Chapter 16 #5
“My ex-housekeeper is a talented, sincere woman.” I pick up another scone, take a bite, put it on a plate for Bohnes.
He’ll be like Widow, concerned with poison.
I pour a cup of tea, down it like a shot.
“The food is good. Safe. The dishes are sanitary. Satisfied?” I ask Bohnes, and he nods, a grim smile curving up one side of his mouth.
“Here I was, all prepared to behead you and display your useless skull outside my house. But you know what, Kelly?” Bohnes takes the plate with the scone and pours himself a cup of tea with an inked hand. “I’m almost taking a liking to you now.”
“Sanitary?” Alexei murmurs, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches Bohnes bite right over the part of the scone that I ate off of.
“You mean, sanitary if not for the dead body? Even then, doubtful.” Using his gloved hands, he picks up one of the teacups to inspect it, running a latex-covered finger around the rim with a squeak. His eyes narrow.
It’s so fucking clean, Borisov. So fucking clean.
“We all fuck the same woman, so why not share a pastry?” Bohnes asks with a little moue. He throws his head back like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, laughing and laughing. I smile. He’s not wrong.
Widow hasn’t moved from his spot against the wall, his posture reserved and his expression contemplative. His eyes are stuck on me. Hunting, like Scarlett. His face and knuckles are bruised. The knees of his jeans have holes in them. He put up an admirable fight against the men I brought with me.
It was one of those men that I shot when I pretended to execute Widow. His expression as the goon’s blood splashed over his face, it’s something I’ll never forget. Such profound and endless love. In his last moment, he was thinking about Scarlett. I can’t unsee that.
His aunt seems to have settled some, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking back and forth. Good. I hope her mind breaks.
“Kawaii, Ash,” Scar says with a pouty mouth. Her tongue darts out to taste the dent in her lower lip. “Tea, scones, and capital murder. You tryin’ to write a mystery novel, baby?”
Honey. Baby. I’m being coaxed. Cajoled. Played with.
I pour her a steaming cup, even though she didn’t ask for it. I plate her a scone. I set these on the coffee table next to Bohnes. He pats the cushion beside him and offers her a dramatic wink.
“Come, my sepulchral wonder. You’ve been up all night. Refresh yourself.” Bohnes smiles knowingly, taking a second scone for himself. I’m glad he likes them. Alexei, having examined both the teacup and the pot, stares at me like he’s having an out-of-body experience.
“These items are genuinely clean. It’s rare to encounter someone whose standards run parallel to my own. You must pass along the name of this housekeeper.” Alexei neglects to take a scone or any tea, setting the empty cup back on the tray and folding his arms. “Exquisite work.”
Scarlett tries the tea and peers over the rim of the cup, never taking her eyes off me.
Trying to sacrifice myself for a girl I really only just met is madness. It’s heady and it’s violent and it feels right to me. It’s the most right that anything has ever felt. Trying to live for that girl? Terrifying.
“Can I get you anything, Adrian?” I ask, and he gives me a nasty look.
“Widow to you,” he corrects, eyes flinty and distrusting. Heavy with hatred for me. I let my own hatred for him die when I accepted my inevitable demise. “What are you planning on doing with Trish? With Maryanne? How is this helping keep Scarlett safe from your dad?”
I shake my head, taking a cup and a scone over to him (even though he also didn’t ask for it). Trish cries and attempts to grab onto my legs when I pass by, but I take the sword in my free hand and point it at her bloody forehead.
“Try me.” The words are a cold warning. Trish, if she behaves, will live.
For now. If not, I have no problem sending her to the afterlife alongside the deputy mayor.
She cowers away, and I return my attention to Adrian.
Widow. Mr. Lawless. I hand the plate with the scone over, the teacup balanced gently on the edge of it.
Those gold eyes of his find mine again.
“Trish is going to tell all of her secrets to the journalist. Expose the heart of corruption in South Prescott.” I smile and gesture with the plate again. I’m not used to smiling like this. It’s an eager smile. “Maryanne is a special present, just for you. Purezento.”
Widow accepts the food and drink, wrinkling up his nose as he peers down at it.
“The fuck is this? Grass water?” He picks up the cup and takes a sip, the confusion on his face amplifying.
“It’s one of the most expensive teas available in Japan, usually reserved for special occasions.
Seemed quite fitting for today.” I step back from him, trying to offer space.
Widow doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame him.
I’m glad he’s so invested in looking out for Scarlett.
Widow is right to see my life as a direct threat to her safety.
“Company’s coming,” Bohnes calls cheerily, though I have no idea he knows that. My phone buzzes with a notification that someone’s at the gate. I check the cameras and spot an old beater with a questionable woman in the driver’s seat.
Maryanne. I buzz her in, pausing at the mirror to swipe most of the blood from my face. Wouldn’t do to scare her off before she even comes through the door. I’d shoot her in the back if she ran; I’d rather use the sword.
“So we’re taking Trish hostage? I’m fine with that.
” Scarlett asks, halfway through a fourth scone.
I knew she was hungry. I ruined her night, and she deserves breakfast. “But if you’re inviting Maryanne in, are you going to kill her?
” There’s no judgment in that statement, just curiosity.
She knows that Maryanne was partially responsible for what happened to Widow.
“Hai.” I open the front door and peek out with a smile on my face.
“You’re here, wonderful. Come on in.” I swing the door wide and Maryanne enters tentatively, hands shaky, clutching a ratty purse on her shoulder.
I can’t tell if she’s currently high or simply coming down from the night before.
Either way, she’s twitchy as she creeps in.
“Maryanne, run!” Trish screams, but it’s too late. I slam the door and swing the sword up to rest at the woman’s throat.
