Chapter 38
Scarlett
The explosion is triggered by me, winning the Stars and Stripes Vintage Classic.
Good way to ensure I’m the recipient of the blast, right? Rig it up for the win and let nature take its course.
It’s so abrupt and disorienting that I lose a precious few seconds to confusion. Obviously, I was way ahead of the pack during today’s race. Stars and Stripes official, pish. A cakewalk. I’ve never been blown up during a race before though, so that’s a new one.
Another explosion hits a few seconds later, emanating from the stands in the direction of where the boys were sitting. I see it all in my rearview, but it’s not just the audience that’s on fire.
So is the Stingray.
My hands are gripped tight to the steering wheel, locking it in place as the car lifts up on the right side.
Both tires come up off the ground, accompanied by heat and flames.
It’s a painful sensation against my skin, the force of it.
Comes with bits of flying glass and scraps of metal, too.
Something nicks my throat, making me bleed.
Doesn’t matter. I might die in here. My lover’s car, the one I stole because he’s a goddamn parking space thief, is this close to becoming my coffin. No doubt that’s Jonas’ goal here today. Damn though, he’s an idiot because why does he keep trying to get me when I’m inside a car?
Cars are my domain, baby.
Both right tires hit the ground, flaming and melting as the Stingray hurtles forward without brakes.
Must’ve been damaged in the crash. The axle, too, because even though I’m keeping the steering wheel straight, I’m veering dangerously in the direction of the cement wall at the base of the grandstand.
Trying to jerk the wheel to the left to correct the issue doesn’t work either.
I let go of the wheel because it doesn’t appear to matter. It spins around and the car keeps traveling at insane speeds toward certain death.
I’m so sorry, Widow. I draw my knife, using it to cut the seat belt.
It’s stuck or half-melted or something, and there’s no time to waste trying to get it off.
Time has turned sticky for me, and the air is black with smoke that makes me lightheaded and slow.
I can’t be slow. Hell no. What if the boys need me?
What about Nisha and Bastian? Were any of my girls harmed in the blast?
I’m going to take both of Jonas’ eyes.
The driver’s side window of the Vette is already busted, so I grab onto it and sort of tumble out onto the track. I go skidding, but goddamn if Basti wasn’t right about the racing suit. Dress for the slide, not the ride.
I hit hard, rolling and bouncing and knocking my helmeted head against the ground with a force that nearly knocks me out.
Don’t forget about the other cars! I remind myself, scrambling blindly toward the grass.
Somebody grabs me, dragging me the last few feet and narrowly avoiding a very unpleasant death-by-splattering.
My opponents’ cars are going fast. Zoom, zoom, zoom, they whip past us with no room to spare.
The Stingray hits the wall and explodes, transformed from its sleek metallic purple self into a ball of flame.
Classic car hell, here I come.
Bohnes is there, tearing my helmet off and throwing it aside. His hands are on my face and his pale eyes are all over me, searching for injuries. He’s the one that dragged me off the track, likely saving my life.
“I’m okay,” I reply, panting and crooked with adrenaline. I can’t see straight. Everything is spinning, and I am wired for both homicide and panic. “Where is everyone?”
“Nisha and Bastian are fine.” Bohnes grunts as he helps me up, half of his face covered in soot and his clothing etched with holes, like he might’ve briefly caught fire. We hold onto each other, trying to take in the absolute insanity around us.
The other cars on the track with me have finally come to a stop, seemingly unaffected by the explosion that rocked the Stingray. As far as the private box where Alexei, Widow, and Ash were sitting…it doesn’t exist anymore.
I want to scream. I want to start screaming and never stop.
Instead, I click on my reptile brain.
“Let’s go search for the boys.” Bohnes locks his fingers down on my wrist, dragging my stumbling form behind him. I feel drunk, half-suffocated. It doesn’t stop me from following after him at a near jog, heading straight for the worst of it.
The audience is panicking, hordes of terrified people running in every direction and making the situation a thousand times worse than it already is.
There’s a literal hole in the wall, connecting the track straight to the private parking area where Jonas’ protesters were chanting and waving their signs.
Bohnes and I are ruthless, stepping over people begging for help in search of the few faces that really matter. It’s not that I want to be this way, that I’m heartless, but if it’s between my family and some strangers, the choice is clear.
While Kellin focuses on moving large pieces of debris to check beneath them, I scan around for pieces of the black walls that surrounded the boys’ private seating area. The chairs were different, too, so I look for those specifically.
The trail of debris isn’t so easy to follow, scrambled up with bloody bodies and boulders of concrete, sheets of metal. My ears are ringing, making it hard to hear anything beyond the immediate screams of the people lying on the ground all around me.
That’s why I don’t see Alexei until I come around the corner of the crumbling wall, locked in combat with several of the mayor’s men.
Emma Jean has shucked her pink balaclava, bent over the body of a kid while she gives him CPR. She doesn’t even look at the fight taking place ten feet away from her.
