Vile Bastards, page 41
Hell, I might be blacklisted from the entire industry now.
The odd and yet hopefully endearing thing about Scarlett Motherfucking Force is this: I will do almost anything to prove a point.
I push myself and the Devil even harder, confident that I’ve now got a pretty good idea of the track’s irregular layout. Give me a few more loops, and I’d know it better than I know my own mother’s face. My brain is just built for high-speed.
I’m able to make up for that first lost lap by whipping the Devil into submission, cradling that hot piece of metal beneath my thighs and riding her into the ground. Bastian is going to kill me after this. But he’ll be happy, too, because he’ll know that his work on the Pantera is the only reason I’m a true tour de force. At best, I’m a mediocre mechanic.
But I am one hell of a motherfuckin’ driver.
Finish this thing, Scar, and then buy your besties some steak.
I hit the throttle and eat up the pavement, lapping the three remaining cars yet again.
They don’t seem comfortable with skirting between the wrecked vehicles the way I am. This is just par for the course back in Prescott. If I have to push one out of my way like I did with Chet Jr., I will.
That’s how I make up the time, how I turn an impossibility into a boon.
Before I know it, there’s the finish line.
I’m pumped so full of adrenaline, I’m probably glowing from my space. My lips split into a grin that, had I been able to race legit, would’ve broken my face in half. As of right now, it’s more of a drag, more of a gloat than anything else.
Take that, you pretentious pieces of shit.
I hit the brakes, skidding across the asphalt and turning in a small half-circle to face the sea of aghast faces near the fence. The grand marshal is already storming my way, and there’s more than just one asshole rich boy climbing out of his car and gaping like I’ve personally kicked his puppy.
Do I want to stick around here to see what might happen?
Fuck no.
I look around and notice Widow waiting beside another gate, gesturing with a green flag that I’m sure he stole from somewhere. Probably from a someone. Probably he beat up that someone.
I offer up a little wave, a smirk, a middle finger with an upside down cross, and then I GTFO before things get anymore chaotic.
Bohnes
The little weasel has the audacity to cry, as if its tears mean anything at all to me.
I squat down in front of the smarmy bastard and reach up a cool, comforting hand. As soon as I lay it across his cheek, Chet Jr. Cody Archer snaps at me like a feral dog, and I frown. I backhand him and rise to my feet, watching as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.
“Who are you?!” he screams, a repeat question that I’ve heard damn near a dozen times by now. I release a tired sigh, reaching up to rub at the bridge of my nose. It would’ve been nice to see my woman race, especially after watching the already-viral video online.
Only, I had other things to take care of.
“I’ve explained that to you several times, Chet Jr.” I move away from him and over to a table littered with sterile instruments. My captive shifts aggressively against his bonds, but I ignore him. He’s tied up more than well enough to keep him still. Besides that, he’s blindfolded, and I’m certain he’s not intelligent enough to ever recognize me based on my voice alone.
I pick up a scalpel, studying the blade to ensure that it’s sharp enough.
“My father can pay you.” He repeats yet another tired cliché, and I set the scalpel down heavily, clinking it angrily against the metal tray. Chet Jr. flinches because, despite his occasional protest or threat, he’s already urinated down his leg and wept like a newborn baby.
“Pay me?” I ask, sighing heavily again and letting my shoulders drop, my head fall back. I close my eyes against a surge of annoyance. “Why is that always the first offer your ilk makes? Hmm? Do I seem like someone motivated by money?” With another sigh, I snatch up the scalpel again, flashing a grin that I know poor Junior over there can’t see. More’s the pity; I have a lovely smile. I lean down in front of the boy, tied to a chair and quivering, my palms on my thighs for balance. “That’s not a fair question though, is it? You hardly know me. How should I explain this?”
“Where am I? What do you want with me?”
I frown again and stand up straight, tapping the end of the scalpel against Chet’s nose. He jerks away from me, making some whimpering sounds. It’s always astonished me how a bully such as this can pretend to be a victim, even for a single second. Doesn’t it just grate on their nerves, acting as if they have feelings or a soul? It certainly grates on mine.
“You are my treasured guest,” I explain, pausing briefly to look over my shoulder. The safe house door opens and in walks Alexei Grove, a mask pulled up over his face despite the fact that poor Cody over here is as blind as a bat. “Our treasured guest.” I correct myself as I look back to my captive and Alexei pauses on my right side.
We exchange a look, but Alexei doesn’t appear pleased by the situation. No, unfortunately, Cody won’t be leaving this place in a body bag the way his friend, Bryson Bolin did. Shame. But I intend on taking a souvenir anyway.
The very idea that this filthy, little pervert thought to touch my woman? I can barely restrain the bloodlust pumping through my veins.
“Did you know only six percent of rapists spend any time in jail? Isn’t that sick?” I move closer to Cody, teasing the blunt metal end of the scalpel’s handle against his jaw. He shudders away from me, turns his head in protest. “What sort of message does that send to girls and women in this society? That they don’t matter?”
“Fuck girls and women, man! Just let me out of here. You want to spend the rest of your sick life in jail?”
“My sick life?” I query as Alexei’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. He might even possibly like Chet Jr. Cody Archer less than I do which at first thought seems to be a veritable impossibility. “My sick life? Oh, Chet Jr. But I don’t go around harassing girls and women, now do I?”
I look back to Alexei. Now, Widow was the one who helped me load the body up in my trunk while Scarlett put Ash Kelly on his knees. But then, it’s Mr. Grove who’s my client, so it’s Mr. Grove’s opinion I’m going to take into consideration when deciding Chet Jr.’s fate.
“Are you certain you don’t want me to kill him?” I ask, and Alexei’s pale green eyes narrow. “No? Do you want to do it then?”
