Vile Bastards, page 18
I dig my nails into his ass, but that only makes him laugh. The sound is low and thick and dark, and it brings goose bumps up across the surface of my skin. I want more. I want him unleashed and wild, both of us naked, scratching and biting and clawing each other.
I feel my own anger rising to the surface, that heat in my blood that matches up to his. I sneak a finger between his cheeks, intending on shoving it up his ass. Somehow, he seems to know what I’m up to.
Widow pulls back suddenly, and I gasp, reaching up to wipe a bit of drool from my lips, panting for breath. He yanks me up to my feet, grabbing me by the chin and licking the extra saliva from the corners of my lips.
“Don’t you ever touch my ass without permission.” And then he’s turning me around and shoving me against the shelf, yanking my pants down but leaving them as a cage around my thighs. I can barely spread my legs, but it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet that when Widow pushes his slippery cock up against me, he slides right in.
He goes balls-deep in an instant, and I gasp, biting the edge of a book that’s come slightly loose from the shelf, and using it to keep my moans to myself. Widow reaches around me with one hand, slipping his fingers into my mouth. The other he slides down my belly, finding my clit and growling his pleasure into my ear.
“Suck on my fingers; I want to feel the power in your pretty mouth.” He gathers the nectar from between my thighs with his fingertips and uses it to massage my clit, using his whole hand to really get in there, rubbing and teasing and cajoling these tiny, gasping breaths from me. I sink my teeth even further into the spine of the book, but I can’t stay any quieter than this. “This is your everyday for the rest of your life. Do you like it?” he pants, pounding hard, stretching me, offering up a violent slam of his hips so that his balls are pressed tight to my ass. “Was it worth it, popping my fucking cherry?” he asks this last part with such pure snark that I want to murder him.
But oh my God, it feels so good. He’s so deep, and he’s stimulating every part of my vulva with his hand, not just my clit, squeezing and kneading it the way he did to my tits. Even though he’s not touching them, the fact that they’re out and being squished into the edge of a metal shelf, nipples hard in the cool air of the library, it’s torturous pleasure.
I lift my right hand up so that I can play with my own nipple, and my body reacts instantly, tightening so hard around Widow’s dick that he can’t move in or out. A groan escapes him, and then he’s slamming in hard and fast until his body seizes up behind me, and I know that he’s coming.
He pulls out suddenly, and then I feel the hot, wet release of him against my bare ass, dripping down to my thighs. Ropes of white cum hitting the loose, hanging scraps of my sheer top, spattering my long hair.
It’s all over me.
I’m in the middle of the library.
I’m aching and pulsing and wanting a release so bad that I could scream. I turn around, panting and shaking, and I just stare at Widow. He’s already doing up his jeans, looking me over from head to toe before finally meeting my gaze.
“Finish me,” I demand, and he offers up a tight, angry press of lips.
“No.”
I pause.
“No?” The question is almost half-scream. “What do you mean no?”
“I mean no.” Widow turns to leave, and I grab onto the back of his hoodie, stopping him in his tracks.
“How am I supposed to get out of here in this state?” I murmur, but he just keeps walking, and I have no choice but to let him go lest he drag me out of the shadowy aisle and into the bright lights of the walkway. He pauses there to glance over his shoulder.
“Don’t ask for something and then be angry with the result.” He tosses that out with casual insouciance, and then swaggers his way toward the door. I have a brief moment of panic there before I realize I should just get my phone out and text for backup.
Bring me a fresh set of gym clothes. Now.
I text Basti because I don’t want to see Nisha’s reaction to this, and then I lean my back up against the shelf, put my fingers to my clit and work out a quick, angry orgasm that does absolutely nothing to satisfy me.
Actually, all it does is piss me off even further.
Bastian shows up just after I’ve yanked my cum-stained pants into place and put my tits back into my bra. The shirt is ruined; the buttons are everywhere.
