Page 43 of Vile Bastards
“It was old and ratty as hell, faded pastel colors. It had Care Bears shit all over it if that helps jog your memory.”
It surprisingly does but, if Scarlett is asking for the sleeping bag, she’s not going to like this.
“Lemon threw it in the dumpster.” I should know. I was there; I watched her do it. And then I retrieved the box of Scarlett’s things and took them over to her like the obsessive psycho that I am. The fact that she thinks I would cheat on her makes me physically ill. All I want is her, on my arm every day, on my cock every night. All the time. Every goddamn second.
Every second …
I reach out to touch the side of her face and she catches my wrist in her fingers.
“She threw out the sleeping bag?” Scarlett asks, sounding shocked. “The one with Care Bears on it?”
“It was in the dumpster,” I repeat, watching as her expression falls and she turns away suddenly. Scarlett stalks toward the rear of the warehouse, and I follow after her. I spin around the corner just behind her as she sucks in a gasping breath, putting her hand to her chest.
Alarm bells ring in my head, and then I’m snatching her arm and wrenching her around.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” I growl out, forgetting all about my self-imposed rules to stay away from her. Sure, we’re safe enough here, but it only takes one slipup like the one we had at the coffee shop to shine attention on my relationship to Scarlett, to arouse my father’s interest all over again.
At this point, he doesn’t know that Bohnes, Widow, or Scarlett had anything to do with what happened the night Shipman died. He suspects Alexei of scheming alongside his goon, but even then, he’s not sure. All he knows is that Shipman killed some mafia guys, one of his dirty cops is dead, and two of his hired goons were crushed by a rock.
“I don’t need to go anywhere,” she gasps out, yanking her arm from my grip and putting a hand to the wall beside her. “It’s just a … mental thing.”
I pause there, relief washing over me before it’s replaced with even more concern.
“Tell me about it: I was arguing with my dead brother in front of my father’s assassin, and then I named a frog after him.”
There’s a brief pause there where Scarlett looks up, and then my hands are on her face, and we’re kissing again. No matter how hard I try to stay away from her, I’m inevitably drawn back.
“If you could carry on inside—or preferably, not at all—I’d appreciate it. As safe as I believe this spot to be, there’s always room for error.” Bohnes is waiting at the corner of the warehouse, and even though it kills me, I know that he’s right.
I fucked up. Again. That’s how easily this woman gets to me.
We head back inside, and Bohnes closes the doors again. The big, rusted lock screeches as he pushes it into place.
“You’re tenting your pants,” Widow offers up, glancing my way as if I’m not already aware of that. The disgusted expression that Alexei throws me is encouraging. I meet his eyes as I shamelessly lower myself into the chair, and he gags, picking at the latex gloves on his hands in obvious distress.
“I’m not a moron; I understand that I could offer myself up to the family in order to protect Scarlett.” Alexei sighs and turns back to look at her. “There’s a phone number, one that my papa had me memorize as a child. It’s … an emergency number of sorts for the family. Nobody will pick up, but they’ll listen. I could use it to get ahold of them.” He plucks at the fingers of his latex gloves and sighs. “I was told only to use it if there were quite literally no other options. I suppose we’re there now, aren’t we?”
“Let’s get a burner phone and take care of that this weekend then,” Bohnes muses, leaning back in his chair. “They won’t be able to track you, but perhaps they’ll find news of your father’s death interesting?”
“If it comes down to it,” Alexei continues, “I’ll trade my life for Scarlett’s.” He looks at her, and she stares right back at him, and I abhor the connection I feel growing between them. “If you get caught, just give me up to them in order to protect yourself.”
He turns to me, and I remember that I agreed to come here to tell them what I learned about my father and his buddies. Mostly, I’m wondering if I’m not just as crazy as Aspen, but in different ways. I’m obsessing again; I can’t look away from Scarlett’s face.
“Jonas, Chet, and Ernest were the ones who tipped the mob off about Alexei’s father’s supposed deal with the FBI.”
