Chapter 20 #2
I take my clothes off, knowing that they’re all watching me.
Bohnes hasn’t managed to continue arguing whatever annoying point he’s going for.
Widow hasn’t said a fucking thing. I look back and there he is, dragging the zipper of his pants down like it’s a show.
His shirt is already missing, ab muscles slick and tight above the waistband of his jeans.
“If Jonas does decide to go for someone today, I want it to be me so that I can live through it.” Bohnes shakes his head when I whirl around, completely pissed off.
He looks at me, like I’m just not getting it.
“Scarlett, push forward, don’t back down.
” He uses Alexei’s words against me, and I narrow my eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that: you know I’m right.
If one of us is going to be targeted, it should be me. I can live through anything.”
“I won’t let him die,” Ash repeats, like it’s a personal mantra, something sacred that he can say for good luck.
He sets his sword on the bed, gazing at it with affection.
“I refuse to allow myself to be the worst mistake any of you have ever made. No fucking way.” He mutters something aggressive in Japanese, tearing off his clothes and making sure everything gets to the laundry bin.
We need this room pristine for when we get back tonight.
Unless, you know, we fuck somewhere else on the property.
In the library? Oo, that’d be nice. We’re not letting any partygoers in there tonight anyway.
Nobody on the second floor, nobody in the library.
If we catch any trespassers, they’ll have their asses beaten to a bloody pulp.
Or, depending on affiliation, executed.
“You want to drive the Chevelle, so you’ll get attacked?” I repeat, thinking this is the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Is that what I said?” Bohnes replies, a column of muscle and bone and male heat.
He stalks over to me with his pants undone, ignoring them as they dip down his hips and reveal a whole lot more than I can handle this morning.
I’m feral for him, and he knows it. “Of course I don’t want to be attacked. But if. If.”
“Since nobody will know if it’s you or not, fine.
Take the Chevelle. It’ll seem like a red herring, like how could he possibly drive his own car when they’re trying so hard to hide their identities.
Go for it. It’s as random as anything else.
” I lift up my arms as Ash pulls the satiny white fabric over my head.
It’s got a fitted bodice, a tea-length flared skirt, and a plunging sweetheart neckline.
I’ll be showing more cleavage than most of the guests in that church have ever seen in their lives.
The dress also has black-and-white polka dot buttons down the back that Ash’s careful fingers are currently closing.
As he moves up the row, his fingertips tickle my skin and make me acutely aware of the way his breath hitches against the side of my neck, stirring my hair.
“Agreeing with me while arguing at the same time. My angry little corpse bride, you ruin me.” Bohnes puts his inked fingers up against his pale chest, tossing his head back with a cocky laugh. “Fuck, I want to put you over my knee.”
“Dogs can be neutered, Bohnes.” I kick one of my polka dot heels at him.
I’m going to look like some fifties Gil Elvgren pinup draped in a dose of goth baddie and mob bitch.
My aesthetics will clash horribly with the saintly majesty of the church.
Too much naked leg showing because I hate tights.
Four huge male escorts with guns and really nice cars.
The blood-red lace attached to my hat will trail nearly thirty feet behind me, a fortune trapped in the tumble of expensive cloth. It was made on a nineteenth-century loom in France, and it’s a huge motherfuckin’ flex, all that chantilly.
“I’m taking the Stingray.” This is Widow, working really hard to piss me off this morning.
And then there’s Ash, panting against my neck like he’s in heat.
I want him. I push my ass back and rub the wedding dress enticingly against his crotch.
Ash snatches up the skirt, shoving it past my hips and surprising me.
I’m about to tell Widow no when Ash bends me over, grabbing one of my hands and putting it on the metal pole of the rack the dress is hanging from.
He mounts me so fast that he doesn’t bother to take off my panties.
Once he’s broken up the civility in the room, we descend together.
Alexei even gets out of the shower to join us.
They run a fucking train on me right before we’re supposed to walk down the aisle.
I’m barely standing at the end of it, careful to keep any cum from getting on the dress. The underwear, on the other hand, are ruined. All of that pretty red silk, destroyed.
I carry the dirty panties into the bathroom where Alexei is already back in the water, washing the blood from his dick.
