Chapter 2
Scarlett
It’s been a long-ass day. Locker room orgy.
Seeing Burt outside the school in his sexy car.
Ernest’s screams as the rat ate him alive.
Alexei’s cum on Ash’s tongue. Widow, falling apart in the woods and letting me put him back together.
Bohnes, helping me deliver the Borisov estate back to its rightful owner.
After helping Bastian choose a room in the main house (he and Nish will board here with us for now), I return to the mansion’s kitchen to find all four boys arranged theatrically around the space.
Alexei’s fresh from another shower, wearing a bright red silk robe he can’t seem to keep pulled up over his shoulders. He has an elbow parked on the counter and a glass of wine in his other hand. Our eyes catch and he lifts the glass in acknowledgment.
Widow is seated on the stool next to him, holding a bag of ice on his wrapped hand. He wets his lips when I walk in, pushing his hair away from his face and reminding me that we’ve got an appointment with Treasure and her fuckboy barber tomorrow.
Bohnes is leaning against the countertop, his eyes on Ash’s back as the other man goes through every drawer and cabinet in the kitchen.
And there are a shitload of them. This place looks like the kitchen for a fine-dining restaurant that serves tiny pieces of colorful food on slate-black plates and then charges a firstborn child for the privilege of eating it.
Nice.
All four men stop what they’re doing to look at me. I’ve certainly got their attention.
And not just that, but their commitment. Their trust. Their love.
That’s a lot of responsibility.
Love in Prescott is like water in cracked cement. It’s okay when it’s warm, but when it freezes, it expands and destroys. It leaves pits and pot holes in the road.
But then, I am Scarlett Force. What could a pot hole do to disrupt my driving? I can handle this. If there’s anyone in this neighborhood who can navigate the hazards of romance without a wreck, it’s me.
I cross my arms, far too happy with their manic, fixed obsession to be sane.
I rub my thumb against my tattoo, causing Alexei’s eyebrow to quiver.
He grips his wineglass in an even firmer hand—still encased in a glove.
He’ll probably scrub this house from top to bottom personally, just to make sure it’s clean.
After all, some of the biggest scum to ever walk the earth were in here.
Ernest, for example. Who knows if Chet and Jonas were snooping around the joint?
“Well.” That’s my word of wisdom, followed rapidly by a massively overblown yawn.
I stretch one arm above my head, grabbing onto that elbow with my other hand and just really laying into it.
I know my sweatshirt rides up to flash my pierced navel.
I can feel each of their gazes in a different heat, in a different color.
Same intensity levels though. “Good work today, boys.”
Good work. Interesting way to describe it. Thankfully the mob took Ernest’s corpse away so all we had to do was, you know, set the spot on fire and then hose down the dirt with chemicals.
My stomach growls, undeterred by thoughts of the clean-up. I am pretty hungry. I drop my arms by my sides, shifting my attention to Ash. He sees me looking and smiles.
“I’m going to cook something,” he declares, opening another cabinet.
He bends low to dig through all the items my girls brought over (we dumped everything else in case of, like, poison).
“Oh, brilliant.” His voice is thick with a British accent that makes him seem like an entirely different person than he was before. Like, I’ve never met Ash, only Aspen.
“You sure you’re game for that, man?” Widow asks, rubbing at the back of his neck. Like the other guys, he keeps his attention on me but with a few flicks of the eyes here and there to take in the palatial estate ballooning around us. Wary. It’s not a bad instinct to have.
“Game?” Ash asks, holding a bag of flour.
He thinks for a few seconds, food in one hand, deadly steel in the other.
“Adrian, I’m used to far worse torments.
The things Aspen did to me…what happened today is nothing.
I’m fine.” Ash sets the bag of flour aside and pulls out a glass bottle from the fridge, studying the label.
It’s a soda. Real sugar and everything. The good stuff.
Name brand, too. Bought with Bohnes’ money because while we have the Borisov house, we don’t got the cash.
Tomorrow. That’s tomorrow’s problem.
“It’s Widow,” Widow corrects with a sigh and Bohnes laughs, leaning across the counter and slapping him on the shoulder. Zero reaction from Widow which is actually a really good sign.
“He’s called me Kellin four times today. Someone might be dying tonight.” Bohnes tugs the soda from Ash with deft fingers, lifts his shirt up and takes the bottle cap off with his abs. I let out a strangled sound, putting my fingers up to my throat as Alexei recoils in horror.
