Chapter 11
Widow
It’s painful, watching Ash try to appease Patricia Force. He made breakfast for her—a full English, of all things—and she dropped the plate on the floor. He’s on his hands and knees now, muttering under his breath like a crazy person, scrubbing the tiles.
Alexei watches like a critical school teacher, holding a cup of coffee between his hands.
“Look what you made her do,” Ash mutters in jumbled rapid-fire speech, like some sort of demon. Leave it to Scarlett to summon something like him. Wearing a sword and cleaning like a madman. “Look what you made her do, Ash.”
“You should wear gloves when you’re cleaning,” Alexei instructs, like this is a hill he’s willing to die on. “You’re cross-contaminating both yourself and the floor.”
Ash looks up at the pair of us, standing over him while he cleans in house slippers, an apron, and a sword.
It’s like his new uniform or something. I squat down, eye to eye with a man I hated to the very depth of my bones.
Don’t get me wrong: watching him fuck Scarlett is its own special sort of torture.
But I understand. He’s a prince in a tower. He’s something fragile, an egg that’s cracked but hasn’t lost all its yolk yet. He’s a man on the verge, teetering like Humpty fuckin’ Dumpty.
“Patricia has a right to hate you, but you also have a right to demand better treatment.” I try to take the wad of paper towels from his hand and Alexei gags, turning and walking away from the sight of splatted tomato and beans. “Give me that.”
Ash resists, but only for a second. He surrenders to me like he does to Scarlett, slumping back against the cabinets and putting the heel of his hand to his forehead.
Closing his dark eyes. When he held that gun to my head in Scarlett’s front yard, I thought he was going to kill me.
Instead, he swung the weapon on his own men, executed two of them before the others got the memo.
I keep that in mind as I wipe up the spilled food, ignoring that girl, Emma Jean, as she shuffles into the room with a yawn. She’s wearing some ridiculous pajama set, like she’s completely comfortable here. She’s as weird as any of Scarlett’s other girls.
“Happy Saturday,” she says, which makes me want to gag. “Mr. Kelly, Mr. Lawless.”
“Miss Thompson,” Ash breathes, eyes still squeezed shut. He tied this girl to his bed, dressed in lingerie. He also saved her life. She doesn’t seem like she’s afraid of him whatsoever.
“Yo, journalist, get in here!” Scarlett calls out from the direction of the, uh, whatever the small extra dining room spot is called.
Nook? Breakfast nook? Sounds like a joke.
I stand up and then hold out a hand, waiting for Ash to crack an eye and spot it.
He reaches out and takes hold of me, letting me haul him up to his feet.
We look at each other, and he smiles. It’s weird. Not gonna lie. I offer a tight smile in return, and it feels even weirder.
“Coming!” Emma Jean chirps cheerfully, filling half of her mug with coffee and the other half with some fancy creamer that Scarlett’s girls brought back from the store.
“I thought I’d be dead, that I’d never have to face Patricia Force.” Ash hangs his head, tucking his hands in the apron’s pockets. “Scarlett has lost enough people. I can’t be the cause of her losing her grandma, too.”
“She’ll come around. This is Prescott. The rules are different here.” I fold my arms as Ash lifts his head, studying me with open curiosity. He’s been like this since we sat together in the panic room. The thing with the housekeeping staff, that was fucked-up. I’ve got sympathy for the guy now.
I’m invested in keeping Ash alive. Personally. I wanted Scarlett, and I got her. I want Ash to live, so he will. I’ll make it happen. I reach out and clap his shoulder in support.
Ash gives me a half-bow before shuffling off to make another plate—for me.
He hands it over as I stare at him, trying to reconcile going from that miserable halfway house to this.
I was going to be homeless on my birthday, homeless for Christmas.
I take the plate and find myself sitting at the table while Scarlett reveals the little gift we have saved up for Emma Jean.
“Trish Edelman,” my woman says with her best shit-eating grin.
I pretend like the stuff in my back pocket is bothering me, putting my crappy old wallet with my EBT card in it on the table.
Next to that, I set the keys to the Bugatti and watch Scarlett’s dark eyes flick to me.
“She’s locked in a groundskeeper’s cottage out back. ”
Ash’s frog croaks from his spot in the next room, proof that we made a run out to Bohnes’ place last night to grab some shit.
Emma Jean spits her coffee out on the table and Alexei freaks out.
He flies to his feet, sending his chair toppling to the floor.
