Page 82 of Vile Bastards
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a rabid Mastiff with its teeth bared, he hands the underwear back. He’s seen Aspen in a rage; he knows who the boss is between the two of us. I snatch the lacy scrap and shove it into my pocket, feeling all the while like I’m letting Scarlett down somehow in the process.
“What do you want, Chet Jr.?” I ask, and the guy’s face takes on a hardened glint. He hates to be referred to as Chet Jr. For as much of a piece of shit as this guy is, he hates his father nearly as much as I hate mine. “I’m in a hurry.”
Really, I just want to go home and feed my frog.
“Track on Friday. You never responded.” He reaches out to clasp my shoulder and gives it a companionable squeeze. “I hear you already pounded some Prescott pussy? Not just that, but like, the queen of the track. Not easy to do. I only know like one other guy who’s fucked her.”
I feel my skin get hot.
Don’t do it, Ash, I warn myself, but I feel my lip curl up regardless.
“Who.” Just that. Not a question, a demand.
“This dude from my fraternity—” I grab Cody by the neck and slam him into the wall, squeezing so hard that his hands claw at my wrists, raking bloody ribbons into my skin. With my teeth bared, I get right up in his face.
“Tell the dude from your fraternity to stop spreading lies. If I hear another rumor like this again, I will kill him.” I release Cody, his face pink and red as he clutches at his throat and gasps for breath. “And no, I won’t be going to the track. I’ve had my fill of Prescott.”
I turn to go only to see my father standing at the top of the stairs, one of the maids clinging to his arm. I feel immediately sorry for her. I wish that I could help her. But there’s nothing that I can do except allow the panties in my pocket to speak for Aspen’s moral turpitude.
“Is there a problem, boys?” Jonas asks, smiling at the pair of us. He smiles a lot, my father does. Laughs. Jokes. He’s the perfect TV personality, the ideal politician. Approachable, talkative, non-combative. Except for the fact that he’s a psychopath, he’s perfect in every way, a public darling.
“Not at all. Cody and I were just playing around, weren’t we, Cody?” I glance over my shoulder to see the boy’s blue eyes burning with rage. Actually, I believe he’s a few years older than me. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Doesn’t matter. He behaves like a child, so I’ll treat him like one. I turn back to Jonas. “I’m heading home.”
I move past him, but he calls out to me when I’m halfway down the stairs.
“Alexei Grove is in this town somewhere. He has no resources, no friends. He’ll show up sooner or later.” I glance back to see Jonas staring at me like he can see right through me, like he knows that I’m Ash and not Aspen. Of course, if he did, he wouldn’t keep the information to himself. That’s my only consolation, my only comfort. “I’ve changed my mind. Visit the track, keep an eye out for him. Just don’t get caught up in playing with Prescott girls.”
Jonas turns away and heads down the hallway while Cody rubs at his throat and glares at me. I’ve pissed him off royally, but I don’t care. I won’t let him talk about Scarlett that way. I won’t let anyone talk about her that way.
I head through the living room only to see Chet and Ernest engaged in low, whispered conversation. I offer them up a nod, intending on slipping past and out the door, but Chet raises a hand, beckoning me over.
“Aspen,” he says, sniffing and rubbing at his nose with his hand. He’s a massive cokehead, so I’m not surprised to see several lines laid out on the mirrored surface of the coffee table. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course.” I resist the urge to scowl at him. Aspen knew when a person was above him in status or wealth and made sure to kowtow and snivel accordingly, at least until he could blackmail said person or stab them in the back.
“I have a little job for you.” Chet folds his hands together, leaning over and looking up at me from his plastic surgery face. It’s stretched and pulled and nipped into something that only slightly resembles a human’s face. He’s not very old either, maybe fifty at most, and yet he’s pumped so full of Botox that when he grins, it’s like his teeth appear in his face but his skin doesn’t move. It’s eerie.
“Which is?” I ask airily, alarm bells ringing. Whatever this is, I’m not going to like it. The things that Aspen did for Chet and Jonas, I won’t do. Such as murder my father’s political rival, Larron Van Gordon. No, Ash, you’re such an upstanding citizen. All you did was bury his body. What a warm heart you have.
