It’s some kind of problem, all right,” Five mumbles.
“There’s a dead girl down in the basement,” I tell Jameson. “And for the record, before you ask, she was already dead when I got there.”
His eyes widen. “She’s dead?”
“It’s not his girl,” Five says, answering for me as I head toward my car. “It’s somebody else’s.”
I climb in the passenger side, waiting for Five to hurry up, and snatch my phone off the dashboard. Nothing from Three. Of course. I dial his number. It rings and rings and rings before voicemail kicks in.
I hang up, trying again. Nothing.
“Fuck!” I yell, throwing the phone. It slams into the windshield so hard the damn thing cracks, the phone bouncing off, hitting Five as he gets in behind the wheel. It bounces off of him, too, tumbling to the floor by his feet, ringing shattering the tense air the moment it lands.
“Answer that,” I say, “and tell Three I said he better not be dead or I’ll kill him.”
Five picks it up. “Boss, I don’t think it’s Declan.”
He holds it up. Brooklyn number. I recognize it right away. Aristov.
I snatch the phone back to answer it. “Gambini.”
“Ah, Mister Scar, I am sorry it has taken me so long to contact you. I have been quite busy.”
“So it seems,” I say. “What do you want?”
“To let you know that I have your reward,” he says. “Feel free to stop by tonight, if you would like, so I can make sure you get what you are owed.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “I might just do that.”
I hang up without waiting on his response, tossing the phone onto the dash again as I mutter, “Fucking Russians.”
“Was that Aristov?” Five asks. “Why did he call?”
“To invite me over.”
“Are you going?”
“What do you think?”
Five starts the car. “I think, if you go, you’re not going without us.”
Chapter Nineteen
Buster was gone.
The little girl stood in the doorway to the den, staring up at the fireplace mantle. How long had he been gone? She wasn’t sure, because she never came in here anymore. Panic flooded her, her eyes darting around. “Where did Buster go?”
The Tin Man stood in the middle of the room, turning his head to look at her. “Away.”
“Where?” she asked. “What did you do with him? Why did he go away?”
“It does not matter,” the Tin Man said, waving her off. “Buster is gone.”
The little girl’s stomach felt like it dropped to her feet. “No, Daddy! Get him back! Please!”
“No.”
No. No. No.
“Please!” she screamed, running through the room. “I didn’t do nothing! I didn’t! I’ve been good! Don’t burn up Buster!”
He stopped her before she could make it to the fireplace, before she could look. She had to see.
The little girl fought, but it was for nothing, because the Tin Man was too strong, like he was truly made of metal. He clamped his hand down on top of her head, the simple touch enough to stop her in her tracks. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull his hand off, pushing against it with her head as she screamed, “Stop it! Don’t do that! Let me go! I wanna go!”
“Where?” he asked, glaring down at her. “Where do you want to go, kitten?”
“Home!” she screamed, hitting his arm as hard as she could with a clenched fist. “I don’t like you. You’re mean. You talk ugly! You don’t love me. Mommy loves me! I don’t wanna be here no more, so let me go!”
He let go.
Just like that.
He let go so fast she stumbled, falling.
Before she could get back on her feet, he snatched her right up with just one arm and hauled her over his shoulder, carrying her out. He moved fast, heading through the foyer, disabling the alarm and yanking the door open to step out into the cool night.
The Tin Man shoved her into his car before getting in, driving away from the big palace as she started crying. “Where are we going?”
“Home,” he said. “That is what you want. You say your home is not with me, that you want your mommy. So fine, I will take you home.”
The little girl started shaking—the good way, this time. Home. She was going home?
“Thank you,” she blurted out. She thought maybe it could be a trick, but she couldn’t help herself.
He cut his eyes at her, his voice quiet as he said, “Anything for you, kitten.”
Half an hour later, they pulled up in front of the familiar house. The little girl hadn’t seen it in so many months, but she recognized it right away. Home. He parked out front and hauled her out of the car, motioning toward the house. “Go on.”
The little girl ran right for it.
She didn’t realize, until she reached the door, that it was all dark inside, no lights on. The Tin Man strolled along behind her, pausing on the porch, leaning against the house as he watched her try to open the front door.
Locked.
The little girl knocked and knocked and knocked, calling out for her mother, but there was no answer. She pounded on it until her fist ached, running around the outside to peek through windows, but she couldn’t see anything.
“She’s not here,” the little girl said, “but she will be, I know it. She’ll come home soon.”
“We will wait,” the Tin Man said, glancing at his watch. “We will stay here as long as it takes.”
The little girl sat down on the porch.
Half an hour turned into an hour, which turned into forever. Hours... and hours... and hours. The little girl shivered, huddling in her shirt, her eyes heavy. So tired.
It was nearing sunrise when she almost fell asleep on the porch, leaning against the thick railing column, letting it support her. Her eyes were closed, resting, when she heard footsteps. Her heart raced, eyes snapping open. Mommy?
Not Mommy.