“Girl, what the fuck? Qué pasó?” He tosses over the bundle of clothes and then just stares at me as I change into them. I don’t care if he looks. I made him wax me, remember? He’s seen it all. Bastian’s never once made me uncomfortable, and I’ve never had any of my girls complain to me either (they would if he bothered them in the slightest), but he sure is a nosy little shit.
“A little privacy?” I snap at him, but he ignores me, and I finish changing anyway, tucking the cum-clothes under my right arm. Great. Typical Prescott walk of shame stuff. If you see a girl or guy waltzing around campus in any full or partial combination of gym attire, you know they’ve just fucked, been fucked, or masturbated in the boy’s bathroom and ruined their own t-shirt.
I go to move around Bastian, and he extends his arms to either side, blocking me in. I debate using my knife on him (remember: I can make a eunuch in less than a minute), but I take pity on him because he lost Lemon, and they were closer than she and I were, at least in the end there.
“Who?” he asks, and I sigh.
“Widow.”
Basti chuckles and drops his arms, but I elbow him hard in the side anyway.
“He’s good for you!” he calls out to me, still snorting. Would he still think that if he knew what just occurred between us? Maybe. Probably. I’ll do the same or worse to Widow later, so I’m not concerned.
But also, what an asshole.
I pause and hustle back to the aisle as Bastian offers up a raised brow in question. I very quickly find the spine with my teeth marks in it, grin, and then shove it back into place before grabbing Widow’s jacket. Likely, that book will remain here in this library until the school is demolished to build new condos or something. It’s a historical landmark of a kind, and I’m proud to have left it.
“You’re so weird,” Basti murmurs, following me out of the aisle. I wave a loose hand in Fred’s direction, and he scurries off like a bunny rabbit. I offer my librarian girls a little wave as I pass by to let them know that I’ll be back.
I think.
Hope they don’t notice the wardrobe malfunction, eh?
“I’m weird?” I ask Basti, pausing in the hallway just outside the classroom. “You once made a three-minute compilation video of yourself licking thirty-two different flavors of ice cream, knowing exactly what sort of attention that video would garner on the internet. I am not the weird one.”
“Which is exactly why I’m still a virgin, and my cherry buddy abandoned me for greener pastures aka farm-fresh, homegrown Prescott dick.” There’s a pause there where Bastian mulls over whatever it is that he wants to say, letting his brown eyes swing back to mine. “Is it as good as they say it is? Prescott cock?”
“Better.” I hate to admit it. I even purse my lips, but I can’t lie. Prescott pussy is widely known to be the most choice of all pussy. And Prescott cock, while not quite as famous, I have to admit is under-hyped. “Hey.” I pause there, and the atmosphere gets weird and heavy all of a sudden, the way it seems to do whenever anything regarding Lem is brought up.
I miss her so suddenly then that I can’t breathe, that I feel the urge of a panic attack coming on. I put one hand up on the locker beside me and force myself back to a state of … well, not calm because Widow just left me covered in his seed in the school library, but something akin to a lukewarm chill.
“Yeah?” Bastian knows who and what I’m about to discuss. He deflates like a balloon, reaching up to adjust his baseball cap. “Just say it, Scar. What is it about Lemon that you want to know?”
“Any news from the club?” I ask, and he offers up a slight shake of his head.
“Not yet, but I’m bound to hear something. It’s just a matter of time.” He looks back at me, and swallows hard, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should.
“You’re not hooking, are you?” I ask, fear spiking through me.
He gives me a look.
“I told you that I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” he asks, all saucy and snappy, and normal enough that I heave a sigh of relief. If he were, I’d know it. He’d get that glassy, empty look in his eyes that they all do when they succumb to the pressure and the promises, only to realize that it’s all bullshit. There is nothing good or worthwhile to be gained there. I don’t allow my girls to take up that sort of paid trauma. It’s much safer and mentally healthy to rob rich men at gunpoint. And that isn’t sarcasm; I’m not being facetious. “I want to tell you something about Lem.”
My chest tightens again, but I breathe through it, even as a bout of sudden tinnitus starts up in my ears, and I remember her bloodied face from my near-death experience in the hospital.
