Chapter 24
Alexei
The old school bus looks mildly less dilapidated, swept up and mopped with bleach.
Walls scrubbed. White lights strung around the few remaining grab rails that dangle from the ceiling.
I’ve set up a folding table and covered it with a white sheet in place of a tablecloth.
I’ve been given a stubby candle leftover from one of Bohnes’ jack-o’-lanterns to burn in the center.
Well. I put my gloved hands on my hips and examine the display with a scrunched face and a beleaguered sigh.
This is not what I had envisioned when imagining such a momentous, one-of-a-kind night.
Asking a woman for her hand in marriage is an event that’ll only happen once in my lifetime.
I’m a bit of a purist and I like things the way I like them.
But one must make do with the resources at one’s disposal. It’s not worth the risk to venture out in public on a whim. Perfect timing is necessary to keep our heads attached to our bodies.
“Papa, Mama.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
A space heater with an extension cord has made the space cozy, but there’s a chill in my blood that I can’t shake.
Nothing is certain. I could be dragging Scarlett into the grave with me.
“What do you think? Have I done right by your future daughter-in-law?” I open my eyes back up, examining the scene with the calculating shrewdness that’s served me well thus far in life.
I grew up amongst vipers like the Archers and the Kellys.
I grew up with the fear of the family drilled into my skull.
Don’t involve the family unless you absolutely must. Don’t disrespect the family.
Always pay your tithes. I have enough experience to know that sometime this week, when we head to Prescott High with intent, we’ll see movement.
I step back, sweeping the room with a critical gaze once more before stepping forward to tidy the stemless plastic wine glasses that Bohnes provided.
He’s been a great help, that Kellin Bohnes.
Asking for his assistance was the right decision.
Widow is a bit of muscle and grit and virtue.
Without which, it’s possible Scarlett would no longer be alive.
And Ash Kelly? Now there’s a surprise. Giving Ernest Bolin to us was the icing on top of the cake. I can’t say I’m displeased.
This is not what I had envisioned for myself or my future marriage, but there’s a tremor of excitement in my bones that I’ve never felt before.
It glimmers white-hot in my blood, the promise of adrenaline and disrupted patterns.
No, my life will not be what I’d imagined.
Papa is not here. Mama is not here. Still, I’ve found a reason to live when all I wanted was to kill and then die. That’s it. Avenge Papa and then rest.
Not anymore. So how can a dead man walking complain about his assorted associates?
How can a dead man complain about a woman built of sin and sex, self-assurance and composure.
Pridefulness. Wit and acid. Heat and salt.
I shudder, flexing and unflexing my gloved hands with the strangled cry of black latex.
Heat and salt. I want things from Scarlett that are more than just the simple surrenders of a horny germaphobe.
No, I want hideous things. Filthy things.
I want blood and spit and fluids in a way I could’ve never imagined before.
I want to know what her ass feels like, strangling my cock.
I want to get drunk on her saliva. I want to asphyxiate myself with those thick thighs, waterboarded under her fragrant arousal as she rides my face like she drives her car—
I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a gag. What on earth have I become? Why did I jerk off into her underwear and leave them in her nightstand drawer? What was I thinking? Filthy, filthy, filthy. Sex is filthy. Transmitting fluids. Touching skin. Sharing bodies.
I shake myself out and turn like a soldier snapped to attention, strutting down the length of the bus and hopping out of the emergency exit. I’ve manhandled the broken door shut, so this is our only egress.
Wearing a suit that I borrowed from Bohnes, I cross the drive and throw open the warehouse door with a flourish.
Three faces turn to look back at me. Bohnes is curled up on the sofa, pale blue eyes fixed on a movie that he isn’t watching. His attention is on me, even if he isn’t looking. The other three blatantly stare, but I—
Ash is stirring something on the stove. Widow is seated at the table. But Scarlett… Scarlett…
She stands up from the couch, my mother’s gold dress draped scandalously over her full hips, clinging to her heavy bosom.
There’s a slit in the gown that cuts straight to the hip, flashing a bit of smooth, fleshy thigh.
Hair like ink, spilling over her shoulders and curling with the damp of a fresh shower.
White fur stole threaded around her narrow waist and draped over both elbows.