Alexei is covered in dust, his clothes torn, his blond hair flecked with blood.
He’s too wrapped up in what he’s doing to see me coming, shoving his metal thimble into a man’s neck before turning and throwing a punch into another’s face.
He’s so elegant and clean and refined that I sometimes forget what a beast he can be.
There’s no holding back here today. Alexei is a killing machine, forcing a needle into a goon’s throat to buy himself time to find another weapon. My husband settles on a twisted metal pipe before launching back up to his feet and cracking a guy’s skull with it.
I’ve got my knife in hand, but it’s too late.
Five men lay dead in a circle around him as Alexei pants, letting the metal pipe fall by his side.
He turns his head slightly and just so happens to spot me, eyes widening.
He doesn’t drop the pipe, but he rushes the distance between us like there aren’t broken wires dangling and sparking from the ceiling.
Some water pipe is gushing into the cafeteria from overhead.
I’d forgotten there was a hallway down here, tucked beneath the grandstand. The explosion sort of turned it all into one space. Bleachers and basement cafeteria and the parking lot.
“Ash and Widow?” I ask, clenching the knife hilt tight in my driving glove. Bohnes is still searching the parking area, rolling bodies over to see who’s hiding underneath.
“Ambulance,” Alexei chokes back, turning his head and coughing in a way that scares me. “They just left. I texted Hype the license plate and a brief description.”
He coughs again, putting his arm up and spattering drops of red against his inner elbow. Fuck. That blood better only be coming from his mouth and not something internal.
“The way you say ambulance is giving me the impression that this is a bad thing?” I ask, searching around my pockets for my phone. It’s gone. I dig my hand into Alexei’s pocket, taking his without bothering to ask.
“It rolled right up to Ash with paid muscle in the back. They had a chance to shoot Widow and elected to take him for a ride as well. If I’d been any faster, I might’ve gone with them.” Alexei doesn’t say that last bit like it’s a good thing.
Bohnes reappears beside us, like he somehow overheard the conversation. I’m already dialing up Hype, grateful that she answers on the first ring.
“I’m checking traffic cams on the I-5. They’re heading south, towards Springfield. That’s about all I can tell you now. If I were you, I’d start driving because they’re moving fast.”
I don’t even thank Hype. I will later. Now’s not the time.
I hang up and call Nisha next.
“Alexei?” she asks desperately, voice cracking. She might’ve seen the Stingray explode, but maybe she didn’t see me get out of it.
“It’s me, baby. You and Basti are alright?”
There’s a choked sob on the other end of the line. That’s my boy. Thank God.
“We’re here, Queen. What do you need?” Bastian asks, his voice heavy with relief.
“Round up our girls and get out of here. If they’re dead, take their bodies home. We’re heading back to Springfield. I’ll call you when we’re on the road.” I hang up without waiting for a reply. No time. There’s no fucking time.
“Chevelle is this way,” Bohnes says, nodding his chin in the direction of the shattered wall. There’s none of his usual dry humor, none of that playful darkness. He’s all business today. I imagine he’s thinking about how hard Ash and Widow worked to save him, determined to repay the favor.
“You two go.” Alexei isn’t looking at me anymore.
He’s got his attention fixed down the length of the hallway on Burt Cramer and his hulking driver, slowly making their way toward us through the smoke and dust and chaos like they’ve got all the time in the world.
“I’ll see if I can borrow the family’s helicopter. ”
“I love you.” I grab Alexei and force his face down to mine, pressing a hard kiss against his mouth before I turn away. Casting one last glance down at the frantically heroic Emma Jean, I take off after Bohnes.
He guides me through the flames and the bodies over to the exterior wall of the property. There’s a ladder waiting there. No surprise, considering this is Kellin Bohnes. He encourages me to climb up first, the pair of us descending a second ladder on the other side.
I’m given the keys to the Chevelle, and we hop in.
“Thank you, Boo,” I whisper, giving him an affectionate nickname that makes a weird amount of sense considering his character. Boo!
“For what?” he asks as I hit the gas and push his beautiful black hearse to the limit in my desperation to save Ash and Widow from a fate worse than death.
If Alexei believes that staying behind to deal with his uncle will yield better results than coming with us, I trust him. Don’t like it much though. Hate it.
“For letting me drive, obviously.” I rocket us past rambling citizen vehicles, blasting over grassy medians and through flower beds with their winter-dead stick plants.
If I have to plow through pedestrians and cyclists to get my boys back, I’ll do that, too.
“Especially since I’ve totaled both Alexei’s and Widow’s cars at this point.
I’m the one that killed Aspen, and that ended in losing Ash’s Mustang, so let’s count that, too. ”
“You’re not going to crash, my little skeleton bride. I will never let that happen.”
There’s a metaphor tucked in there somewhere that disturbs me.
If I lost one of the boys, Bohnes wouldn’t let me hurt myself, would he?
This son of a bitch.
I focus all of my attention on driving, like I have the wind at my back and the devil nipping at my heels.