Page 138 of Vile Bastards
“Likewise.” I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want, Emma Jean?”
“I want you to let me write about your race at the Portland Classic Car Circuit tomorrow.” She keeps smiling at me, but now I’m frowning at her. It’s not exactly a secret that I’m going; everyone in Prescott knows and will be cheering me on. More than likely, I’ll at least be mentioned on KMZI 66.6. It’s not everyday that a Prescott brat goes big time like this. Well, okay, it’s hardly big time, but it’s legit, and that’s a rare commodity around here.
“Why?” I cock my head at her. “What purpose would that serve?”
“Give me exclusives,” she continues, crossing her own arms in a mimicry of my position. “Promise that you’ll only do interviews with me.”
I lift a brow, but Emma Jean just laughs again.
“Look, I know potential when I see it. This will be good for my career. Say yes, and I’ll tell you something juicy.”
“It better be dripping,” I say with a sigh, dropping my arms to my sides. I gesture loosely at her with a hand. “Sure, fine. You can have exclusive interviews with the one and only Scarlett Force—”
“Scarlett Motherfucking Force,” she corrects, and I almost smile.
“—just so long as you don’t piss me off. So, what is it, Emma Lee Addison? What do you know?”
She blinks her pale lashes at me and sucks on her lower lip. Yeah, she definitely didn’t like me using her real name, but also, I’ll give her credit because she doesn’t let it throw her off either.
“I found something unexpected.” Here she pauses to slide her phone from her pocket, pulling up an image before handing it out to me. “I’m not sure if this is just a simple coincidence or if it’s something to be worried about.”
I take Emma’s phone, glancing down at the screen to find a young boy with brown hair and inquisitive amber eyes. That’s what gives him away, the eyes.
Widow is the only person I’ve ever met with eyes the color of a harvest moon.
He’s standing amongst three young woman, all of whom have similar (though not nearly as striking) coloring to his own.
I look back up at Emma, fighting a vague sense of irritation. I should be next door with the boys, dealing with that situation, not over here looking at old photos of Widow and, presumably, his family.
“What is this and why should I care?” I quip at her. The thing is … I do care. A lot. Actually, I want to study this picture of baby Widow, before all the trauma, before all the pain, and I want to absorb the sweetness in his eyes. Ew, gross. The hell is wrong with me? I might be getting, like, sentimental or something.
“Swipe to the next photo,” she declares, almost grimly. Her pixie-like face is dark with concern, as if she actually cares how this might affect me.
With a sigh, I do. There’s a photo of Mayor Kelly, smiling from a podium. Behind him, I see a woman who looks strikingly similar to one of the ones in the previous photo, albeit a decade or so older.
Emma reaches over and swipes back to the first picture.
“Hannah Lawless, Adrian’s mother.” She taps at the face of the youngest woman in the photo, the one with her hands on Widow’s shoulders. She already looks gaunt, worn-out from a hard life, from drugs, from having a baby too early. Also … how dare Emma call him Adrian; it’s Widow to her, damn it. “Maryanne Lawless, the future widow. And here …” Emma frowns as if annoyed. “Trish Lawless, now known as Trish Edelman.” She swipes back to the second photo and points at the woman’s face. Yep, that’s her alright. “The eldest of the three Lawless sisters. Fought her way out of Prescott, married rich, and now serves as Mayor Kelly’s publicist. She’s notorious in the community for getting bad men out of very bad scenarios, more like a fixer if you will.” I frown at that, digesting the information even as I want to run back over to Megan and Tommy’s, just to see what’s going on. “Did you know Widow had another aunt? Does he know that his aunt works for the mayor?”
I’ll admit: from Emma’s position, it sure looks like this whole revelation casts suspicion on Widow. But he doesn’t look at her the way he looks at me, doesn’t touch her or fuck her the way he does me.
“If he had a rich aunt he could’ve lived with, she probably didn’t want him.” I hand the phone back. This is good intel, juicy enough to satisfy me. But it doesn’t make Widow guilty of anything. “But I’ll ask him about it.”
Emma’s face softens and she nods, tucking her phone away again.
