Page 63 of Vile Bastards
Same goes for Chet Archer and Jonas Kelly. There’s not a chance in hell that their lapdog was involved in a plot of his own creation. Oh no. I’m not certain who, between the other two, is the actual boss and brains of the operation, but I don’t care.
I want all three of them dead.
“Nobody will notice yet another new student in the mix,” Scarlett finishes, and Bohnes snaps his fingers.
“I bet I can buy a real ID off one of those brats; Alexei can go to school under someone else’s name. It’ll be even more difficult to track than a quality fake one.”
“Fair point. Some kid will think he’s won the lottery. Gets paid to leave campus while someone else attends in his name. No calls to the parents. No Officer Tidwell breathing down his neck. As far as the pictures not matching, the registration office never looks twice at a Prescott brat in a hoodie.” She smiles at me, offers up a lascivious wink, and struts past.
My gaze follows her as she goes, and Bohnes pauses beside me.
“What are the chances that you’ll live through this?” he asks, and I look over at him. He’s worried about Scarlett, not me. But if I die, she may very well be next. “I killed several of the mob’s men; the mayor’s man killed the rest. Somebody’s going to pay for that. I assume the evidence has been scrubbed, but it could still come back on us.”
“It’s hard to say at this point, but I do know this: the family won’t kill me until they’ve had a chance to talk with me.” My eyes remain on Scarlett as she pauses by Widow, and all of their body language screams that they’re into each other. Their words say the opposite, but there’s a simmering tension between them.
My latex gloves squeak, and I realize that I’ve made fists again.
“Hmmm.” Bohnes makes a purring sound under his breath and shakes his head. “You better hope you get her in the end,” he tells me, and then his face falls to a dark, cold emptiness that puts me on edge. I wonder if I shouldn’t grab my needles. “Ask Widow what’s going to happen to him if they break up.”
He strolls past me, whistling, and my gaze switches back over to Scarlett.
Get her in the end? If I want her, I’ll have her. But I have to take it slow. I cannot handle any more disturbing revelations right now. I very well might snap, and nobody wants or needs to see that.
Except for maybe … Scarlett. She seems to enjoy mad men, and underneath all of my careful polish, I know that I’m already half-cracked and ready to break open.
As soon as I get back to the safe house, and the door is closed behind me, the sound of the Chevelle disappearing down the gravel road … I reach into my pocket and withdraw the plastic bag that’s been burning a hole in my slacks for hours now.
Even though my hands tremble, even though bile rises in my throat, I open it up and bring them out, clutching the panties in my fist. Though I hate myself, though I curse myself, I end up on my bed, tearing open my slacks and adding a generous amount of lube.
Furiously, wildly, teeth gritted, I jerk off with her panties yet again and relive the feeling of her licking the corner of my mouth over and over and over again.
Half-cracked? I’m split completely wide open, and there’s no salvaging any of the person I used to be.
Whether that’s a good or a bad thing is yet to be seen.
Scarlett
“You’re early,” Nisha accuses, pausing beside my car and lifting her gold sunglasses up to rest in her freshly shorn hair. She’s got these fantastic zig-zag shapes buzzed in, but I can’t appreciate the talent of her barber because I’m too busy being annoyed with my sister and mother. “You’re never early.” She pauses as Widow pulls up in front of me, backing up until there’s only a literal hairsbreadth between my car and his.
This button-pushing son of a bitch.
“Alexis and Geneva drove me out.” I stay where I am, sitting on the roof of my car with my knees up, elbows resting atop them, arms stretched out in front of me. The sound of Widow’s footsteps, heavy and confident, make me twitchy in the best possible way.
“Lord, what happened now?” Nisha asks, turning and resting her ass against the side of the Pantera. Widow sweeps his gaze over her, as if he doesn’t quite like her touching my car. Too bad for him. He’ll have to keep his caveman shit to himself around my friends. “Fuckboy.” She offers him a brief nod, as is customary for a friend’s sidepiece.
He curls his lip at her which is customary for, well, it’s just what Widow does.
