Page 77 of Vile Bastards
“What were your parents like?” I ask, picking up a loaf of French bread and giving it a long, satisfying sniff. People walking by stare at me like I’m nuts, but Widow zones right in on them with a curled lip, and they quickly avert their eyes. Dude is huge, well-over six feet tall with jewel-toned purple, turquoise, and black hair, arms like tree trunks and very obvious prison ink. I wouldn’t mess with him either.
Oh, wait. Yes, I would. I did. I stole the guy’s car as punishment for taking my parking space. I countered a knife attack in the girl’s bathroom. So, yeah, scratch that. I’ll take on anyone, anytime, anywhere.
“High-functioning drug addicts,” Widow responds with a tired sigh. “They were fine. My childhood before their deaths was typically Prescott. Hours spent outside by myself or with other kids, zero supervision, miracle that I survived to tell the tales.”
I smile at that.
“Sounds like my childhood before my grandmother moved back in with us. She owns the duplex, but briefly moved away to take care of her sister after surgery. My mom and aunt were renting it from her for a pittance. I mean they agreed to pay a pittance, but pretty sure they mostly paid nothing. How did we never run into each other? If we’d have met, I’d have remembered you.”
Widow smiles at that, and I see that we’ve somehow come full circle back to the bakery. It’s right near the stupid cheese counter where Ash is once again stationed, laughing with the female employee who didn’t seem to read the murderous vibes I was giving off.
I ignore them.
“I went to the elementary school in Four Corners instead of the Prescott one, back when there was an elementary school in that neighborhood. We lived on the edge between the two neighborhoods, but my dad owed a lot of money to people in Prescott. He thought it’d be safer.” Widow picks up a container with two cannoli in it, stares at it, shrugs, and then tosses it into the basket.
“Was it?” I ask, choosing a slice of cake for myself.
“Nothing happened to me until after they died, and I went to live with my bitch aunt and my pedophile uncle.” Widow shudders and turns away, and I decide that’s more than enough for now. I want to know where he learned to play guitar, if he sings, what other dark thoughts are hiding in his head.
But we’re off to a decent start.
I leave Ash to flirt with the cheese lady. Either he’s doing it with the sole intention of making me jealous or else he wants to die. I can’t quite decide.
Widow and I finish our shopping and hit the counter, only to have Ash sweep past and flick a wad of green bills at the cashier. He did the same thing to me on an earlier meet-cute at this very store.
“It’s on me.” He breezes right out the door as Widow snatches up the money and then takes off after him. But not before handing me his wallet.
“Use the food stamp card,” he instructs, pausing to breathe against my ear so that my nipples pebble to rocks right in front of the cashier’s baffled stare. “The pin is six-nine-six-nine.”
Of course that’s the pin.
Widow storms out the door as I hurriedly pay and snatch up our bags, one in either arm, jogging outside in my heels to see the two men facing off in the middle of the parking lot.
Great.
Just fantastic.
I move over to stand between them, glancing down at the fat wad of cash on the ground between their feet. From what I surmise, Widow told Ash to take it back, Ash refused, Widow threw it …
I squat down and set the bags aside, lifting up the wad of money, licking my thumb and flicking through the series of large bills. There’s at least a thousand bucks here. I stand back up as both men adjust their angry stares toward me, and then I tuck the money into Widow’s pocket.
“There. Now it’s a gift from me and not from Ash.”
Widow very slowly, very carefully pulls the money back out of his pocket, and then steps forward, sliding it into my shirt beneath my bra, teasing my nipple as he does it. He meets my gaze with an unrelenting amber glare.
“I’m not letting some rich boy buy my girl’s food.” Widow glances back at Ash who’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, wearing a black suit and tie in the middle of the day. Because that’s what Aspen would’ve worn. Ash Kelly preferred casual wear and sneakers. Like that white sweater that got wet in the rain, and his nipples showed through as two dark spots begging to be licked and kissed. “Especially not with the level of disrespect he’s shown you. Hear me, rich boy?” Widow turns around, effectively putting himself between me and Ash. “I warned you that if you put her in danger again, I’d bury you.”
