Chapter 18
Scarlett
Three hours of sleep is rough.
I’m a sleep-in-late-and-have-a-lot-of-sex-with-my-husbands sort of girl.
Also? Prescott High? Prescott High? Why are we even going back to that shithole again?
Oh. That’s right. Because I have responsibilities and convictions and shit.
Being a heartless, soulless piece of garbage must be so much easier.
Think about it. If I could just murder Polina and not care.
If I could just abandon the Prescott neighborhood and that miserable school without trying to help the next gen.
If I could just forget about my vengeance for Lemon.
If I could ignore the weight of my crew’s lives. Life would be sooooo much easier.
Do people like Chet, like Jonas, like Burt, do they just prance around in bliss all the time, unburdened by care?
This is the philosophical shit I’m thinking about as I drive toward Prescott High the next morning.
The radio is crackling with Christmas tunes, something that only a sadist would put on.
I already talked to Emma Jean about her questionable music choices.
She’s bringing down the cool factor of KMZI 66. 6.
Nessie does not have Wolfman or Milicent’s intuition for picking the right tunes.
What she does have is a silver tongue and a righteous mission to carry out.
The article she published this morning was titled, Mayor Kelly’s Entire Housekeeping Staff Found Dead with the photos we were texted.
There’s no way to know if the public will even believe the claim or if they’ll think the pics are AI deepfake slop.
That doesn’t matter. Anything we can do to slander Mayor Kelly is a win. We’re on the right track here.
I take a little detour, forcing myself through the invisible wall of trepidation keeping me from my old street.
I roll across the pavement in front of my grandmother’s duplex, hands so tight on the wheel that they’re hurting again. Pain up to my elbows. In my shoulders.
The house where I was raised is nothing but charred beams and blackened debris, a depressing tomb for Alexis to rest in. The feelings are still there, overwhelming in their scope. I can’t face them all at once or I’ll lose track of what’s ahead.
“Damn it.” I take off before any of the guys can get out and question me. I drove alone today for a reason. A little mystery never hurt anyone.
I realize as I’m heading back toward the school that all of the other duplexes are empty. There’s construction equipment beside the leveled ruins of a unit down the block and a sign with the Archer Realty logo on it.
My blood is boiling by the time I get to the school.
Not a great day for me to have a confrontation with my mom. And yesterday was so exhausting. I wish my Grandma’s cheap, corny ‘I hate Mondays Tuesdays’ sign hadn’t burned to a crisp. I’d hang that shit.
Geneva is waiting on the sidewalk when I pull into my rightful parking space with a groan, putting the car in park and then flopping forward until my forehead hits the steering wheel.
I knew this was coming. I meant to call my mom.
It’s just, our last conversation involved her arranging to move in with her new boyfriend while abandoning me and Gram.
I don’t honestly give any fucks about what she has to say.
Geneva knocks aggressively at my window, making me twitchy.
I’m up and out of the car, surging to my feet and forcing her back several frantic steps. If she were anyone but my mother, the guys would never have let her touch the Devil.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile, knowing that Geneva’s heard the gossip about me being legally married.
About me having money. I put my hands on my hips, dressed in my favorite square-cut blouse, dusty pink and decorated with white skulls.
Their eyes are exploding bloody flowers.
It’s a very demure, very meek top. “Did you not get my texts? I explicitly said do not try to contact me, period.”
“You’re my child,” she says, and I laugh. Geneva looks at me like I’m ridiculous. She’s a ‘great’ mom. She ‘tries her hardest’. Well, that’s a lie. She devotes all her time and energy to men. Guess you get what you give.
My smile becomes a smirk.
“Am I? Because I’m rich I’m worth your time now? That’s cute. Look, Gram raised me, so it’s only Gram I care about. I gave her a phone to call you. If she hasn’t, that’s not my problem. She doesn’t want to talk to you either.”
Please don’t be shameless. I stare down at Geneva and hope she gets angry. Storms off in a huff without a word. That’d make me proud of her, if she just did that. Just left. Don’t embarrass me here on the street in my own neighborhood, bitch.
“Scarlett, I’m worried about you.” Geneva takes hold of my arm and I feel four points of contention around me. North, South, East, West. Shit, I really do feel like a witch. I lift up a hand, palm out. Calm down, boys. Relax, my charming little psychos.
