Page 57 of Vile Bastards
“Oh, the tank?” He continues to peel the vegetable in his hand. If only I’d known then what sort of foreshadowing that was. The cucumber peeling, not the tank. Keep it in the back of your mind for later. “Just a contingency plan. Think of it like a very large, very deadly fire escape.” Bohnes finishes peeling the cucumber in his hand and switches to another. “Did you enjoy our date last night? Next time, I really will take you somewhere fancy and spend the night in a five-star hotel after.”
“Right. You just thought a graveyard made more sense for our first official date?” I ask, sitting in his throne chair, and going still as he lifts his eyes to mine. He chuckles under his breath and then licks the corner of his mouth.
“Take the shorts off and rub that wet pussy all over my chair. I want your essence embedded in the fabric.” I pretend not to hear that, watching instead as he peels the second cucumber with a terrifying level of precision. “As to your question, I asked several of my associates where they thought I might take you on our first date and they all said cemetery. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“Sure.” I lean back in the seat as he finishes the next cucumber and then stands up, taking the bowl of thinly sliced ribbons to the counter. “I can’t even believe you got me to agree to the Nightmare thing last night. I plead insanity.”
“Too late to take it back now.” I watch as Bohnes tosses the cucumber with rice vinegar and sesame oil, sprinkling a bit of sugar, sea salt, and black sesame seeds over the top. “You like cilantro, Miss Force? Or are you one of those people who claims that it tastes like soap?”
“I like.” I say, almost hissing the two words. The day feels new and fresh somehow, even though I ended last night in a waterlogged mausoleum with Bohnes’ monster cock buried inside of me. Hmm. Maybe because of all that? I won’t think too hard on it. “What’s the plan today?”
“Alexei, calling his family.” Bohnes sets the salad in front of me, grabbing my hand and forcing my fingers to curl around the handle of a fork the way he did with the knife last night. I imagine that’s as vulnerable as he’s ever allowed himself to be with another human.
I can’t fuck this up or I’ll ruin him.
I shouldn’t care. It’s not my job to fix Kellin Bohnes. I’m not trying to anyway, I guess. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want him fixed. If I’m brutally honest with myself, I would’ve killed him for trying to leave me anyway. One day, if archaeologists dig up the bones of my story, I hope no young person ever takes my romantic relationships and tries to emulate them.
My whole life is straight fucked.
“You’re sure this is a good idea?” I ask, but Bohnes just brings over a cold can of soda and sets it beside me. I take it and pop the top, sipping some before I tentatively try the salad. It’s not bad, reminds me of the Japanese restaurant my sister likes so much.
I make myself not think about Ash.
Fuck Ash.
I don’t give a shit about Ash.
“A good idea?” Bohnes considers that for a minute and then shrugs. “It’s an idea that puts Alexei on the front lines. If someone has to die, it should be one of the rich boys.” He pauses there and rubs at his chin. “Or sweet, little Adrian. Mostly, it won’t be you.”
Bohnes moves over to one of the kitchen cabinets and opens it to reveal a safe. I go very, very still, a bite of cucumber ribbon draped over my fork and dangling.
This is a big deal. This is fucking huge.
He’s showing me all his secrets. My Nightmare. Bohnes is quite literally mine, via his word. Because we attend Prescott, because we’re both southside trash, we may as well be chained together.
He removes a pair of semi-autos, checks the magazines, and then tosses one onto the table in front of me.
“It’s pink.” The words are a warning and Bohnes chuckles, switching out the black one in his hand and taking the pink handgun for himself.
“So it is. Keep this on you. If you feel like you need to use it, don’t hesitate. I’d rather bury an extra body than bury you.” He tucks his gun into a holster beneath his sweatshirt; I finish my cucumber salad, snatch my gun, and change my clothes.
Off we go to contact the New York city mob.
What could possibly go wrong?
Alexei
Scarlett’s panties stared accusingly at me from the surface of the table all weekend long. I tossed and turned. I stood up and circled them. I put gloves on and considered disposing of them. They drew me in and repulsed me simultaneously, but in the end, she was right.
