Page 124 of Vile Bastards
“That man gives me the creeps,” Widow murmurs, sighing and sitting up. He rests his elbows on his knees. “Any specific time you want us over?”
“One-thirty should be good. Apologies in advance for whatever fit Alexis decides to throw.” I turn my attention to Alexei. “She’s not stupid, so maybe she’ll recognize you, but let’s just roll with the Marie thing for now. Wear your disguise.”
“You don’t trust your sister?” he asks me, his voice as crisp and polished as mine is not. We’re polar opposites in so many ways, me and Alexei Grove. But on the inside? We’re both ruthless. We both struggle with the darkness inside of us, black tentacles rising from a stormy sea.
Do I trust Alexis? No. Do I trust my mother? Not at all. My aunt? Eh. My grandma though, she’s a class act.
“Not particularly.” I stand up and slip my jacket off, tossing it to Jennifer to hold. I jump into the fray of girls dancing on the front walk, snatching one of them around the waist and dragging her close.
Widow actually gets up and comes down the steps, our eyes meeting over the bouncing ponytails, swinging braids, and wild curls of the crowd. He squeezes his hands into fists, but his jealousy doesn’t stop me from dancing with my crew.
I’ll let him punish me later.
I’ll probably like it, too.
If I thought my mother and sister were getting on my nerves last weekend, it’s a whole different animal today. There’s a ‘76 Ford Econoline on the driveway when I finally drag my tired ass out of bed and throw on some clothes. The van’s got a funky-ass brown paint job that’s seen better days and, since someone left the back doors open, I see green carpeting on the interior walls, a bed with a nightstand, and velvet captain’s chairs in the front.
Huh.
I stare at it out the front window before turning to help my aunt drag the couch against the far wall. We don’t exactly have a large house, so fitting everyone at a single table is a challenge that requires furniture being moved into the garage.
Mostly, it’s my job.
“Where’d the Ford shitbox come from?” I ask, hooking a thumb in the general direction of the driveway. My entire family was gathered together in the living room when Anita summoned me downstairs to help with the furniture, so I’m guessing this van is a mystery only to me.
“Your sister wants her own space,” Geneva tells me gently, giving me this weird look, as if I’ve somehow betrayed her by not capitulating to her demands for an insta-family. “I’ve been saving my tax return for a rainy day. Today is that day. She’ll have more freedom, and she can even sleep in the van if she needs to.”
Um. Haven’t we been babysitting her for years now? The last time Geneva enabled Alexis like this, she moved into the shed in the backyard for three months in freezing cold weather and started fucking that guy, Megan Face, from next door. Not even lying about that one. I could hear them whenever I was in the kitchen, caterwauling and yowling. They did drugs in there together, but my mom refuses to acknowledge that.
“That’s … very Prescott of her,” I say as Alexis whirls on me like I’ve backhanded her.
“Don’t think I don’t know you stole my wallet and then stashed it in the kitchen.” Her eyes burn with accusatory rage. I curl my lip at her. We’re not above going to blows, but I’m desperately trying not to make the same mistakes that I made with Lemon although … my sister is shitting in the face of my patience. “You already have a car. Sorry that it bothers you that I’ve got one now, too.”
“Oh sure, a ‘76 hippie fuckpad on wheels is far superior to a Pantera. Meet me down at the track next week, Lexi, and we’ll see whose ride is better.” I curl my lip at her and try not to be satisfied when her eyes flare with anger.
“Girls, that’s enough,” Geneva scolds, and I laugh. She gives me a sharp look, but I ignore her, grabbing the edge of the coffee table and pushing it toward the garage door. As I get closer, I spot a single drop of blood on the doorjamb that Emma and I must’ve missed after the incident with the goon.
Shit.
I put my sweater sleeve in my mouth and suck on it, reaching out to rub the stain away.
“Dirt,” I explain when I see my grandma offering up a strange look. “I just want everything to look nice for my guests.”
“For her fuckboys,” Alexis blurts, and I offer up another menacing scowl over my shoulder. This bitch.
“Excuse me?” Patricia is giving me another look as my mother sighs dramatically and Aunt Anita chuckles. The new guy she started dating on Halloween must be dynamite in the sack because she’s been in a good mood ever since. Best I’ve seen her in since the accident.
