Page 92 of Vile Bastards
I turn to look at him, ready to start this fight, but then I see that Bohnes is nodding in agreement.
“While I take issue with the semantics of that sentence … Seconded. I’m sorry, my precious, pretty epitaph. As good as you are, as confident as I am that you’ll win, it’s a point of pride. You are no longer up for sale.”
“As if I ever truly was.” I snort, and shake my head, but I’m not able to get a single word in to argue my side before Alexei, of all people, is interfering.
“The answer is no.” He’s stripping off the red sweater and holding it away from him, as if it’s an armadillo with leprosy (no, seriously, armadillos carry leprosy, look that shit up), and then reaching up to yank the skeleton mask from his face. His mouth is a fucking rapier right now, needled and thin.
“I don’t agree with much these men say, but I do agree with that. Don’t put your body up, Scarlett. Not ever again.” Ash looks right into my eyes, and I know what he’s trying to say. I might’ve beaten you that day; it’s even possible that Aspen might’ve beaten you eventually. Take no risks. “Chet will accept another girl from your crew instead.”
I gape at the four of them.
I would never—and I mean never—put another of my girls in danger like that.
“No. If he needs a promise of Prescott pussy in order to pony up some money, then I’ll be the one to do it. I’m the boss; I take the risks.”
“If we’re all in agreement over something, that should trump your orders,” Widow growls out, moving away from me and over to the Stingray. “Bastian’s working on your car in the morning, yes?”
“He is,” I hedge, trying to see where this is going.
“I’ll pick you up for school and we can talk this out.” He climbs in his car and slams the door, peeling out of there before I get a chance to protest. Because, well, his name is fucking Lawless, and he’s an outlaw alpha asshole.
“This prick …” I grind out, but if even Bohnes is refusing to give into my request, I’m likely sunk. “How do I get this Chet Jr. Cody Archer idiot to race me then? I’ve got some of that money left from my race with Aspen, but not enough to pay Hype in full. And I have to have some left over for like, fucking life.”
“I’m liquid up to maybe ten grand,” Bohnes offers up, glancing over at Ash. “Your one contribution to this unfortunate alliance should be cash, shouldn’t it, rich boy? Finance us or fuck off.”
“My father beat the shit out of Aspen for losing fifty-grand on the track. What do you think he’ll do to me if another fifty K goes missing?” Ash asks, reaching up to grab a hank of his hair so that he can tug on it. There’s a bit of that crazy in his gaze right now. He looks me over before turning his attention to Alexei. A scowl rides across his deliciously pouty mouth before he turns away again. “Did I mention what Shipman’s text said?”
“Was there something relevant in it?” Bohnes asks, cracking his knuckles. It’s a warning: if you left out pertinent intel, rich boy, I’ll wreck you.
“It said, it’s Ash.” He turns back around, giving his hair another hard yank. “I feel like Jonas is on to me. I don’t fuck whores, and I don’t snort coke, and I …” His dark eyes flick back and forth before coming to rest on my face again. His wild expression softens slightly, and he exhales. “Kirei.”
“Idiot.” Bohnes gnashes his teeth and shakes his head. “Information like that is useful in its immediacy.” He studies the Kelly boy before offering me a pleading look. That silent expression says something like, please, please let me kill just this one stupid fuckboy.
I offer up a return stare that says, dumb as it is, it belongs to me, and Bohnes sighs heavily.
“I’ll pawn my clothes,” Alexei offers, but he doesn’t look at me or anyone else before turning back toward the safe house. “If it’s not enough, pawn my mother’s dress. You’re not offering up your body, Scarlett. Don’t mention it again.”
He steps inside and then slams the doors behind him.
It takes me a full minute before I realize what he’s talking about: the dress he sent me to wear to the art gallery, the fancy as fuck one that made me think of a senator’s wife. “Oh shit.” I hadn’t realized it was mother’s dress. Not only do I feel like a complete and total fuckwad, but I … There’s no way I can pawn that dress.
No matter what it takes, we’ll figure something else out. I, too, have clothing that I could pawn, clothing with zero sentimental value. My crew and I could get together and run some jobs on rich men. Only … I’m a little wary of working right now. Now only did Evelyn die in the line of duty, but now that I know the sorts of rich guys who run in Springfield and Eugene, I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.
