Page 71 of Vile Bastards
“Unless your contact wants to sell us out. How do we know the mob or the mayor’s people won’t be waiting there to fuck us?” Widow reaches into his pocket and digs around for something, chucking it into my lap. “Here. I did my bit. Happy now, you crypt creeper son of a bitch?”
The term is accurate, especially seeing as Bohnes bought me a mausoleum to either hide in or really because he wants us both buried there together, I can’t say.
“What bit? What is this?” I look down at the ID in my hand, studying the generic looking dude in the photo, his coloring vaguely similar to Alexei’s. “Alex Marie Jennings.” I read the name aloud, and it clicks. “Ah, this is for Alexei’s enrollment.” I look over at Widow and lift the ID, giving it a little wiggle. “You even got the name almost right, but … Marie? This guy’s middle name is Marie? That’s hilarious. I’ll start calling Alexei, Marie after he enrolls. He’ll despise that.”
I pass the ID over to Bohnes, so he can study it.
“Oh, look, you follow instructions almost as well as Aspen Kelly does. How nice for you.” Bohnes flicks the ID back at Widow, but he catches it, so the slight is nullified. “My contact knows what’ll happen if the meeting goes awry. Don’t worry about it.” He snorts. “She’d have to be an idiot to think the mob or the mayor would pay her for this information knowing she could hack into their business if she wanted to. They’ll just kill her.”
“She?” I ask, glancing over at Bohnes. “Your hacker contact is a chick?” I’m simultaneously pleased that we don’t have to meet with some douchebag dude bro who faps it to thoughts of Silicon Valley and Elon Musk, but also jealous. Told ya I was nuts. “She hot?”
“If she is, does it matter?” Bohnes winks at me and stands up, but not before allowing his gaze to take in the gym clothes that I’m wearing. “Thursday, we’ll meet at the safe house beforehand. We need to perfect Marie’s disguise before we take him to the meeting.” Bohnes takes off, flipping his hood up as he goes, and then it’s just me and Widow all over again.
“Just so you know, you didn’t scare me off,” I tell him, glancing his way, and then this … this wicked-hot and perfectly unprintable smirk stretches over Widow’s lips.
“No? You thought that was the limit of my depravity? Scarlett, I was just getting started.” He opens the door and climbs out, heading up the front steps and into the building just as the bell rings for sixth period.
I wait for the sidewalk to clear as class starts up again, and then I lean back in the seat, stick my hand in my sweatpants, and jack it in Widow’s car for a second time. Now that I know to look for it, I see the tiny camera stuck to the edge of the dash, and I make sure to smile reeaaal pretty-like before I come.
I wipe my hands on his seat, and then exit the Stingray for the Pantera.
Screw six period.
I am in desperate need of a shower.
Scarlett
Alexis is already in a mood when I get home from school on Tuesday, storming around the living room and slamming this and that down, tossing shit onto the floor. I just stand there and slip my shades up so that I can see her better. When she’s like this, avoidance is the easiest and most effective technique.
“I can’t find my wallet,” she shouts, as if she’s accusing our mom, aunt, or grandma of having stolen it. But then her eyes land on me, and Widow’s silhouette behind me. She stands up straight, and I see the accusatory gleam in her eyes.
I have mob shit to deal with; I’m at war with the mayor.
I don’t have time to deal with her temper tantrums.
Just like with Lemon, my sister can be a complete and total pain in the ass, but I’ve already learned my lesson. I’ve already lost the girl I grew up with, maybe even before she was dead and buried. She trashed her sleeping bag? She got rid of all our friendship mementos? I’m going to practice maintaining an even chill with the women in my life that I love.
Besides, my sister has serious mental health issues. Doesn’t excuse her behavior entirely, but I at least keep that in mind when she’s acting crazy. I’m not much better though my insanity seems to run toward keeping fuckboys tightly leashed.
“Where is my wallet, Scarlett?” she asks, and I release a heavy sigh.
“No matter what she does, don’t interfere,” I murmur to Widow, but I can feel this overprotective aura around him. He wants to defend me, even against my sister. Aww. Super cute, right? This stupid guitar-playing, romance-reading alpha fuck. “Alexis, I did not take your wallet.”
