Epilogue Four
Bohnes
Four years after that fateful December…
Scarlett jumps off the roof of one building and lands on another, teeth gritted, red painted lips in a scowl. With a surge of energy, she rockets to her feet and keeps running. Five men chase after her, determined to reach her before she can climb down the ladder on the opposite side of the roof.
Down below, waiting like a prize in the street, is a supercar in hot pink. Hah. Pink. Now that’s funny.
I cross my arms and lean my shoulder against a brick wall, watching as the five men catch up to Scarlett and engage her in hand-to-hand combat. For some reason, no guns are involved. Less fun that way, I guess. One of the bad guys has a katana that reminds me of Ash.
My attention skips to him, dressed in all black and standing stoic and silent with his hands clasped together politely in front of him.
He’s wearing a tight tee that says Security in white across the front.
A mask. A ball cap. The usual. He notices me staring at him and tilts his head in my direction.
Scarlett is run-through with the katana, falling dramatically from the roof and landing with a laugh on the cushioned mattress below. The director ends the scene as Bastian hurries forward to help her up, extending a hand and tugging Scarlett to her feet.
After an incident where Widow punched one of the stagehands, we try to stay behind the cameras when we’re on set.
“God knows the last time that mattress was sanitized.” Alexei is staring at the offending object, twisting the nail of his metal thimble around on the tip of his thumb. “Members of the crew probably fuck on it backstage.”
None of us likes show business for any reason other than the money Scarlett’s making.
If she can keep it up, Uncle Burt has agreed to let Alexei step down from Borisov Group.
The boss of the family, an uncle we’ve never met, had a set of twin sons.
So long as those brats don’t end up dead, Alexei won’t need to be the heir.
“Bet they do it bareback and never clean up,” Widow says with a scowl, wearing a Security shirt of his own. I’ve got one of the same on, but in hoodie form. Alexei wears a suit to every filming. All black, with latex gloves. Even in Hollyweird, everyone thinks we’re creepy, so we’re left alone.
Probably a good thing. Once I know a pedophile or a pervert, a scammer or a swindler, is around, I tend to hunger for their agony and death.
“Was I totally hot up there?” Scarlett asks proudly, splattered in fake blood and grinning up at us. She has her hands on her hips, expression cocky because she knows she nailed it. She’s such a talented actor that she frightens me. If I were being played, I might not know it.
And I certainly don’t care.
My bones are Scarlett’s bones. My blood is Scarlett’s blood. My soul is collared and happily leashed. There’s not a thing in the world that can separate us. Not even death.
Ash and Widow told me that in the book Wuthering Heights, one of the characters has his coffin built with a missing side, so he can put it up against his lover’s coffin. If you take one side of hers down, too, well, then their bones are resting together.
I’m going to do one better. In our will, it explicitly states that our corpses are to be tumbled together, naked, inside the mausoleum. Buried deep in the crawl space and left to rot. It’s possible to get a natural burial permit, you know. We have one.
“You’ve got me leaking for you, my little zombie bride,” I reply, dragging her into my arms in front of the entire crew.
We’ve never been shy about our relationship.
Ash is a different story, but he’s also a fast learner.
I’ve got him slithering and creeping and slinking like a shadow.
He’s never far away from us, even if nobody else can see him.
Today, he’s incognito by anonymity instead of stealth.
“Leaking for me, huh?” she replies, pretending to be annoyed. Scarlett’s fingers dig into the front of my hoodie. “Shall we get out of here? I’ve been in the studio for seven hours and fifty-three minutes today. If I work a single minute of overtime, there’s a huge penalty clause in my contract.”
Scarlett undulates her body against mine, smooth and silky, like a mermaid from an old legend. One with teeth that sings men to their deaths and eats them alive while she fucks them against the sharp rocks.
“Let’s get the hell out of here then,” I murmur, hissing through my teeth when Scarlett sneaks her hand into my sweatpants, palming my bare dick in the shadows between two empty buildings.
We’re not on a set, but shooting on-scene in Prescott.
We haven’t been back here for a while, but it’s nice to see that things haven’t changed.
While we’re here, we have to attend a funeral, too.