The Cowardly Lion stood on the pathway in front of her. He looked angry, not very cowardly anymore. He glared past her, at where the Tin Man still stood. “What are you doing?”
“She wanted her mother,” the Tin Man said, “so we are waiting for her to come home.”
That answer didn’t make the Cowardly Lion any happier. “You know damn well her mother isn’t living here.”
The Tin Man said nothing.
The little girl glanced back at him. What did that mean? “Where’s Mommy? Why doesn’t she live here?”
“Look what you have done,” the Tin Man said, his gaze fixed to the Cowardly Lion. “You have gone and upset her.”
“This is not me,” the Cowardly Lion said. “What you are doing here is cruel, Kassian.”
“Her mother is the one that moved on. She is the one with a new life in the city, one without her daughter... new friends, new lover, new everything, and no Sasha.”
The little girl frantically shook her head. “No, Mommy wouldn’t do that.”
The Tin Man looked at her. “Your mother is gone, kitten. I have tried to find her, but she does not want to be found. She is the one hiding now. But you do not like me. You do not like my home. So here you are, where there is nobody to care for you.”
He shoved away from the house, stepping off the porch, pausing in front of the Cowardly Lion.
“Do something with her,” the Tin Man said, “since you cannot ever seem to find her bitch mother. Do you think you can handle that much, Markel?”
The Cowardly Lion stared him in the face, saying nothing.
The Tin Man shoved against him, knocking him out of the way as he headed to his car.
He shook his head as he turned to her, holding up a hand. “No, this is what you wanted. You thanked me for it. You are just like her. I hope you are happy. No Mommy. No Buster. And now, no me. No home. No love. No food. So good luck, my kitten, with nothing.”
The little girl stood there, crying, as he drove away. She should be happy the Tin Man was gone, shouldn’t she? So why did her insides feel so empty?
“Do not cry, sweet girl,” the Cowardly Lion said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “You will be okay.”
Chapter Twenty
The phone drops to the coffee table with a thud.
I stare at it as the screen goes dark, my fingers itching to reach for it, but I don’t move. Legs pulled up, arms around them, chin resting on my knees, I just sit here on the floor near Kassian’s chair, right by his feet, where he used to always make me sit.
Easy access, he says.
Always within arm’s reach.
His hand presses against my hair, smoothing it, petting me, absently twirling strands around his fingers. My scalp tingles, even though I wish it wouldn’t. I want no part of me to ever react to any part of him, but it’s unconscious. I can’t stop it. The nerve endings are traitorous, sparking from the gentle touch, no matter how cruel the man attached to those hands may be.
It makes me sick to the stomach.
Or sicker, rather.
His phone call with Lorenzo was enough to make me want to throw up.
“It will not be long now,” Kassian says, his voice low. “The fun will soon begin.”
I shake my head, whispering, “He’s not coming.”
“You do not think so?”
“He’s smarter than that,” I say. “He’s not going to show up here just because you suggested it.”
“Oh, I think you are wrong. In fact, I think he is already on his way. Maybe not for the money. Maybe not for you. But he will come, because he is not the type to turn down an invitation, and we both know that, pretty girl. He will show his ugly face soon.”
The more he speaks, the more his grip on me tightens, the tingles replaced with pain as he tangles his fingers through my hair, fisting a handful. I wince as he tugs my head back, straining my neck, forcing me to look up at him.
“But maybe you are right,” he says. “You will be lucky if he does not show. Because when he gets here, the first thing I am going to do is fuck you. Right here, like we used to, right where everyone can watch. I might even let him join, let him take you one last time, kill him while he is deep inside of that sweet pussy. Would you like that, suka? Being the last thing he ever does?”
I don’t respond. I don’t react.
Man, that makes him mad.
His cheek twitches. He shoves me away, nearly knocking my head into the table from the force of it as he slouches in his chair. I rub my sore scalp from where he pulled my hair, my face flushing when I glance around the room.
Everybody’s watching us.
Watching me, rather.
Before I can dwell on it, I hear the front door open. The alarm is disabled as a thick accent echoes through the foyer. “Vor!”
Markel.
I tense, hearing a struggle, a scuffle, before Markel appears in the doorway. He’s not alone, though, and parts of me viciously twist at the recognition, as Markel drags another guy with him. Declan.
“Ah, Mr. Jackson! How nice of you to join us!” Kassian waves into the room. “Have a seat. We were just waiting for your boss to make an appearance.”
Declan struggles as Markel shoves him further into the room. His lip is busted, bleeding, the side of his face swollen. He fought, hard, but you can’t tell it looking at Markel. He’s all put together.
Well, except for his eye—still swollen and bloodshot, a milky haze coating it. Oops.
He shoves Declan down onto the couch across from me, his eyes on my face. I can feel his gaze, even after I look away, my attention returning to Kassian’s phone, discarded on the table just inches away. My heart is racing like a jackhammer, banging against my bruised ribcage.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I whisper when Kassian’s hand weasels its way back into my hair.
