Page 136 of Vile Bastards
“Nothing new there; Tommy beats her up on the regular, but she always refuses to press charges or leave his abusive ass.” I hand Ash the tiny camera and mic, but not because those items aren’t of great interest to me.
No, it’s because I see a very distinctive Care Bears logo on a piece of fabric protruding from that bag.
“Scarlett?” Bohnes queries, getting up close and personal with me as I stumble to my knees beside the bag. I shove Megan’s head off of it unceremoniously, and because Widow is such a goddamn gentleman—I’m not sure that he’s even realized that he is one just yet—he catches her and lowers her floppy head gently to the concrete floor.
“This is Lemon’s sleeping bag,” I murmur, pulling it up toward my face. There’s the faintest whiff of garbage to it, like it really did lie in that dumpster for a while before being pulled out. But underneath? Oh my God, I can smell her. There’s the faint sweetness of her Herbal Essences shampoo, the distant whiff of her favorite body spray. “Why is this here?”
Bohnes squats down beside me as Alexei enters the garage, moving over to Ash first. The rich boys are less concerned with my best friend’s sleeping bag, and more concerned with the secret cameras.
“Could this have picked up my father’s man?” Ash queries, which is a very polite way of inquiring as to whether or not Tommy and Megan might have access to a video which shows me and Emma Jean murdering a hired assassin.
“I have no idea,” I whisper, trying to think back to that moment, to whether or not the garage door was open or closed during the fight. Open, I believe. Where the fight took place in relation to that open door, I’m not sure. “Why do they have Lem’s sleeping bag?”
“Why do they have cameras and microphones inserted into the wall?” Alexei demands, exchanging a look with Ash. Lightning crackles between them, but I see that they’re at least willing to put their differences aside in the name of protecting me. “We should get a bug detector and check the rest of Scarlett’s house.”
Bohnes stands up and helps haul me to my feet, pulling me into his arms and wrapping me up in his trench coat.
“It’s okay to cry, dark angel,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. I can feel the other three boys staring at us, but I don’t care. It feels good to be held by him.
“I’m not going to cry,” I promise, pulling back slightly and then adjusting my attention back to the groaning woman on the ground. Widow leaves her where she is and rises to his feet, studying her, the sleeping bag, the wall. He’s smarter than he gives himself credit for.
“Is this an Archer Realty thing?” It’s barely a question, and it’s most definitely directed at Ash.
If I had to analyze the dynamics between the boys, it’d go like this:
Widow and Bohnes, bromance central (even if they refuse to admit it yet).
Widow and Alexei, decent possibilities there.
Alexei and Bohnes, strong working relationship.
Ash and Bohnes, oddly cute together.
Ash and Alexei, never gonna happen.
Ash and Widow, apocalyptic.
I feel it now as Widow stares him down, this deep-seated rage that permeates the tense space and makes the air sizzle.
“Likely.” Ash drops the camera to the floor and crushes it with his shoe, doing the same to the mic. “Chet believes you hid Lemon’s body in order to blackmail him.” There’s a long pause there, and I sense something unsaid. A dirty secret. Clearly, he has no intention of telling it. “He wants to buy your grandmother’s half of the duplex; she’s standing in his way of a new development.”
I just stare at him.
“If that’s what he’s after, why set this whole deal up with Megan and Tommy? Why not just send goons to my house to rough us up a bit? Why not pay Megan and Tommy to set the whole place on fire?” I look back down at the sleeping bag. I’m not convinced that my neighbors are anything better than idiots who like cash; they’re far too stupid to scheme on their own.
“Chet’s focus has shifted slightly,” Ash admits, and I notice that Bohnes glances very slowly and very purposefully in his direction. “I know something about him that he doesn’t want me to know.”
“Which is?” I query, but Ash simply shakes his head.
“Not today. I want you to focus on the race tomorrow, then I’ll tell you.”
I narrow my eyes on him, but he stares back at me with this pathetic look at me, I’m such a cute and adorable sidepiece attitude that I’m not sure what to do with. If he doesn’t want to tell me now—as in, he thinks it’ll screw up my concentration at P-Trip tomorrow—then it means it’s bad.
