Page 139 of Vile Bastards
“I know you like him, but be careful, Scarlett. I know secrets about each and every one of these boys, and I’ve got a feeling that at least one of those dark tales is going to rise up and bite you in the ass. What’s that saying I’ve been hearing around Prescott? Don’t fuck yourself over for a fuckboy.”
I smile tightly and turn to go, unwilling to dig any further into this situation until I’ve dealt with more pressing matters.
I know, I know, curiosity killed the pretty, little pussycat, but I can’t help myself.
I want to know every secret that Emma Jean knows and then some.
“Thanks for the advice.” I narrow my eyes on her and point an accusatory finger. “That’s big talk coming from a virgin.” Her cheeks heat and I know immediately that my statement is true. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Twenty-eight.” She bats those Bambi eyes at me, and I snort. “I’ve been a little busy fighting corruption in politics to care about getting laid.”
“Sweetheart, take my advice and stay a virgin.” I go to move past her, and she reaches out to take my arm, fingers light, gaze pleading.
“Don’t tell anyone else about me being Nessie and all that; the pseudonyms at the station aren’t just for fun. It’d be even more dangerous for me if my name got out there.”
“No problem, Anonymous.” I salute her in reference to her ‘secret’ article about the mayor’s plans for the city, the one that was read by Milicent Patrick on the radio. “In exchange, you can keep this whole deal”—I swirl my finger in a circle to indicate the neighbor’s place, the sleeping bag, Alexis, whatever—“to yourself. Otherwise, all of Prescott will know you’re Nessie, and that you’ve never gotten any nooky.”
“That was admitted in confidence—off the record!” she shouts at me, stumbling out of my room and following me down the stairs. We both pause as my mother, aunt, their respective thin-brained boyfriends, and my grandmother all turn to stare at us. Emma smiles prettily.
“Don’t you dare go back into my room,” I hiss at her, and then I head out the door and book it next door.
Bohnes and Widow are gone, but the rich boys are still there, using a walkie-talkie looking thing to scan the walls and ceiling. It’s a bug detector, designed to search for like, Apple AirTags or cameras or whatever. Never—even in my sordid line of work—did I think I’d need one of these.
“Some sci-fi shit going on up in here.” I rub at my face with both hands as Alexei drops the item by his side. His mask is pulled down to his chin, just like Ash’s, and the two of them make an admittedly pretty picture in their emo-goth-metalcore disguises. Even in this shitbox. “Where are my Prescott boys?”
“We loaded up your neighbors in their trunks.” Ash says that with absolutely zero remorse, disgust, or bewilderment. Just another day in the neighborhood, my dudettes. “Bohnes says he knows how to make people talk.” This, too, is said in a near deadpan.
“There are no cameras or mics left however …” Alexei moves over to me and holds out the device in a gloved hand. He’s wearing latex now, and I assume he just keeps extra pairs in his pocket the way he did with the leather ones. Only, he’s all rachet and shit now, and it’s kinda funny. I take the device from him, and he snatches my wrist, yanking me close and peering into my eyes with his sea glass green ones. “Check your room, your whole house, your car, the school. Just carry that with you.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe with a roll of my eyes. It’s meant to be a disparaging response, but instead, it causes Alexei to stiffen up, and me to unconsciously wet my lower lip. I yank my arm away from him and glance over at Ash. How dare he tease me with intel like that, and then promise to tell me later. When is that ever good? I’m going to obsess over this for days.
“Tell him to go home. His very presence here puts you in danger.” Alexei throws a haughty look back at Ash, one that Ash returns with a vicious sneer.
“Urusai,” he growls out. “Shut your mouth, Borisov.” Ash saunters up to stand beside us, and the two of them glare daggers at one another. Almost makes me rethink my fuckboy evaluations. Maybe the Ash/Alexei combo is worse than the Ash/Widow combo? “Scarlett demanded I come. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Put her well-being above your dick.” Alexei turns away and yanks his mask back into place, gagging at the, err, unique scent of Megan Face’s house. Did I mention that guy is like, short as shit? Five-foot-two, actually. And he beats on his wife? He must have a dick the size of an amoeba to be that angry about life.