“Okay?” I wait there, the dirty clothes tucked under my arm, my heartbeat so loud that I can barely hear the chatter of a pair of girls waltzing down the hall past us. They both wave, and I offer up a mirthless smirk and a wetting of my lower lip that makes them titter. I don’t feel any of it; it’s just for show. “Tell me, Basti, before I lose my goddamn shit.”
“Right after she moved out of her aunt’s place, she called me and asked if I could go check the dumpster at the trailer park.” Basti stares at me, and I stare right back at him. “She said she threw some stuff away in anger and felt bad about it; she wanted me to see if it was still there.”
The box that Ash brought me.
The sleeping bag.
“Why couldn’t she go look herself?” I whisper back, my voice hoarse. Bastian shakes his head and offers up a shrug as he tucks his hands into his jean pockets.
“I don’t know. All I know is that I went there, and I didn’t find anything. When I told her that, she cried. She felt sick over it, Scar. She felt really bad about all the things that she said to you …” He trails off, and then we’re both just standing there in this thick, heavy silence that churns my stomach. “I promised not to tell you, but since she’s gone now …”
“The Care Bears sleeping bag wasn’t in the dumpster?” I ask, and Basti offers up another head shake in response.
“You know how that place is. People go through the trash there all the time, looking for stuff. Somebody probably took it to use.” He’s right. I know he’s right. Anything a homeless person can use—a sleeping bag, a tent, a camping lantern, a bicycle—is the first to go from a front porch or an open garage or yes, a dumpster.
“I’ve gotta go.” I move past him before I can drop further into that memory hole, heading down the front steps to see that Widow’s sitting in his Stingray. I narrow my eyes and storm over to the car, yanking the passenger side door open and climbing in. I slam it shut, and we sit there with KMZI 66.6 playing at a low volume.
“Make sure to tune in tomorrow to listen to our play-by-play of Mayor Kelly’s press conference. He’s finally going to address the city on the subject of his now-deceased son, Ash Kelly. Frankly, I don’t think he cares much either way. More than likely, he’s going to cultivate and harvest public sympathy in an effort to push the upcoming vote on expanding the urban growth boundary.” Wolfman sighs, and I hear a rustling, as if he’s shaking his head in disgust. “What’s your take on this one, Nessie?”
The newest and youngest KMZI host steps in as I turn my head to glance over at Widow. I look back down at the clothes in my arms, and then I chuck them in his direction. He makes a face, grabbing the bundle and shoving it onto the empty space between us.
“There’s a measure on the next ballot advocating for the expansion of the UGB. Let me offer a quick explanation as to why that’s a terrible idea: sprawl development decimates local greenbelts, poses significant risk to local wildlife, and opens the city up to even higher risk of wildfire damage. UGBs encourage tighter, more dense growth in existing cities, creating more vibrant, walkable neighborhoods with less reliance on cars, more affordable and easily accessible public transportation, and the opportunity to introduce housing that’s within reach of all members of the community.
“Mayor Kelly has always been a staunch advocate of expanding the UGB and adding yet more sprawl development in an effort to pad his buddy’s pockets. Archer Realty rakes in massive profits from these deals. It’s easy to see why the mayor would push for this measure to pass—and it has nothing to do with protecting the city of Springfield and its existing citizens.”
I turn the radio off and rub at my face.
Right.
The press conference is tomorrow morning, the one where Ash is supposed to stand beside his father and address the community about Aspen’s death. Or rather … Aspen is supposed to address Ash’s death. But you get what I mean.
“You son of a bitch,” I murmur, aching all over and wondering if Officer Tidwell—the female truant officer—would notice if I just mounted Widow right here in his car, dead center in front of the school. If she’d see the bouncing of the vehicle and know what we were up to. I’d probably get arrested for fucking a seventeen-year-old.
