Page 167 of Vile Bastards
That one hurt.
Scarlett pulls away with a small sigh and settles back into her seat, hooking her belt and reaching out to turn on the radio. She leaves the volume low, so that we can talk.
“Don’t be angry with me.” My words are soft, almost inaudible. I wet my lower lip and pause to wipe first one and then the other of my sweaty palms on my jeans. “It’s not you. I just … need a minute.”
“No explanation necessary, Adrian.” Scarlett is staring down at the pair of rings on her finger, silent, contemplative. “You know … your ring is no less pretty than the diamond.”
“Does that mean you’re agreeing to marry me for real?” I query, wondering if I can use this incident with her sister as a means of gaining traction. I’ll play dirty to get Scarlett, and I won’t ever feel ashamed about that.
“I—” she starts, and then my phone is ringing, and I sigh as I pull it out of my pocket. I toss it over to her, and she crinkles her brow. “Emma Jean?” she queries in surprise. “She’s probably calling you because she can’t get ahold of me.” Scarlett rolls her eyes and glances at me before answering. “Now I need a new goddamn phone.”
“Hey, at least Ash Kelly might be good for something,” I mutter, wondering why I bothered to give the reporter girl my number in the first place. It was supposed to be used for emergencies only.
“What’s up?” Scarlett asks, answering the call.
Then she goes still. Very, very still. Cold.
I see goose bumps break out across her arms, and then she’s turning the speaker phone on.
“They’re here.” Emma is whispering, voice hushed, harsh, panting. “They’re fucking here. The mayor or the mob, I don’t know. I’m in the parking garage, but I don’t think I can get out on my own. Can you come get me?”
There’s a long pause there where Scarlett glances my way, and I do the same.
“Sounds like a trap to me.” I’m not going to lie: I’ll trade Emma Jean’s life for Scarlett’s, and I won’t lose any sleep at all over it. “No.”
“Widow,” she starts, and then she’s glancing back down at the phone with a set determination to her face that makes me want to scream. She’s going to try and play hero, this girl. “If we ask someone for our help, and then we betray them when they need us, are we any better than Jonas Kelly? Ernest Bolin? Chet Archer?”
“Please,” Emma breathes, and then she goes silent. We do, too, and I imagine that she’s either trying to stay quiet to avoid capture or she’s totally full of shit, and is attempting to lure us into a really, really bad situation. “I can’t die like this, Scarlett. My parents … Chet Archer … please come get me.”
“Where’s Alexei?” Scarlett asks, her own voice shaky with adrenaline. Already, I’m whipping the car around to head back in the direction of her house. I am not driving to wherever it is that Emma Jean claims to be.
“I don’t know; he didn’t come home last night. I think he’s with Bohnes, but I can’t get ahold of either of them.” There’s another long pause there, and then Emma is listing off an address. “This is where I’m at. How far away are you?”
“We’re not coming,” I repeat, and Scarlett’s gaze snaps up to mine.
“We can at least drive over there and check the situation out, Widow.” She reaches over and puts her hand on my arm because she must know that I’m a sucker for a pretty girl. Well, for this pretty girl. I don’t give a crap about anyone else. Scarlett is quite literally the only person on the entire planet that I care about, that I consider family.
I have nobody else.
“Absolutely not.”
“We’ll be there,” she tells Emma. “Stay quiet, and I’ll text you when we’re close.”
“Thank you.” Emma Jean’s whisper is almost too pathetic to be fake, but then, I’ve seen some pretty good actors in my time. My uncle, in particular, was a very talented thespian.
Scarlett tries Bohnes next. Alexei. Ash.
Nothing.
“Fuck.” She taps my phone against her forehead, and then gives me another pleading look. “We’re in your car, right? You’re not on anybody’s radar just yet. Please, just drive over there so we can scope out the situation. Once we’re there, if you believe it’s unsafe, we’ll leave.” Her voice cracks again, and I can’t help myself.
I know I’m going to do it against my better goddamn judgment.
“You owe me a damn good cocksucking for this,” I mutter, and Scarlett heaves a sigh of relief.
“I failed both Lemon and Evelyn, Widow. I can’t fail Emma Jean. I just can’t.”
And that’s it. Enough for me.
I gun it in the direction of downtown Eugene as Scarlett makes several other phone calls, organizing her besties, her crew, gathering us backup just in case. Not direct backup, obviously. I know she’d never put the Crimson Crew in the direct line of mob fire, but as lookouts, passersby, standby vehicles. That sort of thing.
