Chapter 9
Scarlett
I walk into the kitchen, interrupting a conversation between the boys that I don’t think they want me to know about.
All four of them are staring at me like they’re curious to find out how much I’ve heard already.
While I hung with Nisha and Basti at the breakfast table, these idiots crept in here to share secrets.
“What is it now?” I ask, watching Ash load my friends’ dishes into the dishwasher.
He just can’t help himself, now can he? What’s going to happen when Gram moves in here?
That’s assuming my grandmother doesn’t try to flee.
If she wants to run away from me, I’ll eventually let her—but only after it’s safe to do so.
Can you imagine that? Kidnapping Gram. Dark gods help me. Please let her stay here voluntarily.
“Construction equipment at the track,” Bohnes says, folding his arms over his sweatshirt.
It has a pink tulip on it with teeth, a man’s legs sticking out of its mouth, blood dripping.
Stop and Smell the Fucking Flowers is what it says.
It’s black but has hot pink strings. “Chain-link fencing, barbed wire, on-site security.”
I need more caffeine, stat. I snatch the coffeepot, splashing some on the counter when I pour and burning my tongue with it when I drink. Ash is right behind me, wiping the counter with a paper towel and some spray cleaner. Alexei is immensely grateful, enough to offer a nod of thanks.
Here’s the next attack. Mayor Kelly and Chet Archer planned to ruin this town anyway.
Also, dismantling my neighborhood is a really good way to poke at me.
Petty, but efficient. The Southside Betty in me wants to beat ass, effective immediately.
The mobster part of me says, stay on that belly and slither until you’re ready to bite.
“Making us look weak again, eh?” Widow rubs his chin, frustrated and fabulous with that haircut.
“We’ll deal with that tomorrow. It’s P-Trip today.” I make a karate chop motion with one hand, clinging to my coffee with the other. My rings and my tattoo look so pretty against the side of the mug. Symbols of ownership. Of belonging. “Who cares about construction crap? We have a tank.”
“Wouldn’t that be delightful, driving the killdozer through town and exploding all of the shiny new developments?
” Bohnes muses wistfully, sipping his own coffee.
His makeup is intense today. He must be feeling some type of way about this race.
“You understand how dangerous it is for you to attend P-Trip today, don’t you, Scarlett?
” His voice has darkened now, back to the fixer personality.
“I’m just a little bit don’t-give-a-fuck today, Bohnes.” I set my mug down. “I can win the circuit, easily. Burt’ll be expecting me to.”
“Does winning on the track matter anymore?” Bohnes retorts, coming at me from a new angle, one that I should’ve expected but didn’t anticipate.
Pursuing my dream career right now is a bad time.
We have other things to do, life-or-death things.
Making myself into a star can come later, especially once we have access to the Borisov funds.
Right? “Burt gave us five conditions, and none of those were compete in the Portland Classic Car Circuit.”
“It may not be an official condition, but it’s certainly an expectation.” Alexei backs me up, arms folded and expression thoughtful.
“I am going to earn my way out of Prescott. I love being married to money, but it’s not a career.
Besides, I want out of this mob game in ten years.
We’ll make a lot of money for the family and then respectfully retire.
We’ll stay rich with the fortune that I earn.
” I feel like I’ve said this about a million times.
Bohnes’ only flaw. This bone-inked brat with the white hair and eyes like the pale blue sky of the afterlife. He’s bossy and totally practical. I love him to death.
“Yes, be a star. You’re already viral. We have plenty of money for marketing. We don’t need Burt for any of that.” Bohnes runs his palms down the front of his hoodie, looking smug. “And we don’t need P-Trip. It’s a waste of time and a hazard.”
I’m ready to go ten rounds with this motherfucker.
“I am not dropping out of school and dropping out of P-Trip.” I point at myself with a thumb, fuming.
Widow is smirking because he understands me perfectly.
He’s the same way. Alexei has his hand on my lower back now, like he’s trying to comfort me.
“I ain’t gonna live a life where everyone in Prescott thinks I got out because of my pussy.
” I pause, frowning. “Well not just my pussy.”
“Just be cautious is all I’m saying,” Bohnes breathes, trying to even out his temper. I can tell he’s frustrated. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this problem. He wants to take care of me, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and all four of these men.