“What the fuck?” Maryanne chokes out, looking over to see her sister kneeling on the ground next to Denis’ body.
She spots Widow almost immediately and her eyes go wide.
“Murderer,” she breathes, and Widow laughs.
He throws back the tea (not an advisable way to drink gyokuro) and sets the empty plate and cup aside.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, stalking her way and pausing with his hands on his hips.
The shadow of his stolen childhood lingers in his eyes, and even though I know he wants this woman dead, he might not want to be the person who kills her.
I understand Adrian perfectly. “Not how I see it, Maryanne. A man rapes a child, he’s no longer a man.
Poisoning your monster of a husband was an act of community service.
If anything, Prescott should give me a medal for ridding the streets of that scum. ”
Maryanne spits at him. I use the flat of the blade to hit her in the neck and she stumbles back, clutching at her throat and choking.
“Corpses and spittle?” Alexei sniffs, using his foot on the rug to slide the wingback chair back by a few steps.
In the back of my mind, I relive the memory of me and him in Portland, his leather-clad hand over my mouth when I tried to spit on him.
Of Widow spitting on me. “Absolutely not an appropriate time or place for tea.”
“I’m gonna have to disagree with you, Marie. It’s hitting the spot.” Scarlett pours herself a second cup, peacefully seated on the couch and watching the show with wary amusement. She’s happy that Maryanne is suffering. Not so happy that we’re still here.
I better hurry up.
“You winning the race tonight, not a bad deal.” Bohnes has made himself fully at home, allowing his big body to consume most of the sofa while Scarlett sits beside him with her tea held in two hands, steam curling around her face.
“Gifts, snacks, and entertainment? I’m always intrigued by a bit of chaos, Ash. ”
“Happy to deliver,” I admit with a nod of my head.
I turn to Widow and hold out the sword. He eyes it suspiciously before looking at me again.
Can’t seem to stop doing that. I know that I’m confusing him, but that can’t be helped.
I’ll probably be killed by the mob shortly after Scarlett spirits me away from here.
I must make my peace now. “Would you like to do the honor? I’ll take the fall for the murder, so go on, have a little fun. ”
Widow recoils slightly, casting his attention back over to Maryanne.
“The murder?” Maryanne’s eyes dart around, desperately searching for a way out. “Trish, you stupid bitch! What did you drag me into?!”
“This is your fault! I told you to give that stupid orphan up to the state.” Trish is sobbing again, and I decide that if she doesn’t put a lid on it, she’s next. Yes, she’s useful, but I only have so much patience. My psyche is broken glass, and I’m just barely holding it together.
“This little bastard seduced and then murdered my husband!” Maryanne screams, and Widow shuts down. His face goes cold. Blank. Still, he doesn’t take the sword.
“At age twelve, I seduced a grown man?” Widow wonders aloud, and then he puts both hands in his hair and struggles to breathe.
Scarlett gets up and comes around the couch, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He allows it, but he doesn’t take the sword from me.
“Fuck, I…I don’t know if I can kill her.
I hate her. She has it coming. But…I don’t know if I can kill my mother’s sister with a sword. ”
We look at each other one more time, and understanding passes between us.
I couldn’t kill Aspen. Scarlett couldn’t kill Alexis.
We all have our limits. Except for maybe Bohnes.
I’m not sure that he does. Alexei either for that matter.
I remember how blase he was when he executed Bolin’s son, Bryson.
“Woman. Man.” I shrug. “Scumbag wa scumbag desu.”
I shove the blade in Maryanne’s stomach and she chokes, scrabbling at it and bloodying her own hands. I twist the sword and she coughs, a ruby red aerosol misting my face.
“Why is the world so tolerant toward cruelty?” I philosophize, continuing to twist the blade.
“Pedophiles and killers and monsters allowed to roam free. Excuses made. Promises broken.” I’m panting a little as I yank the blade free, nearly disemboweling Maryanne in the process.
Liquid hits my face, hot and acrid, dripping down my skin.
She collapses to her knees as Trish resumes her screaming.
I flick a quick glance her way to see that she—unwisely—is trying to escape again. Bohnes sits up and chucks his teacup at her head. It crashes into her temple and sends Trish sprawling onto the ground, her body draped over Denis’. Finally, some peace.
I turn back to Maryanne, blood sputtering from her thin, wrinkled lips. She’s not all that old, but fentanyl and meth are not forgiving substances. I see the proof of them written into every line of her face.
“Anything else you’d like to say to this pedophile apologist?” I ask Widow casually, looking his way. He’s calmed down substantially, his own lips parted, a few drops of red on his cheeks. He doesn’t look back at me, his gaze fixed on Maryanne.
“No, I…this is…yeah, this is good.” Widow leans into Scarlett’s embrace, allowing her to comfort him in a way that makes me ache. I want her to hold me like that, too. Desperately.
I swipe my hand down my face, smearing red.
“All you had to do was be kind to a child. Is that so hard to do?” My vision flickers with memories of Jonas, beating Aspen until he couldn’t stand, until he blacked out.
Of myself, crying because I wasn’t allowed to wake my brother up or get him water or clean the blood off.
That was before, before my twin started beating me in the same way.
Widow is right: abuse a child, birth a monster.
Maryanne is half dead already, but I can’t help it. I lift the sword up, catching sight of myself reflected in her eyes. Bloodied. Shirtless. Armed. Angry. I start swinging the blade, cutting her to ribbons as she topples to the side, slicing and shearing and maiming.
Bleeding her. Bleeding her. Bleeding her.
Laughing. Laughing. Laughing.
After this, I think I’ll have some tea and a scone as well.