Page 144 of Vile Bastards
“I don’t make the rules.” Adam is very serious in his peaked cap and blue dress-shirt, staring down at me with a frown on his face. He retreats to his desk, returning with two lanyards in his hand. One has my name on it while the other says Guest. I pass it over to Widow without looking his way. I focus on Adam instead.
Frankly, I’m worried what Bohnes will do if I tell him he can’t come in with me.
I squeeze the plastic badge in my hand as I stare up at Adam. If I hit him with my car and charge in there, I’ll be in trouble. My usual tricks won’t work here, not with a million security cameras. Besides, the P-Trip-C track is legit. If I want a future career in racing or stunt driving or whatever else, this is my chance to snatch the bottom rung of that ladder.
I can’t kill this guy; I don’t have the money to bribe him.
Now what?
With a sigh, I open the driver’s side door and Adam stumbles back like I’ve kicked him in the nuts.
“Relax, bro. I need to talk to my crew.” I make my way back to the Chevelle only to see that Bohnes already has the window rolled down.
“I was afraid this might happen,” he suggests mildly, but really, is he afraid of anything? It’s just a turn of phrase. Also, he looks extra ghoulish and extra sexy today with the dark liner around his blue eyes, bone-white hair shimmering in the weak sunlight.
“Should I steal Widow’s guest badge and give it to you?” I tease, but that would not go down well for any of us. Makes Bohnes grin at the very least.
“Nah. I’ll find my way in. You know that I will.” He offers me up a big, fat wink and then gestures with his chin in the direction of my friends. “What about them?”
I frown hard, but I can’t take Nisha or Basti in over Widow. If something goes down while I’m here—and it very well could—I need him to do his thing. Love Basti, but he’s not quite the maestro with a baseball bat that Widow is. Nisha is great in a fight, but why get her more embroiled in shit than she already is?
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
You are dick drunk AF, girl. I ignore my own thoughts, tapping my nails on the roof of the Chevelle and enjoying the delicious intimacy that allows me to even think of touching Kellin Bohnes’ ride, and then I move over to the Lotus.
“They not gonna let you in?” Nisha demands, already outraged before I even get the chance to speak.
“Alexei clearly put my name on the list, but …” I trail off and Bastian groans, rubbing both hands down his face.
“We’re not getting in, are we?” he asks, dropping his hands to his lap and giving me a sly look out the window. “What about the fuckboys? Oh, wait, I’m sorry, the Nightmare and the fiancé?”
“If your words were any drier or more disdainful, you’d be an old British lord with cobwebs between his teeth. I’m taking Widow; Bohnes is going to attempt to break in.” I shrug my shoulders as Nisha sighs dramatically and shakes her head.
“You know the types that frequent this track, right? They are all Aspen Kellys.”
“You’re not wrong, but come on, Nish. This is our chance at the big time. I have to take the risk, no matter what. Besides, you don’t actually think I’d let a bunch of rich boys screw me over, do you?”
Neither of my besties looks particularly convinced, but they’re also not about to ask me to give up on something as important as this. In the end, both the Chevelle and the Lotus retreat past the first gate. Only once it’s closed and the riffraff is safely locked out does the great and powerful Adam open the second gate.
I almost choke when I see there’s a valet and a lot full of cars as nice as Alexei’s Bugatti.
“Holy shit-fuck,” Widow growls out—growl is just sort of his primary vocal tone—stealing the words from my lips. His amber eyes take in the sea of million-plus dollar vehicles as we’re directed to park in a pair of spaces outside the administrative office by a guy in a burgundy suit jacket.
“I’ll go register and meet you back out here,” I tell him, snagging my wallet. Widow snatches my wrist in hot, strong fingers, pulling my gaze to his.
“I’m coming with you.”
I give him a raised brow.
“I can register for a race without your help,” I explain, trying and failing to remove his hand from my wrist. Shit, he’s strong. Stupid sexual dimorphism. I can outthink or outdrive any man, but unfortunately, physical strength is one of their deals. Their peens can’t block bullets or knives though, pro tip. “Relax and watch the Devil for me, will ya?”