His untouched plate of food is likely going to remain untouched now.
He covers his mouth with a gloved hand and closes his eyes.
He’s probably trying not to stab Emma with one of his needles.
Ash comes in, prepped with a bleach-based cleaner and paper towels. He starts wiping the mess down without being asked.
“Sit down and eat your own food, Ash.” Scarlett flings her hand out in the direction of the empty chair next to her. Ash nods, but he doesn’t leave until he’s sanitized the table. He flees into the kitchen as my eyes meet Bohnes’ across the table.
He’s huddled on a chair with his coffee, wrapped in a white hoodie with straps on the sleeves, like an asylum jacket.
He nods in acknowledgement of my stare, and then goes back to surveying the room and everyone in it.
Always ready for anything. He has a half-empty plate on the table in front of him, same breakfast that I’ve got.
I take a bite of my beans, not entirely sure what everything else is.
“Those pucks there are black pudding. You may not like them.” Ash returns to the table, slumping into the chair next to Bohnes, almost touching him. Neither of them seems to care if they’re all snuggled up.
“Pray tell, Ash, how did you find such a thing in South Prescott?” Bohnes asks, chuckling like it’s funny.
I take a bite of the stuff and it’s…odd.
It’s crispy, like Ash fried it up. There’s no taste in my limited food history to compare it to.
Don’t want to be rude though. A nice, hot home-cooked meal. I’m not fucking complaining.
Scarlett is staring at me, the edge of her lip quirking. I notice that the keys to the Bugatti are mysteriously missing. Didn’t even see her take ‘em. Putting them on display was intentional on my part. I figured I’d see her go for them, giving me a better chance to defend myself.
I’m impressed.
We’re studying each other with primal eyes as I take another bite of my food.
Breakfast is nice. Rutting like wild animals last night was better. Being naked in bed with three other naked guys is still weird.
“My girls found it at Market of Cost,” Scarlett explains to Bohnes, still looking at me.
Emma Jean is also looking at me which I’m not so much a fan of.
Alexei is standing behind his chair, studying the table.
Ash must’ve cleaned it to his standards because he sits back down, staring forlornly at the food that Scarlett conned him into agreeing to eat.
“I’m sorry, but why are we talking about black pudding when you just told me that Trish Edelman is a prisoner in your backyard?” Emma Jean is clinging to her freshly wiped coffee cup. Ash was very thorough.
“Because blood sausage is more interesting than some spineless NPC lackey?” Bohnes offers up, and I can’t hold back a laugh.
Fuck. The undead bastard is actually funny. He winks at me, and I scowl without an ounce of heat.
“If you don’t want Trish, we’ll put her in the ground where she belongs,” I tell Emma, taking another bite, mushrooms this time. It’s odd, but I don’t dislike it. The grilled tomato is the weirdest item on my plate. Not sure how I feel about the texture of it.
“Isn’t she your aunt?” Emma asks, almost hesitantly.
I know about the photo she dug up and showed to Scarlett, the one with me and my mom, Hannah.
Her sisters, Maryanne and Trish Lawless.
I was given my mother’s last name when I was born.
My dad had too much debt, too many enemies he didn’t want to pass on. What a joke.
“By blood, I guess.” I take a bite of egg.
Everything is cooked so well. I throw the fork down and sit up, dragging my hands down my face.
Dropping them to my lap. This is all too good to be true.
I don’t trust it. I don’t trust any of it.
Ash has done more for me than almost anyone else on this earth, save Scarlett.
Bohnes, too. And Alexei. “Does that matter? I begged her for her help on more than one occasion. She’s the first adult I told about the abuse from my uncle. Want to know what she said?”
I slouch in my seat, kicking out a brown boot. Acting cocky. The move hits both Scarlett and Emma at the same time. The latter turns away, blushing, loudly sipping her coffee as Scarlett snorts. She comes right over to me, perching that perky ass of hers on my knee.
I can feel my breathing pick up. Can feel my heart thundering. I want to grab her. I want to do things with her on this breakfast table that Alexei would never be able to scrub out. Too bad we have guests. I’d do it, right in front of Ash and Bohnes and Alexei, fuck her right here.
Free use, right? I can’t wait for these other motherfuckers to move out.
“What did she say?” Emma whispers, clutching at the front of her pajamas. Eyes too wide. What does Scarlett call her? Suburbs? That tracks. Can I even tell the truth if she’s around? Can she handle it?