Chapter 24 #2
I move across the metal floor to stand in front of her, a bit too close.
She smells like soap and a gentle, mouthwatering fragrance.
Chocolate and cherries. I think of the strawberries she gifted me and the urge to remove my gloves hits.
With my eyes on hers, I do just that, lifting up my right hand and tugging on each finger to loosen the latex.
Scarlett’s breathing picks up and she turns away, reaching for one of the chairs.
I step forward suddenly, shoving the glove into my pocket and using my—God, help me—bare hand to drag the chair out for her.
I offer a sweep of my arm to encourage her to sit and she looks at me like I swallowed the hideous spider in the corner of the ceiling that she begged me earlier not to kill.
I transferred it to another of Bohnes’ outbuildings.
“Thank you.” Scarlett sweeps her hands under the dress and then sits in the chair with her feet curved to one side, like she’s riding a horse sidesaddle. She sets the clutch down on the table and picks up the bottle of wine. “Huh. Looks fancy. Where did this come from?”
“We grabbed a few items on our way out of the Kelly mansion.” I take my own chair, removing the other glove and putting it in my pocket with its partner.
The candle is dripping black wax across the tablecloth, but it adds to the ambience so I let it be.
“May I?” I reach out my hand for the bottle of wine and Scarlett shrugs, passing it over.
She puts her elbows on the table and folds her hands together, resting the pair of them against her left cheek as she watches me uncork the wine. I pour each of us a generous helping, the glug-glug-glug of the liquid joining with the faint sprinkle of music from the radio.
Scarlett lifts her glass up for a toast and we clink the cheap plastic together in solidarity.
I watch her chug the wine like it’s not one of the finest vintages money can buy.
She slams the cup down and pushes it toward me with a flick of her fingers, asking for more.
I oblige her, silence stretching between us. It’s not awkward, but it is heavy.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had vareniki before?” I ask, lifting the bowl off the still-steaming dumplings. Scarlett leans down and peers at the meal with a smile quirking one side of her risque mouth.
“Nope. Don’t even know if I could pronounce it. But I’ll try anything twice. Hit me, Marie.” She sits up straight and pushes her plate forward, watching as I dish up the food with my bare hand on the serving spoon. I don’t let my misgivings show on my face.
Am I certain I washed the utensils and dishes enough before I used them? What if the ingredients were contaminated somehow? The food’s been sitting out here for at least ten minutes, what if a fly somehow managed to touch it? What if bacteria has begun to grow?
All of that noise is unimportant in the scope of this evening and all that it implies.
I serve myself some food as well, utilizing a bottle of hand sanitizer in my pocket when I can’t quite stop the disgust from roiling through me.
Blood. I had Ernest’s blood on my hands.
Gloves aren’t enough to block that filth.
I want to make certain that when I touch Scarlett tonight, I’m clean.
“Dude, these are sick,” she says after chewing up an entire dumpling and swallowing. She points at the plate with her fork and grins at me. “Man, I’m going to end up nice and thick if you and Ash cook for me like this on the regular.”
I smile, and it’s genuine. Despite Ernest and Trish in the shipping containers. Despite the family. Despite my father’s estate and company resting in some unknown state of limbo.
“My father’s mother taught me to make them.
” I spear a dumpling with my fork and study it, unsure if I’ll be able to eat it.
Yes, I cooked this food, but the ingredients came from Bohnes’ cabinets.
The bag of flour was open. The onion was sitting in a bowl, surrounded by other produce.
The potatoes…God. They were dumped in a drawer, all tumbled together and unwashed.
In the end, I can’t do it. I put the dumpling and the fork down and return to the wine. That I can handle.
“Was she a Borisov then? A tough crime bitch?” Scarlett asks, adding an extra dollop of sour cream and another spoonful of chopped green onions to her plate. I love watching her eat. That’s how I know this is going to work out. Normally I’m repulsed by other people eating.
“A Borisov, yes, but a little sister to…very ambitious brothers. She strongly encouraged my father to step away from the family business, pay his tithes, and keep his nose clean.” I close my eyes on a rush of pain.
At the end there, Papa was worried about something he wouldn’t tell me about.
