Page 131 of Vile Bastards
“Prove it,” I retort back, panting hard, sweating all over. “Fucking prove it, Kelly.”
“If I came over there, Scarlett Force, I wouldn’t care if you were in the middle of carving the goddamn turkey. I’d grab your arm, drag you to your bedroom, and I’d tear those hideous sweatpants off. I’d drive into you and make you forget your name. Scarlett, I’d make you scream, and I wouldn’t care if your entire family could hear it.”
“Liar,” I hiss back, and I love the wicked rage that flashes across his face. That’s almost enough to make me come right there, but this fucker … he has the audacity to hang up on me. I’m just sitting there, slack-jawed. How dare these boys tell me no?! I do not like to be told no.
I sit up, sweaty and frustrated, teeth gritted.
This is why you’re keeping more than one of these monsters on a leash, eh?
I shove up to my feet, wash my hands again, and then head back down the stairs to find Widow waiting for me on the lower landing. He’s got an elbow leaning against the wall, eyes narrowed as he watches me come down the stairs. Based on his expression—that is, a judgmental curl of his lip—I can guess that he’s got at least some idea of what I was doing up there.
I grab him by the front of his shirt—it’s a much nicer one than he usually wears, completely sans holes—and pull our faces together.
“Come upstairs and fuck me,” I whisper, licking the side of his jaw. Widow clenches his teeth and reaches up to take my face between his fingers.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” I repeat, completely aghast. He untangles me from his grip and offers up a smirk.
“No means no, Scarlett Force. I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“Should’ve asked me,” Bohnes murmurs, leaning around the half-wall at the bottom of the stairs. I should probably be startled to see him there, but I’m used to his creeping by now. Besides, he’s my Nightmare, right? He smirks at me as I raise a brow in invitation. “But as your last choice? No, I think not.”
“You’re just a fucking penis on a stick, you think you have the right to tell me no?” I growl at him, and he smirks back, pausing as my sister moves over to stare at me. “What?” I demand, putting my hands on my hips and weathering her glare the way I always do. “What do you want?”
“That’s not Marie,” she states firmly, and I decide that I truly am just sick and goddamn tired of her knowing things she’s not supposed to know.
“It’s not?” I ask, pushing past Widow to stand on the bottom stair, glaring down at my sister. “Then who is it? Hmm? You’re so smart, Alexis. You tell me who that is.”
“Alexei Grove,” she whispers, almost conspiratorially, her eyes shimmering. Ah, that’s right. I’d almost forgotten that she had a creepy crush on the guy.
“You gonna squeal?” I ask her, coming down the final step and getting in her face. I’ll admit, I’m being more of a bitch than usual. Blame it on sexual frustration. The boys stand near silent on either side of me, the blond Russian prick in question nowhere to be seen.
Shit. Did my grandmother get ahold of him?
“Snitches get stitches,” Alexis breathes, and I shove her out of my way. I can see my aunt and mother in the backyard together, arguing about … something. Who cares? Anyway, I come around the corner to the kitchen to find Alexei Grove at the stove, Emma Jean beside him.
“Grandma,” I suggest gently, noting the tense set to Alexei’s shoulders. “Marie is sick. It’s not a great idea for him to be at the stove, right?”
“He’s got a mask on.” That’s her response. I sigh heavily and reach up to rub at my face. Alexei turns an imperious look over his shoulder, one that he has no right to use seeing as he stuck the tip in and then bailed on me. Also, he has my dirty panties in his pocket. What a perv.
“I don’t mind assisting with the cooking.” Alexei turns back toward the stove, and I roll my eyes to the ceiling, closing them tight as my aunt comes in the back door. She must’ve won whatever argument with my mother because she pats me on the shoulder and chuckles.
“I remember when I attended Prescott. I had fuckboys, too.” Anita giggles, but I can’t for the life of me imagine my aunt in that light. “Never invited them to Thanksgiving though. Have things changed since I was student?” She thinks on that as I turn back toward her, wondering how and why I ever got myself into this mess in the first place. “Back in my day, the boys were only good for one thing.” She chuckles again, and slips past before my grandmother can rope her into helping.
