Chapter 26
Scarlett
I don’t leave Kellin’s side for even a second while he’s recovering. Literally, not a second. I live inside the room with him, using the attached bath with the door open so I can hear if anything happens. Each time he wakes up, he wants me, so I fuck him until he goes back to sleep.
The only time I’m out of the room is when I’m eating. One of the guys always stays with Bohnes. Always. Or Nisha and Bastian. Nobody else is allowed anywhere near that hallway or our bedroom.
“The most notorious lesbian to ever walk the halls of Prescott High was Mara Chan.” Nisha is gesturing with her own spoon, trying to keep things lighthearted at the breakfast table. Mostly, our conversations have revolved around Snow Day and all the plans I have for the afterparty.
It’s time to break out the killdozer, baby.
“She has a bunch of cousins and shit that still attend the school,” Bastian says, a bit of milk on his chin that he swipes off with a fresh grease rag. He’s been in and out all night, working to fix the Chevelle. I love this boy. “They’re always hanging around her when she works at Wesley’s.”
Nish snorts.
“Mara tells ‘em all that Pussy Point is a sure thing which genuinely pisses me off. Gives the boys too many ideas. I don’t like her, but she’s got a rep, that’s for damn sure.”
“You positive the most notorious lesbian isn’t you then, Mrs. Hype?
” I clarify and Nisha rolls her eyes, like even the joke is aggravating.
Bastian is chuckling because picking at Nisha is one of our favorite hobbies.
She loves correcting the pair of us, too.
It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. Ash doesn’t seem to know how to interact in this specific instance.
Alexei isn’t even trying, sitting there with a cup of coffee in his gloved hands and a specially prepared omelette in front of him.
At least Ash was able to cook for him. Alexei Grove-Borisov does not do cereal. I flick a piece at him and his eyes narrow dramatically. The very idea of that soggy, milky cereal bit landing on his lap must have him through the roof. I’m going to get fucked right over this table if I’m not careful.
Gram is in the kitchen, so I shouldn’t risk it.
I finally convinced myself to read her letter in the shower this morning. I stood there naked, reading it with a semblance of privacy by throwing a towel over the glass shower door so the guys had a harder time seeing me.
The contents made me teary, and I never get teary.
Gram isn’t going anywhere because she knows my heart.
I would never have allowed Ash to harm Alexis if I hadn’t known it had to be done.
Everyone in Prescott knew she disrespected me and tried to kill me: if I hadn’t taken action, I would’ve been seen as weak.
Crushed under Prescott. Crushed by the mayor. Crushed by the mob.
Gram understands, even if she wishes she didn’t.
“Your breakfast potatoes aren’t right,” Gram tells Ash, appearing in the doorway. Her eyes take on a certain sheen when she’s watching him. He’s being tested at every moment. One wrong move and she’ll hate him forever. He knows that, so he’s working his ass off to be respectful toward her.
I’m being myself.
“Gram, he cooked for you. How can you complain? You always told me not to complain about other people’s cooking to their faces.
Ever. Free food and a home-cooked meal is love, always.
That’s what you said.” I put my spoon down, missing Widow and Bohnes like we’ve been apart for five years instead of—checks phone for time—seventeen minutes.
I sigh and put the phone down as Patricia parks her hands on her hips.
“You might be married, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude to your own grandmother. I wasn’t complaining about his food. I’m offering to teach him.”
I might get swatted with a newspaper.
The room goes silent. Basti is no longer laughing, spoon halfway to his lips, frozen. Nisha mumbles something under breath and into her coffee like told ya so and Alexei smiles this wickedly beautiful and devious little smile.
“I happen to like his potatoes the way they are.” Sips coffee. Stares at me above the rim of the mug with eyes like lost sea glass, tousled by rogue waves and tentacles. Aura farming. That’s what Alexei is doing right now. It’s working on me, too. “But I’m sure yours are lovely as well, Ms. Force.”
“Teach Ash to make fry bread,” I say with a grin, gesturing between my grandma and my husband (wearing a sword and house shoes and an apron, my ovaries are dead).
I can’t believe I let Widow control my entire reproductive fate.
I must be as crazy as Ash, letting me trick him into thinking anyone other than me was allowed to suck his dick.
“Indian tacos. And huckleberry dumplings. He can teach you to make omurice in exchange.”
Gram is interested in the sound of that, even if I’m pretty sure she’s never heard of omurice in her entire life. She takes her coffee and heads for the library. She’s been sitting in there every single day, reading and sipping coffee. Nisha or Bastian or one of the girls will light her a fire.
