Chapter 24 #2
Alright. Urban growth boundary. How sinister. I assume that if Kelly helps Booth out, then Booth will do the same for Kelly. Invite him to parties. Introduce him to the right people. Help him gain influence. Make him governor.
Gross.
“When did you get a chance to talk to Emma Jean?” I ask Ash as he squats back down to clean up the broken glass.
“I didn’t talk to Emma Jean. I talked to your grandma who talked to Emma Jean.
In the kitchen just now.” Ash acts like it’s no big deal, but hearing that Gram spoke to him willingly is blowing my mind.
“I think she thought I was someone else.” He gestures at his face to indicate the mask he’s no longer wearing and then sighs. “Patricia said to give you this.”
Ash reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of letters, handing them up to me.
Frowning, I unfold the first one and scan the contents.
It’s a letter from the city of Springfield, claiming eminent domain over my grandma’s property for…
some reason. “The city has pledged to build 1,400 affordable housing units by the end of next year. In order to accomplish that, low-density housing zones—” Blah, blah, blah, political bullshit, blah, blah, greedy corporations in conjunction with political bullshit, blah.
My lips tighten into a flat, angry line. First Bohnes, now this? I hand the letter over to Widow, watching his face shift into a sexy, pissy scowl before he then passes it to Alexei.
“Spasibo.” Alexei’s eyes scan the page as I drop my own to the second letter.
This one is handwritten and addressed to My Beautiful Granddaughter. I tuck that one between my tits since I don’t have any pockets. Feelings, for later.
I want to see Bohnes now. I need to be with Bohnes.
But I can only do that once we finish this broadcast.
“I hate this fucking neighborhood,” I growl, moving around the guys and taking off down the hallway.
We’re not currently in Prescott, not even close, but somehow I still feel like I live there.
I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I’m breaking up with Prescott.
I am divorcing Prescott. I am leaving and I’m never coming back.
Emma Jean is waiting in the foyer, arms folded, chewing at her lip and bouncing on her heels. As soon as she sees me coming, blood-splattered and pissed-off, she rushes forward and grabs me by the arms.
“Is Kellin okay? I’ve been freaking out all night.” Emma Jean clenches one of her fists, offering up a comical frown at the same time. “But a journalist must always be ready for the news.”
“You’re literally a stereotype, Suburbs,” I tell her, reaching up to pluck her remaining hand from my shoulder with ruined, fucked-up nails. If Bohnes wasn’t mostly dead, I’d be calling for an emergency manicure. “But I like ya anyway. What is the news, darling?”
“You probably saw your Gram’s letter then?
” Emma smiles. “Love Patricia, by the way. See where you got it from. Anyway, it’s not just about the eminent domain stuff.
Chet is having his people burn down resisting properties, so that when it comes time to pay fair market value, he only has to pay for the price of the land. ”
I put my fingers to my chin, trying to put this all together. Fuck, man, this is some complicated shit. How do I explain this to the neighborhood in a way that makes sense?
“You learned all this from Trish or somethin’?” I ask and Emma nods frantically.
“Today,” she breathes, looking to either side of me at the guys. Widow on my right, Ash on the left. Alexei is practically standing next to Emma Jean in his effort to keep a close, tight circle. He’s on edge, plucking repeatedly at a fresh set of latex gloves.
“I see.” My mind is short-circuiting. I fantasize about stabbing Jonas Kelly in the eye again. You can’t kill him, Scarlett. Not for a few years. He has to take the blame for all the murders and the bullshit, be a fall guy for us and the family.
I swing my gaze to Ash, and we fold into each other like lovers. It feels good. He’s a safe space for me, too. If any one of us was missing tonight, Bohnes would be dead. Because Ash was there, Bohnes was saved.
There’s as much peace as there is anger in me.
“Put me on the air then, Nessie,” I tease, pausing just as Wolfman and Milicent step in through the front door. They’re being escorted by two of my girls, recently patted down for weapons. They’re both still wearing their monster masks. Wolfman is the first to take his off.
