Page 73 of Vile Bastards
Widow appears beside me, putting his warm hand on my lower back. The heat of him helps ground me, especially when he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“I know all about panic attacks,” he whispers. “I used to get them in juvie. Don’t let the emotions control you.” He rubs my back in small circles. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”
My mother stands nearby, shifting nervously. Likely, Widow makes her uncomfortable. He probably makes a lot of people uncomfortable. He’s got a control problem with long stretches of calm followed by violent outbursts. He reminds me of … me.
“You don’t look fine to me,” Geneva asserts, moving a step closer and holding out her hand. “Give me your keys, and I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“Or come with me on a drive,” Widow whispers as I feel my rapid heartbeat slow, my breathing even out. I’m still shaking and sweating, and my head swims with dizziness, but I’m up and standing. I know logically what’s happening to me; I understand it.
I slip past my mother without a word, even as she’s calling out to me, and I practically sprint to the Stingray, sliding in and slamming the door shut behind me. It occurs to me as Widow hops in and starts the engine that I’ve never ridden in his car with him before.
“I feel better already,” I murmur, eyes closed, head leaned back against the seat. “The memories of jacking off in here are coming back to me.” I spin a finger in a loose circle, and Widow snorts.
“Your mom is standing on the driveway, yelling at us. Do you care?”
“Not enough to stick around.”
Widow hits the gas and off we go, speeding down the street and squealing around corners. The stink of burning rubber is like aromatherapy to me, and I relax back into the supple leather, following Widow’s breathing instructions until I’ve fully calmed myself down again.
“Entertain me. Tell me about yourself,” I murmur with my eyes still shut tight.
There’s a brief hesitation, and I wonder if Widow’s thinking about yesterday in the library. Today, he sat in a chair and read a book, pointedly ignoring me. This hot/cold shit infuriates me, but also turns me on. Is that his plan? Make me want him by denying me?
If so, it’s working.
“Why?” he asks, but not incuriously. It’s like he genuinely wants to understand why I’d inquire as to his past, personal habits, likes and dislikes, future dreams.
“If we’re going to get married someday, don’t I deserve to ask whatever questions I damn well please? Nothing is too personal for your ‘future wife’, now is it, Adrian Arden Lawless?” I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him. Without having seen where we were heading, I know where we are because I know every turn in this neighborhood, and I could track our progress even with my eyes closed.
“Fuck.” That’s all he says, gripping the steering wheel tight with the hand that’s inked in black and gray, a prison scratcher tat—but a good one—of a spiderweb. Widow.
“You know that song with Lil Nas X and Cardi B?” I ask, trying to remember the name. “I think it’s called ‘Rodeo’.”
“What about it?” he asks, still driving one-handed, slouchy and comfortable in the sexy, little sportscar. I wonder how he learned to drive, having been locked up from age twelve to seventeen. I deserve to have all of my many curiosities about him satisfied.
“During one of Cardi’s verses, she says something like, I can’t be that dude’s ex, I could only be his widow.” I just stop there, still staring at Widow. I can hear Cardi singing it in my head. Widow, Widow, Widow.
“You deliver that shit like it’s nothing,” he says with a scoffing laugh, his amber eyes sliding over to see me studying the impressive array of muscles in his arms. He’s got huge fucking biceps, corded forearms, one of the strongest, most punishing grips I’ve ever experienced. I’ve fought a lot of bitches, a lot of bros. Very few have even come close to Widow’s raw strength. “But that statement, how can I not read into it?”
“How are you reading into it?” I ask, blinking innocently at him. “Like I’mma kill you if you leave me?”
“Like you want to be with me forever.” Widow’s smirk sinks into his face, becoming almost unbearable to look at. It fucking reeks of testosterone in here. I almost roll my window down, but instead, I lean in toward him, breathing in his scent.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Widow might have a whole new meaning if you tick me off, keep talking about fuckgirls or whatever it is that you do.” I slump back into my seat, threading my fingers together behind my head.
