Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)

by J.M. Darhower

“If you give the monster a name, it takes away its power, because we’re really just afraid of what we don’t know. If you name it, if you know what it is, you can be stronger than it. So face your fears and wipe your tears, remember? Face your fears and wipe your tears.” The commotion downstairs

Fucking fool. That’s what I am. That’s me. Lorenzo ‘Fucking Fool’ Gambini. Say it with me.

I happen to like my balls. They accentuate my cock quite nicely, you know. I’d show you, but well... you’ve got to earn that first. So pay attention, okay? There’s work to do here.

“You know what they say,” I tell her. “That which doesn’t kill me—” “Only makes me stronger,” she says, finishing the sentence. “I was going to say isn’t trying hard enough, but that works, too.”

But the gut? The gut knows. The gut remembers. You should always listen to it.

But not everyone needs the same thing, and that’s the trick. You can’t just be all one thing. If you’ve gotta be a monster, you be a fucking shapeshifter.

It happens time and time again. You shoot one scumbag in front of a pretty little blonde and suddenly you go from being James Dean to Charlie Manson. Women don’t like Charlie Manson. Well, those with any sense don’t...

“When the boys came out to play,” I mumble, “Georgie Porgie ran away.”

Mind your own business and you’ll live a hundred years. Problem is, you know, a hundred years is a long time. Do I really want to live that long? My curiosity says, ‘I don’t think so’.

Jesus, this woman knows her anatomy. A+ Top marks. Summa cum laude. Valedictorian of her motherfucking class.

“Then I wouldn’t really call it misogynistic,” she says. “You’re more of an equal opportunity asshole.”

“You gonna go rob your granny of her couch cover?” He shrugs. “Well, yeah, if you need it, sure.”

“You’ll have to excuse my brother, Scarlet,” Lorenzo says. “He thinks you’re one of my wham-bam’s. I tend to impose a ‘one ride per person’ rule, so next times are pretty unheard of.”

“I’ve got clothes on, don’t worry,” I say, looking down at myself—black pants, black boots, white shirt, black coat. Exciting, I know. “I only rock out with my cock out when it’s dark out.”

How the fuck does he still have a functioning liver? Hell, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s why he’s after Scarlet. Maybe he needs a transplant. Maybe they’re compatible.

Me? I like a little bit of everything… with the exception of that last one. Stick a finger in my ass all you want, but the second you start boo-hoo’ing, I’m done.

“What’s your favorite Avenged Sevenfold song?” I ask, pausing beside the guy alone at the table, trying to turn on the charm and act interested. He looks up at the sound of my voice as I lean over, against the table, all up in his space. “Nightmare.” “No shit?” I smirk, straw against my lips. “That’s mine, too!”

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice sounding pretty damn serious as he says that. “Roll your eyes all you want, but I happen to think pussy is a damn good reason to go to battle.”