Chapter 1 #3
“You’re right. I must have cum-brain if I can listen to you defend some stupid-ass rich boy double-dealer and still want to fuck you.
” Widow rakes his hair back with adrenaline-bitten fingers, shaky and wound tight.
His amber eyes blaze. Aww, he complimented me whilst being a snarky dick.
I approve. I also ignore him in favor of pontificating.
Bohnes is studying me with unnerving intensity.
I have not forgotten that he sent me a severed penis as a three-week anniversary present. Real cute.
“Ash said he had something important to tell me. It was probably about Alexis.” I rub my chin as Widow squints at me and Bohnes lets his head fall back. Closes his eyes. The shore of the lake is quiet now. The wind is punishing. Dead brown leaves rustle above our heads.
There’s nobody around but us—for now.
“Alexis is undoubtedly a serpent, but she isn’t the only one with a silver tongue.
” Bohnes drops his chin, frowning at me.
Dressed in white the way he is, he blends in with the unforgiving landscape.
He’s spattered with droplets of blood from the guy he executed.
Red splotches across the white fabric. “This isn’t a zero-sum game, Scarlett. ”
Bohnes notices Widow’s boots on my feet.
Lifts his attention back to my face. He slips his jacket off and hands it to me, revealing his bare arms beneath the short sleeves of his t-shirt.
He has big, sculpted biceps and freakishly white skin.
The skeleton tattoos wrap around his arms and land on the backs of his hands, inked bones to represent his name and his affiliation as one of the living dead.
I accept the jacket with a murmured thanks and slip it on, firming my resolve as I face off against them both.
“We should leave first and hash this shit out later.” Widow is talkin’ sense.
We all know that. Bohnes and me though, we’re working through a minor dominance struggle here.
Widow doesn’t like it, eyes flicking between us.
The spiderweb tattoo stretches across his knuckles as he flexes his big hand like he wants to grab me again.
“In a minute.” My words are decisive. Queen of the Crimson Crew words. I’m taking command of the situation now. Bohnes notices and he doesn’t like it. It’s his only flaw, that dominant streak. “Emma said she couldn’t get a hold of you, my dark love. What happened?”
I fold my arms, challenging him with my stare. I’m not upset. I just need to know, so I can come up with a plan. The dark love thing throws him off a little. He didn’t expect that one.
“Yes, well, that’s what text messages are for.
” Bohnes tilts his head at me, still trying to assess my mood.
He interrogated Megan Face and his wife, Tommy Tits, last night.
He told me that they were searching for Lemon, but that was it.
He wanted Ash to fill me in on the rest. “If I’d known it was urgent instead of her usual pestering updates, I’d have made different choices.
That’s not the issue here. The issue is that Ash is the one who took Emma.
Did he consult you about his decision? Because he certainly didn’t inform me. ”
If Alexis really is in bed with the mayor, then Ash might’ve had to act fast to prevent Emma Jean’s death.
My very own sister is a snitch. Oh my God.
Oh my fucking God. I can’t breathe. Widow’s own breath catches, and he wraps his arms around me from behind.
Not grabbing my hips with brutish fingers which I wouldn’t have allowed a second time.
Hugging me. Hugging me. He’s a warm, solid presence, dragged into this mess because he likes me. That’s it. No horse in this race.
“I’ve got you, princess,” he whispers, using a nickname that makes me feel murder-y.
“Where’s Alexei?” I ask Bohnes, trying not to squirm in Widow’s arms. He’s huge and warm, and shit, I saw the flash in his eyes after we kissed. He looked like he was tumbling. I recognize the look because I feel it, too. It’s soft and squishy and gross.
“Handling a special project,” Bohnes replies evasively, tucking his hands into the pockets of his white pants.
The outfit matches his ethereal hair. “Unlike some rich boys, he’s an asset instead of a sluggish hindrance.
Scarlett Force, you are my deepest eternity and my eternal salvation.
” Bohnes taps at his chest with a single finger, his eyes serious when he drops his chin to look at me. “But in this, you are wrong.”
I just stare at him.
There’s something crooked taking shape inside of me, a deep mark buried in the ivory of my own skeleton.
