Chapter 12
Scarlett
Healthy competition, I support.
The boys racing each other? Go for it. I’d love another chance to race them, too. I just can’t decide if I should let them iron out their dominance issues on the track first. Hmm. Decisions, decisions.
In our usual motorcade, we head for the track. A place I’ve lived at for the entirety of my high school career. As familiar as breathing.
Only tonight, there’s a bunch of shit scattered across the roadway.
I stop the Devil and open the door, putting my purple satin heel on the dirt. It goes with the gray skirt and white wool coat I’m wearing. I look like a mobster, but also, it’s fucking cold out here. Dress to impress but don’t let the nips freeze off. Mine are already too hard.
I adjust the veiled hat on my head as I peer at the sign posted next to the road. Our combined headlights cast the eerie display into stark relief against the fading early afternoon light. It gets dark at like four o’clock. It’s shit. We had a lot going on at the house besides Bohnes versus Widow.
My Gram slammed her door in my face and said these exact words: was your sister worth all this?
I needed a minute after that, so we’re running late.
“Future Site of the Prescott Palace: low-income apartments for residents.” My eyes are twitching like Ash’s do when he’s about to snap.
“Apartments?” I ask, turning to Nisha and Bastian behind me.
Jennifer, too. Half of Prescott high is here, clogging the street with vintage cars and clunkers while waiting for me to take care of things.
“Aparments?! They said they were putting a gentleman’s racing track here! ”
I’m yelling. Nisha gives me a look.
“So what? Isn’t this…like slightly less bad than that?
” she asks, but it’s a joke. She knows that’s not true.
The mayor did not just randomly decide to change the plans for the track.
This is an attack on me. If Borisov Group were to block the building of a fancy racetrack, people wouldn’t care.
But if you’re the mayor and you tell your constituents that your low-income housing crusade is being side-railed?
Brilliant. Fucking. Politics.
“Whatever,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “We’re going to handle this the Prescott way anyhow.” I lift a hand in the hair and wave it around. “Tear it down.”
I give the command and the student body descends like a wake of vultures, feasting on the carrion of the Archer Realty sign. The roadblock. The chain-link fencing with the barbed wire top.
It’s gone in less than an hour. My boys aren’t even sweaty.
I hop back in the Devil and lead the way to yet another set of signs. More fencing. Just off the side of the parking area, in the overgrown field, there’s a set of portable toilets and some yellow construction equipment. No people though, just lots of lights and cameras.
We’re being baited.
I stare up at the cameras and then I turn and walk over to where Hype is waiting in Nisha’s Lotus. I lean down and cross my arms on the windowsill. She already had it rolled down for me, her laptop on her thighs, kitty-cat headphones askew. Kawaii. No wonder Nish is hooked on this chick.
“Can you take care of these cameras or should I do it the old-fashioned way?” I ask, aware that the cops are going to show up anyway.
That’s the goal here, to catch us committing a crime.
Mayor Kelly will try to turn the city of Springfield against us.
He controls the city’s elite. The idiots in the Fuller neighborhood are just lambs to the slaughter.
It’s up to us here in Prescott.
But I’m used to that.
“Give me a few,” Hype replies, blowing a bubble with her mint-green bubblegum.
It pops and she draws it right back in, snapping the gum while typing.
Her lime-green bangs cut across her forehead in a sharp line, the purple in her hair fresh and bright.
Slick black cat-eye liner under her glasses. Not bad for a Fuller brat.
I stand up, turning toward my boys like it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re waiting right there, ready to form a circle that consists of us five and us five alone. Nisha waits in the car with Hype while Basti organizes the crowd with Jennifer’s help. Perfect.
“What’s the deal? Destroy as much as we can until the cops arrive?” Widow looks over at Bohnes, gold eyes darkening. Bohnes’ lips twitch into a knowing smile, his eyes on mine but his attention on Widow. That was a good deal he made. Perfectly fair. It’ll take them a while to get used to this.
“Yeah, and then we’ll just run when the cops get here.
” I shrug, like it’s no big deal. My heart is pounding.
I love police chases. But this is different.
By doing this, we’re poking the bear. Testing Jonas.
Baiting Chet. I throw out an arm, indicating the ludicrousness of allowing my enemies to build literally anything on top of my track.
