Chapter 13
Scarlett
After a short, silent drive, I’m dragged from the back of the vehicle with the hood still shrouding my face. Based on the route we took, I’m guessing we’re in one of the ‘tree’ neighborhoods. I know the streets of Springfield so well, I could race ‘em blind.
Bohnes should be close by; he’d never leave me in a situation like this. Fake or not, he’ll hate this. It’ll agitate him.
Ash murmurs something I can’t quite hear to someone I can’t quite see.
I’m hauled across smooth, slippery cobblestones, out of the cold, and into some sort of building.
Up the stairs we go, and then my hood and handcuffs are removed and I’m shoved into an oversized bedroom.
Dark academia aesthetic. Depressing. Drenched in money.
On another day, I might’ve attacked my guards as soon as the cuffs were off. On this one, I’m curious to see where I am and what’s going on. If Ash is planning to come up and see me, I can wait before I murder any more goons. They retreat, closing the door behind them. Locking me in.
Widow. Widow. Widow. Gram. A fire at my house. The Devil in the driveway. Alexis, lying dead on the floor.
I still have control over the situation. Facts not feelings. Facts not feelings.
It’s a fact that Ash is on my side. It’s a feeling that I want to rage when I think about him hurting my sister. I’m angry and grateful all at once. Briefly overwhelmed. Fuuuuuuck.
My knees buckle and I hit the plush, white rug, smearing blood. I lean over onto my hands and close my eyes, fighting to control my breathing. Adrenaline. Adrenaline. Adrenaline. With great force (pun absolutely intended), logic returns bit by bit. Piece by painful piece.
I force myself to my feet, looking around for something I might use as a weapon.
Instead, I’m distracted by a picture of two young boys on top of the dresser.
I pick it up for a better look. They’re both giving these strange, tight-lipped smiles that make them look like dolls. That, and they’re identical.
Big eyes. Dark hair. Skin like ghosts. Haunted things. Ash and Aspen. Mine on the left. Lemon’s on the right. It’s obvious to me even in a still shot like this.
I set the photo down.
I’m in Ash Kelly’s room. Or Aspen Kelly’s room.
Either way, I’m in their room.
I look up at the walls, paneled in dark wood, decorated with framed oil paintings. Surely, the work of great artists. I yank one off the wall as I pass by, tossing it across the room and finding myself satisfied when the frame splinters. It helps tamp my rage down.
There’s a door embedded in the wall, in a shadowed nook near the corner. I reach for the handle, turning it with a creak and pulling it open. I’m faced with another, similar bedroom. Same heavy furniture. Same dreary canopy above the bed. A near perfect mirror image of the first.
It only smells like Ash though, not like Ash mixed with Aspen the way the other one does.
I step into the room and kick the door shut behind me.
When I happen to look back, I notice something interesting.
The door is covered in wooden boards and, at one time, appears to have been nailed-shut.
Chills prick my spine, a morose xylophone spelling out a deadly tune. Prescott-honed instincts flare.
Ash is right behind me.
I exhale to calm myself down, so I don’t pull one of my many hidden knives to stab him. His guys suck at frisking—or he ordered them not to because he didn’t want ‘em feeling me up. Heh. Sucker.
Watch this. Ash is mine. My heel, his neck.
“You better start talking. Quickly. My mood is frayed.” My voice is still, a tarn with implacable waters.
“Talking?” he wonders aloud, frustrated.
He grabs for me and I whirl on him, finding Ash’s lips close enough to kiss.
His gaze is on my mouth, and heat tears apart my skin as it stays there.
When he does lift his focus, he has dark, hooded eyes, and he smells like gasoline.
“You’re supposed to be afraid of me. As the winner of tonight’s race, I demand it. ”
I slam my palm out and up, hitting him in the nose and sending him stumbling back. He hits the edge of the bed and goes down, and then I’m on top of him, blade at his neck.
“Where is my grandma?” I demand as he closes his eyes and bleeds all over his own face.
“Where is Widow, Ash?” I don’t bother to conceal my use of his name either.
Why should I? Alexis knew who he was, which means Jonas must know who he is, too.
“Alexei? Bohnes could show up any second. Tell me everything.”
“Did you not hear me when I said sayonara?” Ash is so angry, he’s quivering beneath me, seams snapping and unleashing all of that manic violence that was beaten into him over the years. “When I told you that we were over—”
I slap him and his eyes fly wide, shattered black glass orbs waiting for the right master.