Acting secretive. Locking himself in his office.
What happened? I need to know or the curiosity is going to eat a hole straight through me.
Unable to bear the loss of Scarlett’s perfect image, I open my eyes back up.
“God,” Scarlett chokes, poking at one of the dumplings.
“A real crime family. I’m into bad boys like every Prescott bitch.
” She grins as she looks up from her plate.
“But I don’t do anything on a small scale.
If I’m going to date the wrong guy, he’s gotta be mob.
Hands-down.” She sets the fork aside and lays her hands in her lap, staring at me. “Well?”
I cough on my next sip of wine, looking away from her toward the dark windows on the opposite side of the bus. We both know what’s coming, but I’m going to slow the pace down on my terms. There’s an order to these things.
“What about your family?” I ask, resting my chin in my hand as I shift my gaze back to her. Look at those shoulders. That hair. Her mouth. I can’t stop staring. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life. “Like your father, for example. Tell me about him.”
Scarlett snorts, picking up her glass and swirling the liquid around.
She no longer looks human, glowing with the light from the strings above.
A moth flutters through the air and she waves it off with an elegant flick of her hand.
There’s a fluid, superhuman confidence to this woman.
Is there nothing she fears? Is there nothing she can’t bounce back from?
“PD-Double-S.” She finishes her glass again, smiling as if in challenge.
I feel as if I’m looking at a shark. My skin erupts in goose bumps, and I find myself shifting in discomfort on my chair.
“Prescott dropout super special. Your standard loser guy. I don’t even remember his name.
Fuck him.” She shrugs a single shoulder, face shifting as she comes to a sudden realization.
“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Alexis.
Maybe I should lie? Why should Anita or Geneva have to suffer like Gram? ”
“You don’t believe your grandmother will tell them on her own?” I ask and Scarlett looks up, giving the slightest shake of her head.
“Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches.” She sighs heavily and picks up her fork again, taking another bite of the dumplings. “Ask me, Alexei. I can’t take it anymore. This is awkward.”
I smile. It’s not my nicest smile.
“That eager, are we?” I ask, turning it around on her. Scarlett only laughs at me, picking up the wine bottle by the neck and chugging it. She slams it down and gives me a sideways grin.
“No prenup, right?” she teases, but I’m unfazed. This is not a woman who would marry someone for their money. She has principles, even if she pretends she doesn’t.
“This can’t only be business,” I tell her, allowing myself to be vulnerable.
My father was always vulnerable with my mother.
He could be ruthless, even brutal in business.
But not with Mama. “Marriage means something to me. I want romance, not just sex. I want you to be yourself with me and treat me like your partner.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing.” Scarlett tilts her head slightly.
“If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t have come to the track and let me defile you.
” She stands up and pushes the table aside, making it shriek as it slides across the metal floor.
Scarlett lifts her gold dress and straddles my lap, threading her fingers together behind my neck.
“Ask me,” she breathes against my ear, and I shudder, one arm sliding around her while I use the other to pull the ring from my pocket. Mama’s ring, of course. Yellow gold with a black diamond, twisted like a snake so it appears to be two rings instead of one. The ring of a mobster’s wife.
“Marry me, Scarlett Force.” I hold it up, waiting for her to take it. If I try to force it on her, she’ll challenge me again. She accepts it readily and slides it onto her finger with the other two.
“I’m sorry that Ernest was useless. We’ll get Chet and Jonas next and we’ll torture them together.” She takes my face and kisses one of my cheeks and then the other, smelling that sweet and burning this hot over my lap. I reach between us with one hand, opening my slacks.
She stands up and I let her go, watching her slip out of her panties. They dangle from one finger as she climbs back over me, allowing me to drag her down the rest of the way.
“We’ll find the money and get it back.” My voice is a feverish whisper, slave to her.
“We’ll drown them in their own blood.” I take her by the hips and tug her forward, trapping my rigid cock between us.
Preventing her from sliding down it the way she wants to.
Locking her in an aroused stasis. I lean in and nip the curve of her throat as she purrs at me.
“Alexei,” she teases, struggling against me. I like that, too. We both do.