“This is part of a different set of moves: Jonas is attempting to build his reputation while destroying ours. He knows that footage of us vandalizing his charity project will look bad. Fuller folks might even protest, bring all their signs and shit. Free publicity and safety in the public eye for the mayor. If the city loves Jonas, then we can’t kill him.
Can’t frame him either, which is what Burt asked for specifically. ”
I would absolutely love to carve Jonas’ eyes from his head and shove them down his throat.
Someday maybe. Later. After we pin all the murders on his ass.
“The roadblocks are good work, Scarlett,” Bohnes says mildly.
He has one hand in the front pocket of his hoodie, playing with his knife.
I had my girls block the road with their cars, like I did during the barbershop cleanup.
This’ll be different though. Jonas is looking for rage-bait, not true confrontation.
“But that won’t matter. Whatever we do tonight is going to be filmed and posted, regardless.
They’ll get a drone in here or there’ll be an offline camera we miss.
Leave them. In fact, have Hype make sure they’re all on and recording. ”
He shrugs, like that’s the solution. Don’t bother taking the cameras down at all.
“Am I doing this or not doing this?” Hype asks, looking back out the window at us. Frowning. Nisha climbs out of the car, folding her arms on the roof. Waiting. This is a big decision. Try to disable the cams or let ‘em roll.
“Shit, you’re right.” I have no problem admitting that.
It’s why Bohnes is my Nightmare. If he wasn’t basically equal with me, he’d be useless in a fight.
“Why don’t we all film and post the night’s activities?
If they arrest us, we can flip the script again with the public.
Teenagers versus the Springfield police.
If they do get the handcuffs out, start shouting about Ernest Bolin and how he was killed by Jonas. Let’s get that rumor started.”
“Are you certain you’ve never been a mobster’s wife before?
” Alexei asks glibly, making Nisha gag. Ash has his hand over his shoulder, fingers clenched on the hilt of his sword.
He’s on a hair trigger, and I don’t blame him.
This is all a game. If Chet decides to bring a hundred guys with guns in here tonight, then what?
“This reeks of Jonas,” Ash agrees, almost panting.
Black eyes darting back and forth. Bright red hoodie with the hood up over his black hair.
Black sweatpants tucked into boots. Not Alexei’s clothing tonight, but Bohnes’.
Cute. “It’ll be all about PR and image. He doesn’t go for the throat, he goes for the ankles and then laughs as you try to hobble away. That’s his strategy.”
“Cameras will keep Chet away, too.” Bohnes throws his thoughts out loud, a new thing for him.
“If they know we can hack them, then they can’t murder us in front of them.
Hype, could you keep the cameras on and rolling even if their owner tried to shut them off?
” Bohnes turns to Hype, utilizing her like he’s always done.
He has so many contacts, I may never even meet them all and that’s okay.
I don’t want to meet most of them, I’m sure.
“I could, yeah. Is that what you want?” Hype looks at me and not Bohnes. Smart girl.
“It is,” I agree and Bohnes grins. “Hey Shirley!” I call out, putting my hands around my mouth.
“Yes, Queen!” she calls back, bouncing in the crowd and waving her hand to catch my attention.
There are easily a hundred kids here tonight, mostly Prescott.
Half my crew was left behind to guard the house, so just twenty girls in this crowd are mine.
This is a big deal for the whole neighborhood though.
Handling this track thing properly isn’t just about our Business with Chet and Jonas, it’s a Prescott thing.
“Put my boys on the roster tonight. They have extra testosterone they need to work off.” I give my fuckboys a gorgeous wink and then turn, melting into a crowd of girls and waltzing like a pimp in a fur coat up to the front gates.
Only, I hate pimps more than almost anyone else in Prescott, so not that.
Juana appears with a pair of massive bolt cutters, handing them out to me.
Widow intercepts, snagging them and grabbing the chain before I can decide whether this is hot or annoying.
Watching the muscles in his arms flex (why isn’t he wearing a sweatshirt in this cold-ass weather?) as he squeezes the cutters makes me decide it’s hot.
I can do that. I don’t want to break a nail.
“Good boy,” I coo at him as the chain falls into a silver puddle, and I step over it, waltzing through the mud in my expensive satin heels and not caring. Widow scowls at me, still jacked-up from earlier. He puts the bolt cutters on the ground and snaps the chain again, just to let off steam.
“What’s that fuckboy’s goddamn problem now?” Nisha asks, and I hate that I have to tell her. Keeping secrets from my friends is messed-up. Did not work out for me in the past.