Well, he’s found her. Ash is a wild creature who was broken, and he needs a firm hand.
“You can stop with the act. I’m finished with it.
Answer me now. Where. is. Gram?” My voice is authoritarian and liquid, soaking Ash’s skin like venom leaching into his blood.
He wants to obey me. He craves it. He has all along.
His erection stiffens beneath me, impossible and hot under my spread thighs.
The trumpet skirt has ridden up, and there’s only three layers between him and me and fucking. Two, if he’s going commando. I wet my lips and adjust my slippery grip on the knife. I’m so high on adrenaline, my head is swimming. It’s like I’m drugged with it.
“Patricia is with Bohnes.” Ash sniffs and then coughs as he inhales blood, cursing in Japanese and shoving me off his lap with too much force. If I’d wanted to slit his throat right then, I could’ve. He sits up onto his elbows and then spits red on the white rug. “Bloody hell, that hurt.”
“And Widow?” My gaze drops to the blade, to my sticky crimson fingers on the hilt.
Whose blood is that? Ash stays seated on the edge of the bed, reaching up pale fingers to work at his tie.
He takes it off and tosses it onto the floor for some maid to deal with later, I’m sure.
So long as he wasn’t fucking them, whatever.
Who wouldn’t want a maid? “Come on. All of the answers. Snap, snap. I am not happy with you. Not with any of you.”
His mouth almost turns up in an involuntary smile.
Ash swallows it down quickly, falling back to a more guarded expression.
There’s melancholy in his eyes; his pupils are a pair of freshly-dug graves.
Under the ridiculous velvet canopy, nose bloody, he looks even more expensive and frivolous than usual.
“Why? Because I beat you?” There’s a warning in his words, one last attempt to take control of the situation. If I want him to, he will. He’ll die for me.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Doki-Doki Boy.” I grab Ash’s chin in cruel fingers and jerk his face up to look at me. He scowls and grips tight to the black duvet on either side of him. He does not resist. “You’re making your eventual punishment worse with each second you delay.”
Every girl in Prescott thinks her violent, piece of shit fuckboy is different from all the others. Hint: they never are. Never. But this one is. Mine are. Their actions speak louder than words ever could. Ash will die for me, but he’s not allowed to. All he has to do is listen.
“In regard to Widow,” Ash sniffs, sounding posh and British all of a sudden, like a shield has dropped between us. I squeeze his chin harder and he grits his teeth. “He’s in a guest room, likely pitching a tantrum. Punching holes in the walls, probably.”
His voice is cut with frustration.
“Do you know where Alexei is?” I tap the flat of the knife blade against my thigh. Thud, thud, thud. Rhythmic.
“Also, guest room. I didn’t want to bring you all here, but it became necessary at a moment’s notice. You’ll be leaving soon enough.” Ash sounds confident. It’s annoying. He hasn’t quite given up his romantic martyrdom yet.
“As the winner of the race, you’re going to make the decision to give me complete and utter control over the four of you.
Understood? We all agreed: whoever wins decides all our fates.
” I look Ash over, peering at him from beneath heavy lashes.
The room shifts. The angles are all wrong.
The words fall out, almost too soft. “You murdered my sister.”
Ash laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. It’s sad and desolate, like he’s given up. He ‘knows’ he’s going to die because he thinks it’s impossible for him to live happily ever after. Aspen did this to him. Jonas did it to them both. Abused. Broken. Hopeless.
“You didn’t need that on your conscience.
” Ash sighs, an almost dream-like sound.
His Aspen mask is slipping. It always does when I’m around.
He speaks more Japanese. His British accent emerges.
His eyes shine like the Milky Way. “I wanted to pay you back, to give you the same gift that you gave me.”
I say nothing. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable with the intensity of my stare.
“If I didn’t kill her, Bohnes would have.” His face falls into a pouty fugue, his lashes so long and dark that I question God. My lashes are only that long and dark with extensions. Son of a bitch. “I’m not letting Bohnes get credit for everything.”
“Bohnes deserves credit for everything.” I’m panting now, a little bit of my own crazy leaking out.
“And you deserve to submit to me, to realize that there’s nothing you need to do except follow orders.
That’s what you want, isn’t it? The thing you crave most in the world. Your most selfish desire.”
His breath hitches.
“My most selfish desire is to make you happy,” he snaps back, like he’s trying to win an argument.
Ash flinches as he realizes what he’s just said. My lips curve. Tricked again.
“Exactly.”
I drop the knife.