Page 16 of Vile Bastards
“I jumped in the river on a dare, I told you that.” Scarlett looks away from her sister and over to me, and I can’t fucking breathe. I need Alexis to leave. I need Widow to fucking leave. I have to touch her, hold her, fuck her. Every instinct in me demands that I take her back to the warehouse, wrap her in a cocoon, and feed her warm food for a week. “Now go away.”
“Go away? You almost died; you’re my sister.” Alexis crosses her arms obstinately, and Scarlett turns those coffin-colored eyes her way. As shiny and black as a freshly made casket. I stay where I am on my knees, worshipping her from the ground like the dark goddess she is.
“Don’t be dramatic,” Scarlett scoffs, but even though she’s the literal shadow on my heart, I have to somewhat agree with Alexis. Scarlett didn’t almost die; she was dead for about five minutes. The doctor on duty even recorded her time of death.
If the woman hadn’t decided to try one, last sternal rub after the shock paddles and the epinephrine and the CPR …
So, here Scarlett is after only two days, alive and well. Perfect.
“Even though you’re my sister, and they’re just fuckboys, I’ll go.” Alexis turns on her heel and storms into the house, slamming the front door behind her.
Scarlett sighs and then moves over to me, reaching out to put her hand against the side of my face. Her eyes are a bit glossy as she adjusts her attention to Widow. He reaches out to take her hand, curling his fingers through hers.
“Alexei?” she asks, and I bristle all over until I remember that I owe him for saving her life. At any time in the river, he could’ve let her go and drift away. After climbing out and succumbing to hypothermia, he might have just left her to fend for himself. I understand her question even if I don’t like it.
I stand up suddenly, and Scarlett swallows hard.
“He’s at the warehouse,” I explain, and then I’m taking her into my arms. My fingers thread in her ebon hair, and my mouth crashes into hers. You haven’t the faintest fucking clue what it’s like to kiss someone who’s died and come back to life.
It’s like flipping off the afterlife and tonguing heaven.
I’m careful to keep my embrace from getting too tight, careful to keep sex on the fringes of the moment. I’m kissing her in a way that promises that we could both be eunuchs, and I’d still want to hunt and murder pedos with her, hold her hand and skip through a field of dead flowers, cuddle up in a coffin.
“You are my everything,” I tell her after I pull back and put my hands on both sides of her face. Her poor, pale face. She needs some color back. She needs rest. It fucking kills me that I can’t be the one to give that to her.
“Bohnes,” Scarlett starts, and then stops. She puts her head against my chest and curls her fingers in the fabric of my hoodie. “I was so worried about you.” She pulls back suddenly and then punches me in the shoulder.
I exhale, and I can’t help the violent surge of need that rockets into my cock. I’m stiffening up inside my sweatpants and rubbing at my shoulder, knowing that it’ll bruise, hoping that it’ll bruise. That punch was strong; my other half will be back to haunting Prescott High in no time.
“Widow.” She turns to him, standing there with his fists clenched, his odd-colored eyes glittering. He puts his hands on her hips and stares into her eyes like he believes they’re being filmed for a close-up in some sad-sack romantic drama movie.
It’s bothering me. Immensely.
“I feel like I should say something really profound and, like, fuck, I died, but …” She trails off, and then Widow is lifting a hand and running a thumb across the seam of her mouth. My eye twitches, and I roll my head from side to side, cracking my neck. “Bohnes.”
That’s a warning. I like that, being warned by Scarlett Force.
“But?” Widow asks, still tracing a finger over her lips. He cups the side of her neck with a hand and leans in, eyes half-closed, and then he presses their mouths together and kisses her in such a way that she curls her fingers around the waistband of his jeans.
Grr. I’m not a fan of that. I see now why I fought to keep them from having sex in the first place. Their chemistry is … explosive.
Scarlett draws back from him suddenly and slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes closed.
“How can I be this fucking horny after almost dying?” she mumbles, and then drops her hand away from her mouth. “Won’t lie: I am soaked.” She does this shimmy thing that has my cock rapidly working out a scheme to escape my pants.