I take a pair of scissors to the silk, and then I replace the pocket squares in all four black tuxedo jackets.
“Jesus, Scarlett, what the fuck?” Widow asks, panting heavily as he takes me in. I could climb him again, push his clothes off and find myself going wild on top of him. This is how I’m controlling myself, by marking them.
Bohnes picks his jacket up and puts his nose against the pocket, breathing in deep. What a weirdo.
“What a manic, insane thing to do.” Bohnes drops the jacket down, softening his gaze on me. It’s impossible to explain what it’s like to have someone like him look at you the way he does me. It feels like bragging, but it’s not. Everyone should have this. I always wanted Lem to have this.
Picking the wrong lover will absolutely ruin your life. Picking the right one transforms it.
Ash touches his fingers to the fabric with a reverence reserved for holy rituals and sacred spaces, lifting hungry eyes back to me. I’m not going to let him finish the buttons. I figured he was a safer bet than like, Widow or Bohnes. Not the case.
“Fix me up.” I back into Widow, throwing a thumb over my shoulder.
He’s practical. He knows we need to leave soon.
This isn’t the sort of event you can show up late for, you know what I mean?
Anything that could be perceived as disrespect to the family, I can’t do.
I know Burt’ll love my showy entrance though.
That’s why we’re still alive today, because he finds me weird, unpredictable, and mildly interesting.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Lawless.” Widow starts fixing up my buttons as I sigh, annoyed.
“What? Every fucking goddamn romance novel I read, the men throw their weight around, mark their women and people love that shit. If I treat you well, who cares if I want to metaphorically piss all over you? Look what you did with your goddamn panties.”
“Call me Mrs. Lawless all you want in private,” I growl right back at him, checking my hair.
It’s in a bubble braid with lace draped over it, each section of the braid looped with intricate ribbons.
Nisha did it for me before running off to help Hype with her dress.
“In public, it’s Mr. Force times four, capiche? ”
“Cute.” Widow yanks on the unbuttoned sides of the dress, squeezing my waist and making me gasp.
There’s something wildly sexual about that motion, and it frustrates me.
How long is this ceremony going to be again?
All I want to do is come back here, party a little, and consummate this shit.
I’m obsessing over the anticipation. “But really, it’s Borisov times five, ain’t it? ”
He’s not wrong. I’m not the only person whose last name was legally changed by Uncle Burt. It’s kind of validating, for the mob to threaten my entire polycule in the same breath.
“Dirty underwear?” Alexei chokes, dripping wet as he picks up his jacket with one hand and towel-dries his hair with the other. “You can’t be serious.”
“Nobody will notice, and even if they do, does it matter?” I give him a coy look, smoothing my hands down the bodice of the dress.
My waist is snatched in this baby. “You’d love that, the entire church disgusted with the filthy, sex-crazed heathens up front.
That’s the vibe we’re going for. Messing with unpredictable people usually turns out poorly, like one of your tree frogs with the bright colors. It’s a warning about toxins.”
“I suppose you’ll fuck the revulsion right out of me,” Alexei returns, getting dressed in his nuptial best.
“I’m driving the Chevelle,” Bohnes repeats cheerily, yanking the black balaclava over his head and grinning wildly from behind it. There’s not a chance in hell I’d ever mix the boys up, even with disguises on board, but it might work on our enemies.
“I already gave you permission to do that.” I turn to Widow and consider his request about driving the Stingray.
Is there a chance we’re going to get ambushed on the way to the church?
That doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?
If Jonas does something like that, it’ll be because he thinks he’s got bigger connections than the mob. “If one of us dies, we all die.”
My voice is a ribbon of ice, just like the McKenzie River. The place where I died during the witching hour. A place of magic and necromancy. I have to drive past it every single day now. Along its banks.
“You think if I drive the Stingray, I’ll die?” Widow asks, sounding cocky, doing up the buttons on his shirt in a way that’s nothing less than a come-on.
“I think you’re a good enough driver to live through pretty much anything on the road.” I turn away from him again, checking myself in the mirror. I did my own makeup today. I have better girls, but…this is my day. My art project.
I refresh my lipstick. I look good, but I also look like maybe I’ve been playing with the grooms before the wedding.
The look is perfect, freshly fucked and fresh out of fucks.