Page 7 of Vile Bastards
Nobody’s answering the phone—neither Scarlett or Alexei—and although I’m not surprised, I’m wary.
Because on a night like tonight, with the silver disk of the moon in the sky, and frost limning the edges of the road … it feels like a great night to die.
Ash Aspen Kelly
There’s only one person on my mind when I help that thuggish delinquent, Adrian Arden Lawless, shove a cop car into the river. It’s an act that could—theoretically—come back on me, too. But I don’t care. Because it’s not about me.
The only person I care about is Scarlett Force.
She wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, I think, and then I slam my palm against the steering wheel over and over again.
“Fuuuuuck!” I hit the steering wheel until my palm is red and aching. All the while, I’m gunning it up McKenzie View Drive and wondering why on God’s hideous and corrupt earth that Scarlett is out here tonight.
She was supposed to be at the track with Widow.
It’s safest for her at the track.
Now, Widow’s telling me she’s with Alexei Grove?
How could this night possibly get any worse?
As I drive, I keep my eye out for the orange Lamborghini Miura. Where is it? Where the fuck is Scarlett Force?
With no other leads, I head for the Borisov manor.
I haven’t heard anything on the radio frequency that my father’s men are using; they’re still waiting at the intersection with Hill Road. So, somewhere between here and there, that’s where Scarlett is. There’s nowhere else to go, with the river on one side, a forested hill on the other.
If she hasn’t run into the roadblock, she has to be up on the hill somewhere; the Borisov estate is the most likely place to start looking. Besides, I told Bohnes that I would be there. I aim to keep my word. If I fail him, Scarlett will never forgive me.
I hook a sharp left, wheels skidding on the gravel, and rocket through the tunnel of trees toward the lights of the manor. There’s no point in hiding my approach; I don’t have the time to creep through the woods.
Already, I’m late.
Already, my father’s pet assassin Shipman is here.
Already, Scarlett Force is missing.
I start mumbling to myself in Japanese, snatching at a chunk of my hair and giving it a sudden yank to snap myself out of the mental spiral. The sharp, screaming pain in my scalp is a wake-up call, dragging me kicking and screaming back to my senses.
When I hit the brakes, the Cobra spins a bit through the gravel, but I ignore it, removing both hands from the wheel and letting it do as it pleases.
I snatch the Ruger from the passenger seat, check the magazine, and then slip two more into my pockets. I’m holding the gun in both hands as I climb out, an ice-kissed breeze taunting the heavy boughs overhead to dance beneath an autumn sky filled with stars.
There are several vehicles parked on the property.
All of them sleek, black, windows dark.
The mob is here.
Gritting my teeth, I pause as my foot splashes in something wet, and I glance down to see a dead guy lying at my feet. A wave of frustration breaks over me, but I can’t hesitate here, not even when I know the repercussions of such a body.
Dead mob goon equals more mob interest.
Shipman’s here, alright.
I continue on, skirting around another body here, one there. As I go, I switch the grip on the Ruger to my right hand, sliding a knife from my pocket with the other. It’s worth the extra time to stab the tires of all the cars waiting outside, just to prevent anyone else from making a quick getaway—Shipman, especially.
The lights in the house are on, and I can see movement through the glass. The orange Lamborghini, however, is nowhere in sight. That’s almost enough to send me running, to leave this situation as it is and search for Scarlett.
But if she left her car with Widow, and she drove down McKenzie View, and she isn’t at Hill Road … She must’ve gone up another random driveway or else she’s hiding the car in the shadows of the woods.
I pause briefly on the porch to look around, but I don’t have time to do a thorough search in the shadows.
Bohnes gave me a directive to follow and, as much as I’d love to shoot him in the throat, he’s the best chance Scarlett has at staying safe. I’m sane enough to understand that although … stalking nightmare, Ash. Become a stalking nightmare.
I reach down and press my thumb against the door’s handle, pushing it in and moving into a warm interior, decorated with tasteful paintings, priceless artifacts, and a white-haired ghoul tied to a chair.
Even with several dead mobsters on the floor, with Shipman holding a gun on his forehead, Kellin Bohnes is smiling.