“No,” Kassian says, barely paying me any attention as he snatches up a bottle of vodka from the table.
“I’ll make it fast,” I tell him. “I promise.”
He ignores me, drinking, his eyes fixed on Declan.
“Kassian, I really have to pee.”
My hand slips beneath his pant leg as I shift position, grasping his bare calf. It catches him off guard, me touching him. He reacts instinctively, shoving me off, throwing me right into the small table. I wince, the blow hard enough to rock the flimsy wood, knocking things off. Bottles tip over, and people scramble to grab them before the liquor spills out, while I catch myself on the edge of the table, grabbing the phone and slipping it behind my back.
I’m not wearing much, I know, but you’d be amazed where women can hide things. I slip the small phone right under my arm, tucking it in the band of the black bra, before holding my hands up in front of me defensively.
Kassian glares at me as I shake, genuinely fucking shake, because if he saw what I just did, I’m fucked. Literally, figuratively, every sense of that word and every which way it can happen. Fucked.
“Go,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”
I’m on my feet, scurrying away, but I don’t make it from the room before he speaks again.
“Markel,” he says. “Show the suka to the bathroom.”
I stall near the door. “I remember where it is.”
“I know,” Kassian says. “I just do not trust you.”
“But—”
“Either he escorts you,” Kassian says, cutting me off, “or you go right here in front of us all. Take your pick. There is no other option.”
Markel chooses for me, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me out of the room, his grip so tight I grimace the entire way down the hall. He shoves me inside of the nearest bathroom, feeling along the wall to blindly turn on the light. Stumbling, scowling, I grab the door to close it when his palm smacks against the wood, shoving it right back open.
He shifts his body into the doorway. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans against the doorframe. He doesn’t look happy.
“Well?” He raises an eyebrow. “You said you had to go.”
“Can I get some privacy?”
“No.”
“Seriously? Can you turn the other way, at least?”
“No.”
My stomach drops. I just stand there, frozen.
“Stage fright?” he asks.
“This is humiliating.”
“I have seen you in worse predicaments. So go. I’m waiting. Tick, tick, stupid girl... time is being wasted.”
Rolling my eyes, I just do it. I didn’t really have to go, but I force myself to so not to raise suspicion. Afterward, I stand there, taking my time washing my hands, buying myself a few seconds to think.
Groaning, Markel comes closer, shoving me out of the way as he steps over to use the bathroom.
I move away as soon as his back is to me, stepping out into the hall and pulling the phone from my bra. It’s locked, so there isn’t a lot I can do, trying a few codes but they all say try again. Kassian’s too smart to use something I can guess.
Out of luck, out of time, I hit the ‘emergency’ button. Can’t do much besides call 911.
Not like it’ll help me right now, but maybe they can trace the call.
I hit the button to end the call after I’m sure it connects, shoving the phone back into my bra as Markel steps out of the bathroom.
“You didn’t wash your hands,” I tell him, making a face.
“Give it to me,” he says, holding his hand out.
He still doesn’t look happy.
“Give you what?”
“Give it to me,” he says again, his vo
I stall, hesitating, about to say I don’t know what he’s talking about, when a soft buzz echoes around us. My chest starts vibrating. It’s ringing. Fuck.
Before I can give it to him, he shoves me against the wall, patting me down and taking the phone out of my bra. I try to snatch it back, but Markel slams his forearm into my throat, pinning me there as he answers the call.
“Hello,” he says, glaring at me as I struggle to take a deep breath. “Ah, yes, I am very sorry, but it was a mistake. Just a little girl playing on the phone, pressing buttons. There is no problem.”
He hangs up on them, still glaring at me, saying nothing for a moment, just clutching the phone.
“You know how he is, Markel,” I whisper. “You know what he’ll do.”
“So why do you do these things? Why do you always have to anger him?”
“What choice do I have?”
“You could be what he wants you to be.”
I look away from him when he says that. He knows I can’t. He knows it’s not right, that it’s not fair. Markel may not be a saint, but he’s not like his brother, either. There’s compassion in him somewhere, and sometimes it feels like it’s buried so deep it can’t ever be unearthed, but other times, I see glimpses of it.
He takes a step back, removing his arm from my throat to slip Kassian’s phone in his pocket.
“Where is she?” I ask, my voice trembling, hoping this is one of those moments. “Have you seen her?”
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because she’s my little girl. I need to know that she’s okay. I need to see her.”
He tells me nothing, instead nodding toward the den, wordlessly ordering me to go. My gaze trails along the floor as I cross my arms over my chest, making my way back to Kassian.
He’s hunched over the table, snorting a thick line of snow-white powder when I step into the room. I hesitate, watching that, as Markel knocks into me from behind, moving around me to approach Kassian. Leaning down, he whispers, and my heart hammers hard, wondering if he’s ratting me out. Kassian’s gaze seeks me out as he listens to his brother, his eyes dark, so damn dark, his pupils massive.