Chapter 6
Widow
“What in God’s name is this place?” Ash inquires, standing on the sidewalk in front of Treasure’s fuckboy’s barbershop.
There’s no pole outside, but there is a scraggly tree painted to look like one.
White with a red stripe, like a candy cane.
A single neon sign in the window reads Haircuts - Cheap.
“You sound very British today, sir,” Scarlett says, slipping between us and purposely rubbing her entire body along mine like a cat.
Fuck, she’s hot. I resist the urge to adjust myself in my jeans.
“We’ll be gettin’ the works today, so don’t bother us unless absolutely necessary.
It’s a must that I’m the hottest person at my own wedding. ”
Basti snickers and Nisha scowls at us as the three of them pass by, slipping inside an entirely different door than the one we’re facing.
A Mexican restaurant with an absurdly long drive-thru backs up to the place, blocking the driveway.
We had to wait for cars to move just to pull in. Smells good though.
“Huh.” I step forward before any of the other boys can, opening the front door to the tinkling of bells and a surprisingly clean and well-kept space.
A man is bent halfway over the back of one chair, watching something on his phone and smoking a cigarette.
Another man sits in a metal folding chair near the door with a gun on his hip and a dog at his feet.
They all look up (both the men and the mutt), assessing me as I step aside for Ash, Alexei, and Bohnes to enter behind me. The man in the folding chair rests his hand on his weapon. He can sense how dangerous we are. Good Prescott instincts.
“Oh-ho, would you look at that: Scarlett’s fuckboys here for cuts and proper shaves,” the man bent over the chair says, standing up and grinning at us. I see now why everyone just calls him ‘Treasure’s fuckboy’. He’s got that look to ‘im.
“Ain’t a fuckboy,” I murmur, careful to keep my hands where he can see them. “But yeah, cuts and shaves all around.”
“Oh, no. No, no.” Alexei laughs and holds out a gloved hand, sweat soaking into the collar of his shirt. There are hair clippings on the floor that haven’t been swept up yet. That’s what he seems to be looking at. “Not for me, thank you.”
Alexei removes a folded up trash bag from his pocket, laying it out on a chair near the door.
“Why not?” Treasure’s fuckboy replies, running inked fingers through his dark hair. He’s got an almost comical frown on his pierced lips, staring at the trash bag like it’s an issue. “You don’t think my place is clean?”
“I’m sure it’s as sterile as a surgical suite.
This is my problem and not yours.” Alexei turns around to stare at the barber/fuckboy, as if checking to make sure the man got the message to leave the subject alone.
Alexei then shifts those sharp green eyes of his to mine, like he’s waiting for me to state my opinion.
“You don’t suppose Scarlett finds my appearance untidy? ”
Alexei switches out his gloves, using the fresh latex fingers of the new pair to touch his smooth, clean chin.
A smile edges my lips. This guy shaves meticulously every morning and evening with a brand-new disposable razor. He doesn’t need any help with that.
“You want my advice? Skip the shave if you want. Get a haircut or Scar’ll be ticked off.” I swing around, finding Ash with his sword strapped to his back, nervous eyes flicking to the man with the gun. He’ll do whatever our wife wants, a trim and a shave. A blow job. Suicide. Anything.
KZMI 66.6 crackles out of a shitty old radio on the windowsill; Wolfman is hosting.
“This next song was a personal request from Prescott’s resident racer, Scarlett Force. It’s called “Hair Cut” by the band Xdinary Heroes. Can’t resist our own local hero when she calls in, now can we? Keep up the good fight, Crimson Crew.”
Oh, baby. Flirting with us when she’s not even in the room? Scarlett sure is somethin’.
Bohnes has his arms folded and seems to be staring up at the ancient tin ceiling in thought. The lyrics of the song begin with the literal words ‘get a haircut’. My advice to Alexei was solid.
“And you?” I query, and Bohnes shrugs.
“Just a trim for me, Jack,” he purrs, apparently aware of Treasure’s fuckboy’s actual name.
He slips something from his pocket and hands it to the man in the folding chair.
The old guy looks up, sees the expression on Bohnes’ face, and immediately hands over his weapon.
Without skipping a beat, Bohnes slips the gun into his waistband.
“I don’t like blades against my throat, for obvious reasons, so no shave. ”
“Hey, you’re the customers here, and your girl already paid me.
Your dough, your choice. How about we start with you, King?
” Jack gestures to one of the barber chairs, this handsome thing with chrome and red leather.