“How unsanitary,” he whispers, downing the rest of the (probably ludicrously expensive) wine and then pouring himself another. He looks ten years older tonight, easily. In a good way though. In a sexy way. Confident and capable.
This house looks less ridiculous with him in it, like he belongs here.
“How very efficient,” Ash remarks, accepting the soda bottle back and drinking half of it before he sets it aside.
He lifts his own shirt up, examining his own very impressive set of abs.
He doesn’t seem bothered whatsoever by Bohnes threatening to kill him.
“Do you think you could teach me to do that?”
“I could, but will I bother?” Bohnes wonders aloud, tapping at his chin.
“What’s our plan for tonight?” Widow asks, moving around the counter to stand beside me.
He washed his wounded hand on his own and wrapped it with bandages from the first-aid kit upstairs.
He’s wearing a different shirt now, courtesy of Alexei.
It’s so expensive that it makes Widow look… rougher. I fan myself with my hand.
“I’m thinking…chicken and dumplings. I’ve never made it before, but that’s what the internet is for, isn’t it?” Ash finishes off the soda, shoulders pulling together in a sudden flinch. He moves over to the sink and spits in it which causes Alexei no shortage of distress. “Sorry, sudden memory.”
“Good God. Why is it necessary to be continually reminded?” Alexei closes his eyes as Bohnes continues to find amusement in the situation and Widow’s brow furrows into a messy, angry confusion that I don’t begrudge him but that I wish I could smooth out with my thumb.
“The texture,” Ash breathes out, gagging. “The taste.” A shake of the head and his hood falls off, revealing dark hair. “Poor Scarlett.”
“Poor…Scarlett?” Widow wonders aloud. “You and Alexei, you’re the ones that—” He doesn’t seem to know how to finish that statement.
“One time,” Ash begins, tossing items onto the counter. Celery. Carrots. Potatoes. “Aspen knocked a bird’s nest out of a tree. I raised the only baby that didn’t die, and then he tortured it and buried it alive.”
“Pots are in that cabinet,” Alexei mutters, throwing his hand in that general direction.
“Thank you,” Ash sniffs, like he’s been this British-y all along.
Shit. I’ve never heard someone sound so posh—except for Alexei.
Never puts the sword down though. “Anyway, Aspen was a monster who specialized in torture. He convinced my first crush that he was me and I was him, seduced her, got her pregnant, and then beat her into having a miscarriage. Last I checked, she was dead. Says suicide but it was probably Aspen.” Ash opens his eyes a little too wide as he’s explaining all this.
“He could hold a grudge for years. He never forgot. One wrong slip, one accidental smile, and whatever it was you loved was dead and gone. Destroyed. Used up by him.”
Ash turns around, resting his hands against the edge of the counter as Widow pauses in the space between us, watching. I’m zoned-in on their interactions. This stupid blow-job thing might be the glue that holds them all together. Gee, thanks Burt.
“What you’re trying to say is: no big thing?
” Widow asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.
He scoffs and ruffles up his hair with agitated fingers.
I grab a beer from the fridge (heh, fake IDs) and hand it over to him.
He lifts up his own shirt, staring right at Bohnes, and fucking takes the cap off with his own abs.
“Touche.” Bohnes gives a dismissive little slow clap in response, his toothy grin still on full display. He is soooo freaking smug today. There’s nothing Widow could do to derail that.
God, men are dumb.
“It’s not as if I enjoyed it,” Ash scoffs. “But it’s preferable to death.” He opens up a package of raw chicken and Alexei scoots his stool another foot to the right.
“That was unpleasant business, but it’s done and over with. We will handle the family’s requests and move on from this unfortunate incident. Is that acceptable to everyone involved?” Alexei chugs that next glass of wine like it’s medicine.
Bohnes grabs another soda, lifts his shirt up again, and knocks the top off. He’s got this angry little pink streak across his ghostly pale skin now that I would absolutely love to lick off. He moves over to hand the drink to me and I accept. I’m given a smoldering kiss on the cheek to go with it.
“Mm. I dunno.” Bohnes whirls around, leaning his big body against the bank of cabinets to my right. “All things considered, we got off easy. I, for one, am more than pleased with the day’s events.”
Pots and pans clink as Ash fumbles around in an unfamiliar kitchen, his dark eyes darting to mine and then away again. I offer him a cool smile and a lift of my soda bottle in acknowledgment. His return smile is almost shy, like he’s embarrassed to still be alive. Stupid-ass fuckboy.