Emma Jean goes beet-red at the sight of that man’s rugged Prescott face.
Little bit of stubble. Wavy dark brown hair.
Cocky smile. A Prescott boy, tit for literal tat (two sleeves full).
Emma Jean’s ovaries explode, and I sigh, putting a hand on my hip as the pair of them approach.
Milicent is wearing a Creature from the Black Lagoon mask, drawing that off and revealing an inked Prescott bitch with tattoos all the way up her throat. A hot goth baddie.
“Tonight’s the end of it for us. The radio tower is being bulldozed on Monday.” Milicent shrugs her elegant shoulders, fingering the mask. “You’re our last official KMZI 66.6 guest.” Mil grins, and I find myself winking back at her without meaning to. It’s just a reflex for me to flirt with women.
Bohnes.
I’m being torn apart by the intensity of my love and devotion. I want him. I need him. I must, must, must get to him and never let go. I want to stitch our skin together until we’re Frankensteinian and beautiful.
Need to get this done.
“Fitting.” I grin back, reaching out a hand for Milicent to shake. “You want to join my crew? I’ve been listening to you for years. The station’s always been the backbone of this neighborhood. I could use a few more strong spines on my side.”
“We’ve been on your side since moment one,” Wolfman says, giving Widow a once-over that makes me think that Emma Jean has no chance with him. Dude, I should set him up with Basti. And then Wolfman looks at Emma with the same eyes. Oh. Nice. Bi-boy. “You taking recruits, too, Mr. Lawless?”
“It’s Widow,” says Widow, deadpan. Handsome and narrow-eyed and powerful. He looks like an angry king. He is an angry King. “Talk to me tomorrow. We’ve got other business tonight.”
“Have at it, you living Legends,” Milicent teases, offering out a wireless headset and a mic.
Before allowing her to give me either item, Alexei takes them in his own gloved hand and examines them.
I don’t know enough about tech to know what I’d be looking for anyway, so I let him do it. He sanitizes the items for me, too.
“Mrs. Force.” Alexei finally holds the device out on his palm, trying to butter me up by using the correct last name.
The Mrs. instead of Miss is noted though.
When I go to reach for it, he closes his fingers and looks me dead in the eyes.
We had our wedding today. We’re supposed to consummate it.
This knowledge passes between us along with a genuine understanding that Bohnes is hurt and that’s our priority.
He opens his fingers and I take the headset.
“Masks back on, I should say,” Ash suggests, sounding very British as he fixes the fox mask over his face. Widow does the same with the tiger. Alexei, the vampire-fanged ghost. No ski masks underneath this time.
We march up the stairs, down the long hall, and then head opposite our bedroom door to get to the guest room with the balcony that overlooks the driveway.
The boys open the doors for me and I step out in my heels, in my torn and bloody dress (the white one was the right choice), hair braided but frazzled from fighting for my Nightmare’s life.
The entire crowd goes silent. The music stops. I’m not smiling.
I stand in front of several hundred Prescott kids, looking down at the bonfires and the wild clothes, the shiny vintage cars parked around.
Smelling nicotine and weed and perfume. There’s a stand in front of the trees where the radio hosts are sitting, DJ’ing in the wild in their monster masks and a cheap banner that reads KMZI 66. 6 - the Heart of Prescott.
Walking to the front of the balcony, I curve my hands around the railing.
Eyes scanning the crowd. I know most of these people.
Grew up with them. Lived near them. The only difference between them and me is that I believe in myself.
I always have. It’s the ticket out of here that they’re all so hungry for, clutched in their fists and just waiting to be redeemed.
“Can y’all hear me?” I wonder, waiting for my voice to emerge from the speakers around the property.
There we go. There’s some clapping, but it’s subdued.
Everybody here knows what happened today.
They saw the video of us driving under the semi-trailer.
Bohnes, going off the edge. Us, bloody and wild-eyed at the wedding.
Screaming up the driveway with an injured masked man in our arms.
Prescott doesn’t know if it should celebrate or rage.