Pretty sick. Probably cost a lot of money, too.
You’d never know that was in here based on the outside.
There’s a rusty junker parked on the half-dead, half-overgrown lawn, too corroded to identify. It’s practically a fossil.
“You’re safe with me here,” I assure Bohnes, smiling a real, true fucking smile. It comes right out of me when I feel it, how much power the boys and I have if we work together. “There’s not a damn fool stupid enough in Prescott who’d try to murder you in front of me. Get a shave, if you want.”
Bohnes frowns, like he’s having trouble processing his thoughts.
After a minute, he smiles and his hand comes up to ruffle Ash’s hair, like they’re friends, too.
Ash flinches. But then he smiles back. They look real, those smiles.
They could be. They are. Alexei, seated primly on the trash bag chair, is too busy being grossed out to smile.
He’s not nervous though. Not at all. If not for the germophobia, I’d dare say relaxed.
“You go first, King. I’ll watch your throat and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you watch mine.
” Bohnes snaps his fingers and waves his hand around, strutting down the center of the barbershop and peering into the back rooms with a flashlight.
He’s as much a part of the Prescott scene as Scarlett is.
The old guy in the folding chair knows who Bohnes is. So does the barber. Everybody does.
For backup, I’d be hard-pressed to find someone more skilled.
“What are your plans for your hair, Adrian?” Ash kneels down to make friends with the shop’s little black kitten. He tickles its chin with his fingers, gazing at it with half-lidded brown eyes. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with mine.”
Adrian. But is he really going to call me Widow for the rest of our lives? We’re basically manacled to one another.
This is a weird new normal. Everything changed for me overnight.
My heart starts to pound and I press my palm over it. Alexei notices, and then he’s fucking smiling, too.
I sweep my fingers through my hair for the last time, stepping toward Jack’s chair. He’s just standing there, smoking a cigarette. He wouldn’t dare tell us to hurry the fuck up like he might if we were normal customers. We’re nothing like normal customers, and he understands that.
“Is the haircut really so serious?” Alexei sounds amused. I like him. He’s honestly a straight-up dude. I jerked myself off while he lost his virginity with my girl, outside in public, half-buried in mud. I exhale sharply. Musta got good vibes from him or something.
“I feel stupid. Scarlett’s got me all twisted up and thinking that I am the one in the wrong about you guys.
Like, I should thank her for fucking other men.
” I climb into the chair and slump back, meeting Jack’s curious eyes in the mirror without a drop of shame.
I dare someone to say something to me. “Cut it all off.”
“Really?” asks Jack the Fuckboy, tatted up and reeking of nicotine, but not without some of that Prescott charm. “You want it short, King? How long have you been growing this out?” Jack’s touching my hair now and it takes every fucking ounce of my self-control not to break his arm.
“Since juvie, I dunno. I used to cut it myself with whatever scissors I could find lying around.” I peer at myself in the mirror, at the hair falling around my face.
It doesn’t look bad. No, I think the dye job I do is pretty good for a halfway house sink and some cheap color.
But Scarlett said this place is famous. Swore by it.
My eyes flick to the reflection of a door in the wall behind me.
On the other side of that, Scarlett is getting her nails done.
I wish I could see her, hear her, but I can’t.
The only sounds are the whirring of a cheap box fan (despite the cold weather outside) and the thump-thump-thump of the old hound scratching its ear.
“I could do something real nice with your hair.” Jack teases some strands between his fingers and frowns at it. “Giving someone like you a military cut would be a shame. What do you think about the modern mullet? How about a wolf cut?”
“Wolf cut,” Alexei says, rising from his own chair to stand behind mine. He curls long, gloved fingers under his chin in thought. “But keep it on the shorter side. It’ll look good with a suit.”
“That what you want?” Jack clarifies, picking up a razor and spinning it like an outlaw with a pistol.
Alexei meets my eyes in the mirror, and I find myself grinning. This feels like a good moment for a fresh start. Maryanne is dead. Trish is inside a shipping container on Bohnes’ property. I’m vicariously married to the mob and above the law. Below it.
Fresh start.
I nod, slicking both hands back over my hair.
I’m in this.
“I trust him.” That’s all I need to say.
“Good. You should—if only because Scarlett told you to.” Alexei raises both brows at me in the mirror. “You have remarkable inner strength, Widow. I’ve been meaning to tell you that since last night.”
I flex my wounded hand, staring down the bandages he applied for me.