That girl that Scarlett picked out—Stacey Langford—she got shot in the head while standing inside the walls of Prescott High. What a sick world we live in.
“I’ll pull the car around,” Ash declares, happy to have a chance to drive the Facel Vega. Mm. A delicious piece of machinery with a sinful, bloodred interior. “We’re done for the weekend, yeah?”
“Don’t have to be back here until Monday morning,” Scarlett agrees, jerking me off like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
She shouldn’t. There’s nothing for us to fear, so long as we keep our edge and refuse to let complacency make us soft.
I run my fingers through her two-toned hair.
It’s still black on top, but it’s virtually white underneath.
I bring it to my face for a sniff, biting my lip as Scarlett works pre-cum into her palm.
“Do we need suits for the funeral?” Widow asks, his tone wistful and strange. I put a hand on Scarlett’s wrist, meeting her eyes with a warning. Keep going, and I’m going to unload on you in front of the entire film crew.
“Don’t worry. I packed us all suits.” Alexei steps around Scarlett, blocking Bastian from entering the alleyway. “We’re in the middle of something. What do you need?”
“I’m going out on a date tonight. Don’t stay up. That’s all I wanted to say.” Basti turns and starts to walk away, calling loudly over his shoulder as he goes. “A hand job in public? What a scandal!”
“Go fuck yourself!” Scarlett shouts back, refusing to release me.
She works me with her hand, causing my teeth to clench.
My stomach muscles lock. With a sharp twitch, my cock releases into her palm, leaving me to sag against the stone wall on my right.
“Free use,” Scar reminds me, withdrawing her hand and fucking licking it.
“One day, we’re gonna end up with another sex tape online and then a lot of people are going to wind up dead.” Widow flicks Scarlett in the forehead before he passes her by and heads in the direction of the Vega. Ash has already gotten out and opened the suicide doors for us. “Reckless.”
“That’s Adrian-speak for me jealous,” Scarlett says, wiping the remainder of my cum onto the front of my black hoodie.
We stare into one another’s eyes, existing in the hyperreality of our immediate company.
Living with such a pleasant family is liable to make a person forget how filthy the world is.
Alexei appears at my side, removing a wet wipe from his pocket with a shudder. It’s not that he has any particular trouble dealing with my cum specifically. He just isn’t a fan of having bodily fluids, dry and sticky, on any of our collective clothing.
“Should we be bringing heavy artillery to this funeral?” Alexei wonders, tearing the wipe open and dabbing at the front of my hoodie himself. I let him do it, even if I don’t particularly mind wearing a trophy like that on my sweatshirt.
“Mm. Minor gang-related nonsense. Taking shots at us would be like engaging the family. Regular weaponry should be acceptable. I didn’t roll back into town expecting to kill anyone this time.
” I laugh as Alexei peels one of his gloves off, wrapping up the cum-stained wipe in the process.
He ties it off like a used condom and sticks it into his pocket.
“Part of me feels guilty about Stacey, like it’s somehow my fault.” Scarlett turns around and walks with Alexei on one side of her and me on the other. Widow has already crawled into the backseat, meaning that either Alexei or I have to sit in the front passenger seat, separated from Scarlett. Hmm.
“Too nice,” I repeat with a sigh and a wave of my hand. “Stacey made her choices, and you made yours. Even attending her funeral is a kinder and more empathetic gesture than I’d make, personally.”
I nod at one of Widow’s POP boys as I pass by. They’re shaping into a fine security team, even more so since I don’t have to deal face-to-face with any of them. Adrian takes care of all that.
“Good thing you’re not the boss then, eh?” Scarlett fires back, sliding into the backseat and leaving me and Alexei waiting outside the car with Ash. He’s going to be a gentleman and close the doors behind us once we get in.
“Since we’re staying at the house tonight,” I begin, stepping aside and gesturing magnanimously at the spot on Scarlett’s right. “I think you should sit here. It’s not easy to face up to ghosts in the walls. I can understand that.”
“Really, Kellin?” Alexei replies, folding his arms in front of him like he’s ready to fight me on this. “You’re worried about me? We lived there for years, and I was fine.”