“Are you? How about this? I transfer, say, ten grand into your account and you never contact me again. Would that work? I don’t care what you and Gram work out.
And it’s not a blanket deal with Auntie Anita.
I still like her.” I pretend to check my nails.
Don’t need to. I already had Treasure polish them up for me this morning.
Having a nail artist on-site is like, my greatest dream come true.
Homicide is hell on a manicure.
“Ten grand?” Geneva whispers, and I see it there in her eyes, that shine.
Gold digger is a term she understands well.
Her dream was always to marry a rich guy and escape Prescott, just like Lemon.
Not sure she’d believe me if she hadn’t seen Emma Jean’s article.
She one-hundred percent would’ve accused me of lying.
“That’s all I’m worth to you?” Geneva purses her lips, like this is soooo hard on her.
“Fifty. If that’s what you want, I’ll step aside and wait for you to come back to me. ”
“Fifty?” A stunned laugh bursts out of me. “How about nine-K? If you keep trying to haggle with me, the offer will continue to drop.” I pause, waiting. “Eight grand…”
“Ten, fine. I can at least pay off a few bills with that.” Geneva looks away, like she’s ashamed of me.
She’s dead-serious. She took that at face value and rolled with it, just like any other random Prescott bitch.
Nobody in my crew would’ve accepted this bullshit offer.
They’d be fucking insulted if I tried to pay them off, as any loyal girl should be.
“Ten? You were down to eight.” I already have my phone in my hand, tapping out a text to Hype. I tell her exactly what I want: give 8k to my egg donor. Do it today.
Send.
I look back up, waving at Geneva with my phone.
I can see Bohnes standing behind her. It’s like watching death himself, coming with a scythe.
Ash has that vibe with the sword, too, oddly enough.
A pair of slayers. Widow still looks like a street rat, chains around his neck, a baseball bat on his back.
Alexei keeps a hand in his pocket, resting on his needles.
“Why are you still here?” I ask my mom. “Go. I’ll get it done. Don’t give any to your boyfriend. You’re not getting a single cent more.”
Geneva’s phone pings and she looks down at it, eyes widening as she sees the transfer.
Hype texts me back a thumbs-up. Sick. She’s the perfect addition to our crew.
Because of her, we were able to hack Chet’s phone calendar.
Now we know he has a business meeting at Basti’s club next week. That’ll be his last day on this earth.
My mouth tastes metallic, the beginning of a hunt. I’m so addicted to this shit. That’s how I know I need to stay away. I could easily love being the wife of the next Borisov Family crime boss. I would love being the Borisov Family crime boss even more. The rush of that might make me cum.
Problem is, I’d have to get real used to killing people like Polina on the regular.
I. Don’t. Want. This. Gang. Life. Bullshit.
“Are you scheming something?” Widow mumbles beside me, obviously reading into my facial expressions.
It’s tough, living with your other half.
I’m going to be constantly frustrated with him in the best possible way.
I make myself keep looking at my mom, knowing this really could be the last time I see her.
I’m not going to help her anymore unless she helps herself first.
I hate being right. I wish I’d been wrong about Lemon and Alexis, too, but it’s time for me to hold everyone to the same standards. My lovers. My friends. My sister. My mom. I’m not picking these boys because I’ve lost my mind, I’m picking them because they do better.
I put a hand over my mouth. I’m not upset. I’m just disgusted with the constant romantic drivel that is my brain.
Alexei steps directly in front of me, putting himself between me and my mom.
I don’t give a shit about her. I’m just having a great-ass time falling in love. I’m giving myself permission to leap off that cliff. It’s my greatest fear, the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever had.
“If my wife wants to see you, she’ll call. For now, you may go through me.” Alexei puts his hand to his chest, his dead father’s ring catching the day’s gray glare. “We’ve met before, but I’ll reintroduce myself: Alexei Grove Borisov.”
He stares Geneva down with a face carved out of frost, like some sort of snow prince.
The cold weather and that bright blond hair, fuck.
The pale blue wool of his overcoat. That face.
A blade for a mouth. The color of his eyes is enhanced by the lack thereof.
Naked winter trees. Gray clouds. Dirty off-white Prescott High paint.
Geneva doesn’t seem to know what to say.
Alexei turns his phone, so that she can see the screen. Presumably, he’s showing her his number.