It’s great. This is what I always dreamed of providing for my grandma. Mom gets eight-grand to piss off. I’ll buy Auntie Anita a small house in Oak River or Oak Valley. She’ll be in heaven, living uptown like that.
Once Gram leaves, talk returns to Mara Chan.
“She slept with nearly every girl in her senior class. Nearly all of ‘em. I’d rather settle down…” Nisha trails off, fiddling with her own cereal spoon. Bastian is grinning like a maniac as he leans in to whisper a juicy secret to the rest of us.
“Jennifer told me that she saw Emma Jean and Wolfman making out last night. Apparently, she hadn’t seen him without a mask until we did. Went crazy for him and—” Bastian stops talking as Emma inches into the room, looking guilty.
“Wolfman pop your cherry last night?” I ask her, and her pale cheeks turn bright red.
“Why would you even ask me something like that? Of course not! We don’t even know each other.” Emma rushes away into the kitchen, but she comes back in short-order, carting a cup of coffee and gesturing with it. “We’re going on a date whenever…you know, it’s safe to do so.”
“You won’t have to stay a virgin for long,” I promise, making Emma blush even worse than before. She knows what I mean though. I’m winning that bet. Tomorrow is Friday, Snow Day. Next Friday is the Stars and Stripes Vintage Classic.
One week until total victory.
Everybody knows what we’re doing for Snow Day.
Tomorrow, it’s killdozer time and the murder of Larron Van Gordon will be big news.
Half bulldozer, half tank. Bohnes’ modified Komatsu D355A bulldozer is not only fortified to withstand gunfire, it can also return gunfire.
There’s a big-ass gun in there and four slots, one on each side, that can be opened to shoot through.
It shows a level of mad scientist that makes me want him that much harder.
Romance is extremely distracting when one is trying to plan out a map of where to send one’s fuckboy’s tank during the Snow Day witching hour. A time of magic and peace and absolutely no phones. I will kill anyone that films what happens, that posts it online, that talks about it. Period.
We will kill them and they know it. Wolfman proved Prescott could keep a little secret. We’ll try a bigger one.
Blow up the construction site at the radio tower, at the track, in my neighborhood.
End by digging up Larron Van Gordon’s body.
There. Clap, clap. Go me. Jonas has spent his entire life pinning shit on other people and helping his son do the same.
Who cares if Aspen technically murdered Larron Van Gordon and Ash helped bury the body? Pin it on the bastard.
Not at all tied to the mob either, just an everyday act of political violence.
I grin to myself, imagining it in my head. Emma Jean is going to drive a drone overhead and capture the boney corpse lying in front of the bulldozer, write a sensationalized headline about the destruction and the eminent domain shit and all that nonsense. Bingo.
Let’s see if getting in bed with politicians will save Kelly’s ass from conviction. My guess? They’ll snip him loose and cut their losses.
Except for that secondary income source, whatever it is he’s doing behind the scenes.
The room is quiet. Everyone is looking at me, aware that I’m in the middle of some hardcore scheming.
“Where’s my info on John Booth?” I ask and Emma Jean presents it with a flourish.
“I don’t like the idea of torturing people, but Trish really isn’t being very forthcoming about this…” Emma trails off.
Oh, Trish. The thought of torturing Widow’s aunt is so deliciously appealing to me. This is going to be one of my last chances in life to torture scumbags though, so maybe I should stop resisting so much and savor it?
My lips twitch.
“That so?” I ask, scanning the page. It’s all the usual shit.
Name, age, home address, political allies, spouse’s info, mistress’ info, kids (from both women).
John’s father died young from lung cancer, his sister passed from an early heart attack, and his youngest son has been on the donor list for a heart transplant for nearly two years.
Emma penciled this bit into his personal bio at the bottom.
That strikes me. “I want details like this about every person they’re associated with: Jonas, Chet, and Mr. Booth. ”
“Yes, Scarlett Motherfucking Force,” Emma says cheerfully, giddy at the prospect of finally unveiling all of this corruption. Now that she’s safe in her tower with us, she’s been even more cheerful and suburbs-y. “I’m on it.”
“The cops were here again this morning,” Nisha tells me, like it’s no big deal. “Same shit about the arrest warrant for Mr. Adrian Arden Lawless. I told ‘em he wasn’t here, and they ain’t got no search warrant so…”