Chapter 18 #4
“Stay away from the windows. I don’t want my grooms sniped the day before our wedding.
” I reach out, putting my palm on the side of Alexei’s face for a little pat.
He takes hold of my wrist with leather fingers.
He’s a fucking blotch of money and privilege against the dirty wall behind him, the one plastered with old flyers and profanity.
“It’s Bohnes and Widow who should stay away from the windows,” he warns me, reminding me of the expensive assassin.
Alexei is eying the water fountain again.
I know it seriously bothers him. He’s sweating, and I realize he’s not really wearing the wool coat for warmth.
It’s a shield against Prescott’s ingrained filth.
“You and me and our lover Ash, we’re protected under the family’s umbrella. ”
“You sure I can’t have them suck your dick for Uncle Burt next?” I reply, my tone dry, and Alexei recoils like he’s been slapped, staring down at me in outrage.
“We can handle our problems without losing all our dignity. Don’t be ridiculous.
I will never have sex on camera again.” Alexei lifts his chin, gaze scanning the halls.
I know he’s got guns under that coat. His father had a collection hidden in the panic room, a place that Ernest either didn’t know about or didn’t give a fuck about. My husband’s packing heat.
“I’ll suck your dick for mob protection,” Bohnes says with a laugh, unwrapping a black lollipop and slipping it in his mouth. He winks at me as he sucks on it, turning his tongue purple. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Probably not. Mob protection is worth a lot.
“I’d rather die, thanks.” Widow pauses beside me, passing over a cold red soda can from the vending machine.
It only takes coins and usually eats a quarter or two.
I’m surprised again. Pleased. Cramping. I sip it, studying the halls with a fond farewell.
I don’t hate the time I spent here. Hell, I met Widow right over there.
But I’m happy to cut this dead weight off and float.
Sorry Stephen King, but nobody floats down here in Prescott. “I’ll be careful though.”
“If a bullet comes at me, I’m going to catch it in my teeth and then flick it back at the shooter,” Bohnes replies, miming the motion of that and knocking the black tails of his trench coat into a swirl with the motion.
He looks cool as fuck, and I’m not the only person who notices. My boys do, too.
“I won’t let you die,” Ash reassures him, offering up a small bow that makes the sword clatter against his back. “I give you my word.”
Bohnes appears taken aback. Truth is cold, hard cash here in Prescott. Ash is smart enough to take it seriously, lifting his eyes to mine to reassure me with his galaxy stare. I shiver all over and turn back to the hallway, finding Bastian on his way over to us.
“We need to get you that Snow Queen crown,” he starts telling me, brow furrowed, pockets stuffed with tools. Never know when we’ll need a life-threatening tune-up. “This is our last, like, official high school thing, Scarlett. It’s all over after this.”
I make the sign of an upside-cross.
“Don’t get started with me, Bastian. I don’t want the crown. Why don’t you take it in Lem’s honor?”
“This is the last thing we can do for her.” He taps at his rib cage, right where his fresh ink is.
Cringes. Curses under his breath. “Come on, Scarlett.” Basti is whining at me now and agitating the boys.
We both ignore them. “Don’t you want to go down as a local legend?
If you’re going to drop out, leave with a bang, not a whimper. ”
“Snow Queen.” I want to laugh. Fuck. Whatever.
The dance is literally named after all the cocaine our ancestors used to snort.
Good deal. It’s basically a classic car show anyway, just all dolled up.
It’s the perfect goodbye party for this place.
“I’m not organizing a vote. It’s Tuesday, Basti, and I’m getting married tomorrow.
Snow Day is Friday. You really want this? You can deal with that shit this week.”
“Really?” Bastian asks, getting overexcited.
Nisha is gonna freak, tell me we don’t have time to even entertain this juvenile shit.
But…Alexis’ Snow Queen crown, the one that always hung off her headboard, it probably melted in the fire, huh?
Otherwise, I’d wear it. Throat tight. Hard to swallow.
Sip soda. Stupid big-ass period feelings.
“Future generations of Prescott bitches will worship you, you know.”
“Yeah? They’ll be the smartest bitches to ever walk these halls then. If they follow my lead and embrace mass murder, they can do anything.” I’m joking, but only a little. I’m alive today because I know when it’s time to take the last, most desperate measure. Murder.
A black widow doesn’t bite you because it’s evil. It bites you because you touched it.
Just don’t fucking touch it.
“Boys.” I cast a casual glance over my shoulder at my horde of fuckboys. “We’re gettin’ tested after school. Make sure you drink plenty of water today. Once that’s done, we can do even naughtier things together, don’t you think?”