My brain is this close to snapping. My best driver, Evelyn, was shot by the real Aspen Kelly during an armed robbery routine that I cooked up.
My best friend, Lucy Bree Hall aka Lemon, was killed by the mayor’s men for…
some reason. Now, my sister and/or my fuckboy is a bad guy.
Which one would hurt worse? I hate that I already know the answer.
“No, I am not.” I meet Bohnes’ challenge dead-on, locked in a showdown the likes of which we’ve never had before. Not once. Usually, I give in to him. Usually, he’s right. Not in this. “I am the only person who knows the real Ash…pen.”
Crap. I keep saying his name. I should slap myself. I play with the knife instead.
“For fucking Christ’s sake.” Widow releases me and moves around to join Bohnes, the hulking pair of them shoulder-to-shoulder, breath frosting in the cold air.
The tip of my nose is burning and my lips are dry.
I need some lip balm if I don’t want them to crack.
Oh, sweet vanity, even in chaos. “You keep saying you can’t trust romance, and then you use it as an excuse to do what you want. ”
“It’s not about romance,” I snap out, trying to figure out how to explain this.
“Ash-pen is a victim. He’s tragic. He’s pitiful.
He needs rescuing, like a princess in a tower.
It’s not a great way for a relationship to start, I’ll admit that.
But the same way I’d die trying to avenge Lemon or kill to keep Nisha safe, I have to protect Ash… pen.”
Bohnes points back at me, determined.
“You and me,” he growls in his most ghoulish voice yet. We’re about to see how my Nightmare and I resolve arguments. “We’ll decide on the track. Race me next weekend. Winner makes the decisions regarding Ash.”
“Count me in,” Widow grinds out, wetting his lips and staring at the ground like he wants to beat some ass and doesn’t know where to direct his rage.
His eyes are poisoned honey now, all of that gold burnished and dark with madness.
“I’ll race you for the same. Bohnes and I agree on this. Ash has to die.”
I feel this decision in my entire body. It’s probably the biggest decision I have ever made. If I’m wrong about Ash, then I could be condemning everyone I care about to a horrible fate. My family. My friends. My crew. My fuckboys.
“I have no problem taking this to the track.” I hold out my hand, palm up. “One of you give me your keys. Let’s go get Alexei.”
The muscles in my face spasm, a strike of violent insanity hitting me with a jolt.
If the rumours are true, I’ll have to kill Alexis.
I swallow the horror of that down. It was hard enough to do the bare minimum with Lemon.
I pushed her into the mud. I put my heel on her back.
She had it coming. She was a liability. She got herself killed, and you’re the moron who’s choosing to risk everything to get her justice. You’re a fool.
A panic attack comes on out of nowhere.
Because these attacks aren’t about driving or falling into the river. They’re not about stunts, adrenaline, or even death. I’m suffering the guilt I deserve to feel for not protecting Lemon. For failing Evelyn. For my naivety in believing my sister of all people would have my back.
She’s been spying on me in the house. That’s how she knows about Lemon’s death. About the death of that rich boy and his parents, the ones I killed to avenge our baby brother and cousins. All the bodies that Bohnes has buried. Widow told me that I make excuses for Alexis—because I do.
These panic attacks are all about me failing the women of Prescott.
Bohnes and Widow exchange a knowing look. More bromance, yay. If I could breathe properly, I’d appreciate it more.
“Follow me, love. I’ll take you to our dashing oligarch.” Bohnes turns away, expression inscrutable. He avoids the puddle of blood and climbs into the Chevelle, pale hands curving around the wheel as he stares at me through the windshield.
“Get in.” Widow grabs my arm and drags me over to the driver’s side of the Vette, shoving me into the seat, and throwing the keys in my lap.
He slams the door and then joins me on the passenger side, putting his seat belt on and sitting there like he expects me to calm the fuck down right this very second and put the pedal to the metal.
I do.
It helps.
By the time we’re rolling off the frosted grass and onto the asphalt, I feel better.
These fuckboys aren’t so bad. Making them honorary members of my crew was a good idea.
But I know best.
I always know best.