“Is your grandma coming here today?” Ash asks, untying his apron and hanging it up on a hook before turning back to face us.
“Are you worried that she’ll try to kill you?” I ask, realizing that’s an option in the world we live in. My grandma really is a Prescott bitch at heart. Murdering to avenge her granddaughter? I can’t not see her doing that. “Good question actually.”
“I’m more concerned about the way she might treat you because of me,” Ash says, sounding hollow and melancholy. He slides his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. He’s touching Alexei’s arm now, but neither of them seem inclined to move. They both want to touch me, and I approve.
“You two should trade recipes,” I tease, leaning into him and counting my blessings.
Hint: there are four of them in this room.
Any Prescott bitch will tell you this: gratitude and attitude are essential for survival in this life.
“You can teach her to make those sick-ass omelettes and she can teach you all about Indian tacos and huckleberry dumplings. If she doesn’t try to kill you, that is. ”
Ash groans, burying his face in my shoulder and giving me goose bumps.
The other three men are fucking staring at us.
“Would you mind informing your grandmother that murder under our roof is unacceptable?” Alexei turns to me and Ash, a contemplative expression on his face.
“I’ll pass on the memo,” I reply, Ash’s head on my shoulder but my eyes on Widow. “Ash won’t have to live with the fear that someone in his own household is trying to kill him, not ever again.”
“You sure it’s a good idea to bring Gram here then?” Widow asks, leaning back against the wall and trying not to be jealous of me snuggling two other men while toooootally being jealous about it.
“Jonas executed his entire staff on video and texted us the proof.” That’s my response.
Ash cringes, and I feel bad for even bringing it up, but…
that’s straight facts. I don’t know how many employees were involved because I didn’t count, but it was hard not to see the texts as they came in.
Juliette. Mark. Maria. A name to go with each murder.
“I want Gram here, where I can watch over her. Our crew isn’t all that big, and spreading them out across the city isn’t going to work.
Jonas and Chet are going to come in hot, looking for targets. ”
Like the track. Fuck. Look at these motherfuckers tearing about my town, using Prescott like carrion to feed their vultures.
I’m not a warrior for justice. The world is too hateful for me to be fucked trying to make it right, but I will make things right for my girls.
In the process, if I save this shithole, then so be it.
“The mob isn’t going to provide security,” Bohnes continues, staring at the floor while his blue eyes spin calculations.
“They’ll retaliate against Chet and Jonas if they find certain actions inappropriate or misguided, but only as a reaction.
That’s useless to us. Consolidating power here is what makes sense. ”
“What I meant was: can Grandma live in the guesthouse?” Widow asks, tucking his hands into the pockets of the designer jeans he borrowed off Alexei today.
They’re too small, and it’s fucking hot as shit, seeing all that blue denim sculpted over his strong thighs and ass.
“Having her here with the man who killed her granddaughter, I dunno. Doesn’t sit right with me. ”
“I won’t let her hurt him,” I repeat, wondering if Gram is ever going to speak to me again.
God. I put my hands over Ash’s, feeling his pain through our connection.
He knows how to take hurt and pain well.
But that’s not what I want. I need him to be happy.
I need it. Ash Kelly is my damsel in distress.
He’s my prince in a tower. “Trust me though: having her live with us is temporary. She likes to run her household a certain way and it seems like maybe that trait runs in the family. Privacy is important to—”
I stop talking when Nisha and Bastian join us again, the former dressed to impress in disco-esque gold party pants and a sheer gold top with a black bra underneath. The latter is dressed to impress in oil-stained overalls with a red bandanna over his sweaty hair and tools shoved into his pockets.
“Privacy?” Widow mutters under his breath, picking up his coffee from the counter and taking a sip. He lifts both brows and looks at Ash again. I’m thinking they’re going to be bros for sure. He’s impressed with his coffee-making skills. “You were saying?”
I ignore him.
“How’s my baby?” I ask, addressing Basti first. He looks like he’s about to have a conniption. Probably because I keep destroying the Pantera and asking him to rebuild her. You know what they say here in Prescott: the mechanic makes the car. And Bastian is the best there is.
“Could you maybe stop performing death defying stunts?” he asks, batting his lashes. Bastian sighs, his eyes shifting to Ash. “Can I be a dick and ask for some more coffee?”