Chapter 23 #3
“You could be the perfect Prescott trap, Scarlett, but you’re not.
You’re my way out of here. I’ve never had anyone in my life to defend or anyone that would defend me.
” He nearly snaps his teeth at me when he says that, his jewel-toned hair tousled by the icy fingers of the wind.
Fierce. He sounds fierce. “If you take care of me half as well as you take care of your girls, I’ll live in luxury for the rest of my life. ”
“My girls?” I repeat, trying not to go down that route again. Evelyn, Lemon, Alexis. “I could do better.”
“Don’t you goddamn dare.” He threatens me against any possible self-deprecation, getting my hackles up.
“Lemon and Alexis… The world failed them. They failed themselves. Anyone but you. You’re the only person who cares, the only one seeking justice in this horrible place.
Of course you’re involved with the mayor and the mob.
It’s not because of fuckboys. It’s because you want to help, Scarlett.
You’re not evil and you’re not a Prescott trap.
” He releases me, panting like he’s run a mile.
Walking away from me. Hands on his lower back.
Tilting his head back and rolling it to the side, looking back at me from golden eyes.
“You could be a trap, but you’re not,” he repeats, and I wonder if Widow and I share the same superpower of being able to read people.
“You’re not and…” He chokes on the words and drops his head, briefly putting his hands over his face.
“Ash. Maybe I was wrong about Ash. I hated him because I hate the way you look at him as much as I hate the way he looks at you.”
My breath catches as Widow turns and splits his fingers, peering at me from between them.
“I’m sorry that I pitted your car,” he growls out, dropping his hands completely. “I’m sorry that I accused you of being dick drunk. I’m projecting. I’m pussy drunk, Scarlett. I’m wasted on you, princess.”
“Princess?” I repeat, moving across the gravel toward him. It crunches under my feet as I find my way to the boy who came to my school and decided on a whim to be the king to my queen. He’s exactly what Prescott needed. “Where is this nickname coming from? You know damn well that it pisses me off.”
That smile of his, fuck. Rough and unpolished, a raw Prescott gem.
Uncut. Valuable. There’s a reason that Fuller High and Oak Valley girls come to Prescott in search of guys like this.
Widow looks like a mistake that’s worth making.
A hot, coarse, turbulent little rebel. The sort of fuck you never forget because it’s not just his dick that’s in you, it’s his energy.
Too much testosterone. A risk-taker who needs a haircut and a smirk that churns the belly and makes those thighs spread like peanut butter.
“That’s the whole point. You’re unflappable, mostly.
Just not with me.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans down, the breeze tickling our hair together.
It’s fucking cold, but his skin is hot. That smell, too.
Why does he smell so good? And his driving.
Good goddamn. Getting that Stingray to slide across the lake the way he did, that’s not easy.
“There’s just somethin’ about a parking space thief that riles me up,” I respond, wry and dry like I’m not into this. He knows it’s bullshit. Just like I know he’s furious that I’ll be Alexei’s legal wife when he wants me to be his. “And did you say ovulation? Gross, Adrian.”
“Ovulation isn’t gross,” he replies, nuzzling his face against mine like a wolf with a prized bone. “It’s erotic. And trust me, I’ll start tracking your cycles well in advance to make sure my timing is”—he lifts a hand and snaps his fingers—”optimal.”
I grab two fistfuls of his borrowed muscle tank, digging my fingers into the spiderwebs embroidered over his nipples. My mouth is against his when I lift up on my tiptoes and growl back at him.
“You never would’ve been able to shake me down like this if I wasn’t marrying Alexei.
You should thank the man at this point. Maybe suck his dick as a favor.
” I release Widow’s shirt, but he’s lightning quick, taking hold of my wrists and dragging me in toward him.
He has a bit of stubble on his face that I’m not used to seeing. I want to lick it.
He nips at my lip, teeth dragging across that too-sensitive skin. He pulls back before I return the favor, our warm breath mingling in the cold air.
“You wouldn’t say shit like that if you knew how angry I actually am.
” He tightens his hold on my wrists, keeping me where he wants me.
His mouth steals over mine and my stomach flip-flops.
I’m drawn even farther up on my toes by his grip on my wrists.
I overbalance and end up falling into him as his tongue strikes sparks of zeal and impulse from my thirsty mouth, cradling me in his hot-wet-yearning.
Yeah. Widow is a boss. If he hadn’t spent the last five years in juvie for his act of community service against his uncle, we’d have crossed paths sooner.
But would we have had such a strong gravitational pull, our righteous anger calling to one another like wolves in the dark? I love him as he is, trauma and all.
I gasp when our lips come apart with a sharp pop, like we were sealed at the mouths, some Frankensteinian creature. As monstrous as we are beautiful together. He drags my wrists higher, lifting me all the way up on pointe. Panting, me and him both. Like stray dogs.
“I love you,” I repeat, and his lashes flutter in a series of rapid blinks.
Processing. That brutish smirk relaxing into a boyish smile for a brief few seconds.
Playfully, he uses his ultra-strong grip to push me back, putting space between us.
Cold air rushes in to consume the gap like it did with Bohnes last night.
“I love you, too. I have your back, Scarlett. I support you.” He slams a fist against his chest, like a soldier declaring his allegiance.
Then, that pesky lip of his lifts again with rabid fervor.
“Have your fuckin’ date with Alexei Grove.
” Widow’s teeth flash in his adamantine face.
I see the wild, untamed anger in him, but he keeps it back.
Holds it in check. Just like I’m doing, he’ll unleash that rage on the right person at the right time. “I have to go feed my aunt.”
Widow stalks off into the woods, the tingle of his too-tight fingertips on my wrists.
Right.
A date with Alexei Grove, the guy I robbed at gunpoint while wearing a balaclava.
Sounds about right. Just your typical Monday night in South Prescott.