Mama’s classy heels on her feet. Tattoos peeking from the end of the long, embellished sleeve on her right arm.
In her left hand, Scarlett holds the clutch I sent her.
Whatever it was that inspired me to give my mother’s dress to a complete stranger, I truly don’t know. What was I thinking?
“Oh, my,” Scarlett teases, coquettish and glib and impossibly alluring. She’s shaped like an hourglass, dripping gold beads and glitter and ornery sass. Big hoops in her ears. Violent red lips. “If it isn’t Mr. Grove, my date for the night. What was the rule again? A six-inch space buffer?”
She sways her way toward me as I stand frozen in the doorway like an imbecile, hand clenched around the edge of the metal door.
“Don’t stay out too late, kiddos,” Kellin calls, his voice like dry, cracked bones. Widow bares his teeth and turns away with an animalistic rumble. Ash exhales, black eyes too wide, a mumble slipping past his lips.
“You are cordially invited,” he whispers, attacking the food in the pan with a spatula.
Scarlett gives a little heh and a shake of her head, tucking some of that extravagant hair back. She peers up at me, brown eyes edged with thick, dark lashes. My breathing slows, stutters, picks up again at a rapid-fire pace. I’m sweating profusely and we’ve only just begun.
Gather yourself, Grove. I shake it off and lift my chin, rising to my full height as Scarlett studies me like I’m as attractive to her as she is to me.
Black suit. Red tie borrowed from Ash. Black dress shirt.
I look as if I’m on my way to a funeral.
A funeral. I’ll need to hold one for Papa once we find his body.
If only Ernest were any less pathetic of a man.
“A six-inch buffer is no longer required,” I breathe as Scarlett takes me in with a little scrape of her teeth over her lower lip, smearing a bit of that bright lip color. “If I may, I’d encourage no buffer at all.”
I offer my arm and she takes it with a coy, little smile. We step out of the house and Widow appears, grabbing onto the door and throwing it shut without a word. I catch a flash of bright eyes before it closes completely.
“Did you have a nice chat with him earlier?” I ask casually, guiding Scarlett across the frozen ground to the derelict school bus. It’s a different sort of date than our visit to the art gallery. I acted like a buffoon then, didn’t I?
“Yeah, uh, sort of sold my soul to keep him chill, but what can you do? I am asking him to willingly submit to being a cuckold for me.” Scarlett chokes a little on the words, her right eyebrow twitching as she stares at the ground and then shakes her head. “We’ll worry about that later though.”
“Sold your soul?” I repeat, but she doesn’t answer.
Hmm. Doesn’t matter tonight. I’ll worry about whatever that is on a different day.
I guide her to the back of the bus, using the carefully folded trash bag I left there earlier to kneel down.
“Step on my leg.” I gesture at my thigh, intending on helping her into the bus.
Scarlett chuckles at me and grabs onto the railing, hauling herself up like it’s nothing, dress and all. The glimmering gold of Mama’s gown disappears inside as I rise to my feet and pull myself up easily behind her.
She stands in the middle of the stripped metal aisle, studying the Christmas lights on the ceiling, the table set for two, the bouquet of green fronds. A flirtatious look slides over the perfect slope of her right shoulder and a mass of ebon hair follows.
“Did you prepare all this for lil’ ol’ me?” she teases with a wink, and I bite down hard, clacking my teeth together. Fuck. I’m going to struggle to get through this dinner if she keeps giving me looks like that. “Whatever for, Alexei? What was so important that it couldn’t wait?”
“There are certain moments in life that cannot be rushed. Experiences that can’t be skimped.” That’s my response. We both know what we’re doing here. It’s not a secret and it never was. I simply wanted to ask. “My relationship with you, it’s more than business.”
Scarlett turns around, the gold of the gown trumpeting around her ankles and catching the soft white light from above. She puts her hands on the hills of her hips.
“Yeah, obviously. You think I’d fuck a client for the hell of it?
Get over yourself, Grove.” She looks me over from head to toe, pausing with her gaze on my face.
A bit of color hits her cheeks that I didn’t expect.
“A date in an eighties Crown Coach? With half-burnt Christmas lights and metal folding chairs? Well, now, this is Southside chic. Didn’t expect this outta you, rich boy. ”