“Yes, but last night, you couldn’t sleep.
You paced in the next room for hours without stopping.
If not thoughts of Pavel, then what?” I step back and playfully cross my arms over the top of the rear suicide door, indicating that he should get in.
Ash is bemused by our silent struggle, waiting patiently off to my right with his black face mask covering his smile.
“Perhaps we really could hold a seance in his office?” Alexei suggests, proving me right.
Yes. He’s mourning Pavel. The very idea of a man feeling so deeply toward his parents is novel to me.
I drink in the expression on his face, already imagining a setup of black candles and athames and some friendly bloodletting.
“Even if it doesn’t work, it’d be fun.” I flash a disturbing grin that he returns with a genuine smile, climbing into the front passenger seat just to spite me. Just to be the bigger gentleman.
His loss.
I’m still grinning when I climb in beside Scarlett, crushing her between my huge body and Widow’s on the other side. It’s a tight fit, but nobody is complaining. Ash closes both Alexei’s door and mine before returning to the driver’s seat and getting in.
“Where to?” Ash asks as we roll down the street, avoiding the roadblocks that the crew put up earlier.
Once we’re clear of all the obstacles, Ash starts driving like a proper Prescott brat, pressing the pedal to the floor and giving us that wild burst of speed that always feels so right, so natural.
“Wesley’s.” Scarlett doesn’t even hesitate, leaning her head against my shoulder and closing her eyes. “I need some cheap, greasy food in my life.”
After, with our leftover milkshakes in hand, we drive back to the mansion on the hill that was once our triumph and is now little more than a side quest.
Light the candles. Open the windows wide to the evening drizzle. Call up a ghost.
The following day, we attend a funeral full of bad kids in a neighborhood that’s even worse than the one we left behind.
RIP, Stacey Langford.
While we’re there, I try to spot the current kings and queens of Prescott.
Across the cemetery, I spot one of them, a blond boy creeping through the bushes with his hood up. He reminds me of myself, like maybe I left something of an impression on this place, a ghost of influence that nobody can see, that nobody remembers.
But it’s there.
Oh, yes, it’s there.
I smile to myself and then find a nice quiet spot to bend my wife over a gravestone. If I splash a little on the stone itself when I pull out, none of the other ghosts will mind.
This particular piece of cement has Aspen’s name on it.
We had his remains moved here with Jonas’ permission (LOL).
He’s buried beside Lucy Bree Hall, the greatest love of his life.
We’ve spread that rumour far and wide, telling the entire world the lie that Aspen loved Lemon enough that he died for her.
Everyone thinks Jonas murdered Aspen after he fell in love with Lucy and tried to save her.
Cute, right?
I light up a clove cigarette after, ashing it right over that idiot’s grave.
“Having sex with corpses beneath my feet is not my idea of a good time.” Alexei complains only after he’s nutted on the same damn gravestone. I grin and ignore him, continuing to blow gray smoke circles in the cool air.
“This is better than the bastard deserved.” Widow looks around the cemetery, hands on his hips. “Should we bury Jonas here, too? Or do you want his ashes scattered in a garbage dump or something?”
“He doesn’t need a grave,” Ash says softly, lifting dark eyes to the starry sky. “He’s the sort of man that can easily be forgotten.”
“Not long yet,” I agree, hauling Scarlett’s limp body up off the grave and locking her against my side.
She accepts the help, pressing into me and closing her eyes.
It’s been a while since we hurt anyone, and I’m sure I’m not the only person who misses the hobby of judge-jury-executioner.
“And not long until we start our family. Right, Widow?”
“So many fucking babies,” he agrees, a note of dark heat in his voice that makes Scarlett shiver against me. She doesn’t say a word though. She made a deal, and she’s good for it. If I could have a son who thinks about me the way Alexei does Pavel, wouldn’t that be interesting?
“You guys are sick fucks, you know that?” she murmurs, in a very affectionate tone.
“You should be starting your period this evening,” I add, in case she forgot. I keep track of everything. I know everything.
For me, the world is nothing, and Scarlett is the world.
She starts her period that evening.