Page 118 of Vile Bastards
Widow follows me and then we stand, awkward and strange, near Scarlett’s Pantera.
“While I didn’t require your help in said situation, I appreciate it.” I fidget with my gloves and Widow’s gaze drops to my hands.
“It wasn’t for you,” he replies easily, redirecting his attention to my face. “There’s Scarlett’s reputation to consider. As her”—and here he has to pause to lick his lips—“fuckboy, I can’t have you being thrown around and called a faggot.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, extracts one, and lights up. I take a careful step back, and he offers up a wry smile. “I take it you don’t smoke?”
“The habit repulses me,” I admit, knowing full well that Scarlett Force smokes. Could I do it? Kiss her after a cigarette? I shudder at the thought, looking up at the imposing brick walls of Prescott High.
It’s a place where dreams go to die.
I look back at Widow, his own gaze on his purple Corvette. It’s parked so close to the front bumper of Scarlett’s car that if she didn’t have ample room behind it, even someone of her considerable skill wouldn’t be able to get out.
Widow scoffs and rubs at his forehead; I’m assuming he was parked there first. If not, what a ghastly display of dominance. I should punish him in Scarlett’s place.
“Look at the pair of you,” Scarlett says, appearing out of nowhere like the devil herself. “Getting along so well.” She pats her chest with a hand, and my eyes catch on the crude metal ring on her finger. Whoever made it—likely Widow himself—has the craftsmanship of a barbarian.
Glancing his way, at his shirt with the hole in it that shows off a bit of his navel, the torn jeans, the mussy hair, I think that’s the point. That’s what Scarlett likes. But then … she let me grind her ass into the dirt floor of the safe house.
Widow leans his ass against the Pantera in challenge, meeting Scarlett’s gaze.
“I’ve got the boys covered. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” He takes a drag on his cigarette as Scarlett’s eyes narrow to slits and her best friend with the gold eye shadow sighs heavily, glancing over at me.
“You gonna be as much trouble as this one?” Nisha asks, pointing over at Widow while the other best friend—Bastian, was it?—peers into the hood of my sweater and shakes his head. I yank the mask down to expose the lower half of my face.
“More trouble, I imagine.”
Nisha whistles and shakes her head.
“Least he man enough to admit it,” she grumbles, eying Widow again with a shake of her head. He ignores her.
“You truly are unrecognizable.” Bastian nods his head at me. “I like the, uh, metal.” He points at the fake lip rings on either side of my mouth. I didn’t intend to take the mask off at any point, but just in case, the two simple black rings are adjustable and slip right on. The package they came in was sealed and sterile, so I felt fairly comfortable wearing them.
“You ever wanna make ‘em permanent, we’ll head over to The Glorious Goddess. It’s a piercing studio in the one part of downtown Eugene that’s still cool.” Scarlett snorts at that, snatching Widow’s cigarette from his fingers. He offers her up a dark scowl in response, but I can see from his body language that this is a bizarre form of flirtation between them.
An ambulance pulls up on the curb and the paramedics rush over to the boy groaning on the bench. I smile as Scarlett turns to look at the disturbance.
“The fuck is wrong with Waylon Tucker?” she murmurs, studying the situation with mild interest.
“Your friend here stabbed a two-inch long needle into his stomach.” Widow lights up a new cigarette, gaze traveling over me as he takes me in again.
“Marie,” Scarlett breathes, looking back at me in surprise. “Day one and you’re already causing trouble?” She flashes a bright smile, dragging her sunglasses down to cover her big, brown eyes.
My hand twitches, and I almost reach up to cup the side of her face.
The impulse causes an immediate and violent backlash in me, and I take a small step back.
My obvious resistance—or lack thereof—only makes her smile wider.
“Guess you’ll fit in just fine here, huh?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box, passing it over to me. “Here. To celebrate your first day of school. I made ‘em myself.” She lifts her chin proudly as I consider the price of touching the small box in her hands. With a sigh, Scarlett reaches out and grabs my hand, curling my fingers around it.
Her touch … it doesn’t repulse me.
It makes me want more.
I want to dirty my cock with her sweetness. I want to taste it. I almost throw up at the thought, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting it anyway.
