Page 59 of Vile Bastards
Only, I’m rapidly coming unraveled, and I don’t know how to process it. There’s no escaping the filth of this world, the contamination. I have few of my usual methods left to protect myself. To soothe my aching mind, I cup a hand over my heart, ensuring that my needles are tucked safely away inside my jacket pocket. That brings me some iota of comfort.
Bohnes drives us down the road away from town and toward that dreaded intersection where McKenzie View Drive meets Hill Road. I feel myself stiffen up as we pass the river, and I notice that Scarlett does the same.
She rests her fingers on the passenger side window, dropping her chin to her chest. It’s distressing for me to see her like that, bent over and panting. I can see her racing pulse on the side of her smooth throat, and I almost reach out with gloved fingers to touch it, drawing my hand back before anyone notices the bizarre gaffe.
A person doesn’t simply touch someone else’s exposed throat.
That’s odd. And predatory. My fingers twitch in my lap.
“Are you quite alright, Miss Force?” I ask, and Bohnes tosses a dismissive look in my direction.
“It’s a panic attack, Mr. Grove. I’ll handle it.” He reaches out and unhooks Scarlett’s seat belt, curling his arm around her waist and dragging her across the bench seat to cozy up beside him. She clips in the center seatbelt and then leans her head back. Her long hair gets caught behind her and she curses, lifting it out and flinging it over the back of the seat in annoyance.
It hits me in the face, and I go stone-still.
Her hair touched me. Her filthy hair. Her … I look down to see that my fingers are playing with it, rubbing dark strands between my latex wrapped fingertips. I almost give it a yank, but I manage to get control of myself, flinging the dark strands away from me.
“Sorry, fuckboy, did that bother you? It’s just hair. You had my pussy juice all over you. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“I’m rapidly losing my temper with you,” I warn her, but I can feel my skin, hot and flushed and strange in a way I’ve never experienced before. “Under death’s frigid stare, a man will do things he never thought possible. What purpose is there in continuing to bring that moment up? I already explained to you—”
“So if I agree to make you my boyfriend, you’ll fuck me whenever I want?” she asks, turning to look at me over her left shoulder. She blinks huge ebon eyes at me, her lashes long and dark and thick, curved up over that mischievous stare of hers. “Is that all I have to do? Asking for a friend.”
I open my mouth and then snap it shut.
“No. It means that we’ll begin the courting process properly and work our way up to intercourse. We can start with coffee, as I suggested. A walk in the park. A lunch date. Perhaps a goodbye kiss.”
“Mm, sure thing, buddy.”
Her flippant nature both infuriates and excites me, and I squeeze my hands into fists, latex creaking.
“Oooh, do you hear that, Scarlett? You’re getting the rich boy excited.” Bohnes reaches out and flicks the radio on, flooding the car with that horrible station that everyone in Prescott is obsessed with.
There’s a song playing now that makes my teeth hurt, but which Scarlett seems to have no problem singing to, some female rapper with a foul mouth that suits her personality perfectly.
I want.
The thought hits me like a slap and I turn away, exhaling and closing my eyes against the sight of her mouthing the rapid-fire lyrics like she was born to be onstage. She has that sort of charisma, the kind that draws crowds the way a light calls death’s-head moths. They’ll pay with their scales, their wings, their lives.
I pick at the latex on my hands, doing my best to ignore the disgusting slick of sweat beneath the coverings. I miss my leather gloves. I miss my father’s staff, cleaning and scrubbing and polishing behind my every step. Mostly, I miss the freedom of movement I had in my previous life.
I may as well be living in a cage now, one made of corrugated metal and dirt.
I’ll avenge you, Papa. And then I’ll shed this cage and live a life large enough for the both of us. That much, I can promise you. I open my eyes to see Widow’s Stingray waiting in the parking area of a remote recreation site.
Shotgun Creek is listed on the sign.
We’re not the only people here, but I see that our limited company includes rednecks with off-road vehicles and a family with far too many small children for me to comprehend.
“The yuppies haven’t found Shotgun yet, eh?” Scarlett asks, and then sighs heavily. “Never thought I’d say this, but I prefer the old-school rachet Prescott over whatever the fuck it is that this city’s set to become. Think we can stop or even rewind the clock?”
