Page 64 of Vile Bastards
“You got here before me.” He sounds baffled. Usually, I’m late and one of my girls parks in this space, moving her car when I arrive. Not today. I was actually the first one here, save Bohnes. Who knows where he is now? Haunting the halls in the name of business.
My Nightmare.
I feel safe when he’s around. Does that make me nuts? That does, doesn’t it?
“My mom thinks that because I died and came back to life, we should suddenly start spending time together. My sister agrees. Besides that, she won’t stop bugging me about Alexei. She’s goddamn obsessed with the guy. They drove me out of the house with their bitching.” I stretch my legs out and raise my arms over my head, yawning as I do my best to shake off the Monday morning fatigue. “Fuck, it’s freezing out here.”
Widow immediately strips off the Sherpa denim jacket he’s wearing over his gray hoodie. He tosses it my way, and I catch it, holding his gaze as I slip into it and that dark forest and ripe plum smell sinks into me. I lift the collar up and turn my face toward it, inhaling that scent at the expense of Widow’s sanity.
He shifts in annoyance and releases a forced exhale.
“Did that get you hard? Poor baby.” I lean back on the hood, letting the jacket gape open so that Widow can take in the sheer blouse that I’m wearing. It’s long-sleeved with a big bow around the neck, sheer black with a bright red cherry pattern over the top. My black lace bra is highly visible underneath.
He takes a step forward, reaches out, and grabs the edges of the jacket, dragging me across the hood with the squeak of leather. I’ve got on these glorious high-waisted cigarette pants with a single row of buttons down the front; they’re red leather and fierce as fuck.
“I don’t like this shirt.” He stares right into my eyes, challenging me. I love it, too. I love that he chased me into the bathroom and pulled a knife on me, stole his car back, crashed it onto the track and almost killed us both. All of those things.
“You’re fuckin’ with me, right? You love this shirt.”
Widow yanks me even closer to him, and then leans down like he might kiss me. Only, he doesn’t. He just does up the copper buttons on the front of the jacket.
“I don’t like other boys seeing what’s mine.”
Okay, now that makes me howl. I can’t help myself. I laugh and laugh, and Widow grits his teeth. He lifts me up off the car with his hands on my waist, and then takes his time lowering my feet to the pavement. To his credit, he doesn’t tremble or quiver or show any signs of distress at being able to hold me suspended in midair without breaking a sweat.
“I knew I wasn’t gonna like it when you started dating. All into that cutesy shit. Try to keep the flirting to a minimum when I’m around, Queen. I can’t stomach it.” Nisha sighs heavily, pausing as Bastian moves up to stand beside us. He lets out a pleased whistle, and Widow stiffens up, turning that scary amber gaze of his on my friend.
“Daaaaamn. The two of you are fucking fire together. See?” He turns to Nisha with his arms crossed, brows raised. “This is why I put my money on Scarlett ending up with Widow in the end.” He turns back to Widow with a challenge in his brown eyes. “Provided you can learn to please her best friends. Hos over bros and all that.”
“You’re a bro, aren’t you?” Widow asks dryly, raking his gaze up Bastian’s leanly muscled form. With the baseball cap on, the armless flannel shirt, and the holey blue jeans, Basti does look super bro-ish today.
“We went over this already on Scarlett’s birthday: I’m a ho in all the ways that matter,” Bastian returns, and then he acts as if Widow doesn’t exist, turning to look at me in the denim jacket. “Um. Did you lose your fashion sense over the weekend?”
“Have you ever had a fashion sense?” I return, and he grins at me. I know that no matter how weird Bastian looks, how random his outfits seem, they’re carefully planned and plotted in advance. He has a pretty decent following on IG. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was setting underground trends all on his own.
I move around Widow, but his eyes track and follow me. I feel like I’m being hunted. Come and find me some time, I think, moving away from him and drawing girls to me like moths to flame. Burn, baby, burn.
“They’re blaming the South Prescott Gardens fire on that lady who loves homeless people,” Jennifer Atwell says, smacking her gum so loudly that I feel my eye twitching. But I like her intel, so I ignore it, glancing in her direction. “Valeria Navarro. She’s been saying it’s a case of misguided justice and all that. Some folks are saying she roused some of the tent city dudes to come and burn it down to further her agenda.”