“I told you not to wear that shirt.” He slides a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, rolls his window down and lights up. I’m just staring at him and wondering if the shaking in his hands is from his post-coital comedown or if he’s beating himself up over what just happened. Could be either or even both things simultaneously. “How long are you planning on sitting on top of my fucking car?” Widow grinds out, clenching the cigarette so tightly between his fingers that it almost bends.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about, and then Bohnes is sliding off the roof and landing beside my window. I roll it down so that he can rest one arm on the roof, leaning in to talk to us.
I’m impressed. He was able to climb on top of the ‘Vette, and I didn’t even notice. Widow did, though. Kudos to him.
“I spoke to my hacker contact. Meeting’s on Thursday after school. I’ll arrange for the rich boys to meet us there.” Bohnes pats the top of the car and leans in even further to peer at Widow. Then he sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. “It smells like sex in here.”
“Because I fucked my future wife in the library and left her there drenched in cum.” Widow exhales and then takes another drag on his cigarette, glancing casually over in Bohnes’ direction. Meanwhile, I just laugh. Because I told the guy to go for it and well, here he is. And hello, you slippery little bitch. I’m going to get him back for that stunt. “Why would we need to meet a hacker in person? And why would they”—I’ve never heard such a neutral pronoun used like a derogatory slur—“need to be there?”
“Hackers don’t trust tech because they hack it, you braindead moron.” Bohnes smiles tightly, but I can see how twitchy he is about Widow’s declarative future wife statement. “My contact wants to meet the silk-stocking boys in person to see if they are who they say they are. It’s a big risk, taking on this project. It makes sense to me.”
“Unless your contact wants to sell us out. How do we know the mob or the mayor’s people won’t be waiting there to fuck us?” Widow reaches into his pocket and digs around for something, chucking it into my lap. “Here. I did my bit. Happy now, you crypt creeper son of a bitch?”
The term is accurate, especially seeing as Bohnes bought me a mausoleum to either hide in or really because he wants us both buried there together, I can’t say.
“What bit? What is this?” I look down at the ID in my hand, studying the generic looking dude in the photo, his coloring vaguely similar to Alexei’s. “Alex Marie Jennings.” I read the name aloud, and it clicks. “Ah, this is for Alexei’s enrollment.” I look over at Widow and lift the ID, giving it a little wiggle. “You even got the name almost right, but … Marie? This guy’s middle name is Marie? That’s hilarious. I’ll start calling Alexei, Marie after he enrolls. He’ll despise that.”
I pass the ID over to Bohnes, so he can study it.
“Oh, look, you follow instructions almost as well as Aspen Kelly does. How nice for you.” Bohnes flicks the ID back at Widow, but he catches it, so the slight is nullified. “My contact knows what’ll happen if the meeting goes awry. Don’t worry about it.” He snorts. “She’d have to be an idiot to think the mob or the mayor would pay her for this information knowing she could hack into their business if she wanted to. They’ll just kill her.”
“She?” I ask, glancing over at Bohnes. “Your hacker contact is a chick?” I’m simultaneously pleased that we don’t have to meet with some douchebag dude bro who faps it to thoughts of Silicon Valley and Elon Musk, but also jealous. Told ya I was nuts. “She hot?”
“If she is, does it matter?” Bohnes winks at me and stands up, but not before allowing his gaze to take in the gym clothes that I’m wearing. “Thursday, we’ll meet at the safe house beforehand. We need to perfect Marie’s disguise before we take him to the meeting.” Bohnes takes off, flipping his hood up as he goes, and then it’s just me and Widow all over again.
“Just so you know, you didn’t scare me off,” I tell him, glancing his way, and then this … this wicked-hot and perfectly unprintable smirk stretches over Widow’s lips.
“No? You thought that was the limit of my depravity? Scarlett, I was just getting started.” He opens the door and climbs out, heading up the front steps and into the building just as the bell rings for sixth period.
I wait for the sidewalk to clear as class starts up again, and then I lean back in the seat, stick my hand in my sweatpants, and jack it in Widow’s car for a second time. Now that I know to look for it, I see the tiny camera stuck to the edge of the dash, and I make sure to smile reeaaal pretty-like before I come.
I wipe my hands on his seat, and then exit the Stingray for the Pantera.