“Please!” Chet Jr. screams, shaking like a lamb as his fingernails dig into the wooden arms of the chair. “My family is rich; my dad will pay whatever it takes.”
“Deal with him and dump him; I can’t stand the sound of his screams,” Alexei murmurs, leaning in toward me before he glances Chet Jr.’s way, his lips curling into a sneer. After a moment, he storms over to Cody and tears the fly of the boy’s pants open.
If only you could hear the squeals of this pathetic little piggy.
“Oh God, no,” Chet Jr. is moaning, and then he begins to wail. My eye twitches, and I resist the overwhelming urge to stab the scalpel into his throat. “Please no! Please! Please!”
This time, it’s Alexei who backhands the brat with a gloved hand, shuddering against the contact. Even a layer of latex isn’t enough to ward off the filth of this spoiled rotten shithead.
“You listen to me,” Alexei hisses, snatching Cody by the hair. “I am done hearing you whine and whimper, as if you’re some sort of victim.” He shakes the boy around, causing the chair’s limbs to shuffle against the dirt floor. “You’re lucky we have use for you or else you’d already be dead.”
Alexei stands up and holds out his hand for the scalpel. I hesitate briefly before handing it over. It slaps against the man’s gloved palm, and he shudders before spinning it around in his fingers.
We both look down at the ugly, flaccid cock exposed at the fly of Cody’s open pants.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Cody whimpers, clearly used to being the monster rather than the victim in any given situation. “I’m not gay, just so you know.”
“Oh, we don’t mind,” I purr sweetly, circling the chair and putting my hands on Cody’s shoulders. I give them a little squeeze, drawing yet another whimper from the boy before I lean down to put my lips near his ear. “We’ll just take turns on you the way you and Aspen did with Lucy Hall. Your words, not mine, by the way.”
“I’ve got the cash!” Cody screams, clearly unaware that there are humans out there in the world who won’t drown their firstborn child for a bag of gold coins. I almost feel sorry for him, or I would if he hadn’t tried to victimize my darkest love. “Whatever you want. Money. Cars. Women, even.”
“Have you seen The Princess Bride?” I ask, leaning down again as Alexei studies the scalpel, clearly gearing up for what he’s about to do.
“Wh-what?” Cody stutters stupidly. “The hell are you talking about?”
“It’s a fantasy film from 1987, based on a book by the same name from 1973.”
“You’re crazy!” Cody starts to scream. “You’re fucking insane! Fuck you. Fuck you, man.” He moans, and I feel my patience wearing thin, snatching up a rag and shoving it into his mouth. It’s better this way anyhow, seeing as someone who’s about to feel as much pain as this man is likely to bite off their own tongue.
“In said movie, the hero—his name is Westley, mind you—confronts the villain and explains that he isn’t going to kill him or cut off his ears, but that he’s only going to maim him.” I give a tug on one of Cody’s ears, and he squeals like a caught rabbit beneath the press of the gag. A grin creeps over my lips as Alexei shivers and shakes his head, handing the scalpel back to me. No surprise there. I take it happily and tap it against Cody’s head. “He tells the villain that he’s going to duel ‘to the pain’. That is, he’s going to leave the man’s ears so that he can hear women and children screaming in disgust at the sight of him after he’s finished carving him up.”
I circle back around to stand in front of Chet Archer’s oldest son. He has two younger ones, but this is the only one whose dark deeds I’m certain of, and that’s rule one, the biggest difference between an anti-hero and an idiot: ensure the person you’re about to torture deserves it.
And Cody?
Oh, he deserves it many times over.
“That’s going to be you, Cody.” I squat down in front of him, tapping the scalpel against my left palm while I hold onto it with my right. “To the pain. If we didn’t have other plans for you, well, it’d be to the death instead. Count your blessings, my friend.”
He continues to scream as Alexei scowls and turns away.
“Finish this quickly. Just the sight of him irks me. If he sticks around any longer, I might just blow his brains out the way I did to Bryson.” Alexei turns away as Cody’s screams rachet up even further, and I sigh.
These rich boys, so dramatic.
I wonder how Cody will continue to victimize others with his cock cut off?
Guess we’ll see.
“Wait.” I stop Alexei in his tracks, smiling at him as he glances over his shoulder to stare at me. “Do me a favor.”
“What do you want?” he grinds out, and my smile grows just a tad wider.
“Can you please say, ‘My name is Alexei Grove. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ It’d really take The Princess Bride references full circle.”
Alexei just stares at me, turns around, and crosses his arms over his chest.
Sigh.
He isn’t going to say it, is he? But he is going to watch. Good enough.
I turn back to Cody.
“You’re going to deliver a message to daddy dearest for us. Think you can handle that? Because if you mess this up, I’ll stalk you in the shadows for as long as it takes. Years, even. I am that patient, dear Cody. And when I find you, you’ll wish you were dead.”
I adjust my grip on the scalpel, and then I start to cut.
“You look beautiful when you sleep,” I murmur, squatting down beside Scarlett’s bed. Her eyes crack open to look at me, the lids heavy with sleep but her irises bright with annoyance. I reach out to stroke some hair back from her forehead, and she sits up with a groan.
“What fucking time is it?” she mumbles, reaching over to grab her phone. I clamp my hand over hers, and she shudders at my touch. “What are you doing here?” Scarlett glances back at the window, as if wondering how I got in here.
Actually, I used the front door this time. I stole her house key from her and made a copy before returning it; she didn’t even notice. I pride myself on being able to one-up her on occasion. Not out of some foolish sense of pride, but only because if I’m better than Scarlett Force at certain things, it’s easier for me to keep her safe.
Of course, I’m not about to tell her any of that.
Instead, I smile and push forward, so that Scarlett’s scooting back in her bed, and I’m climbing in beside her. I lay on my side, hands pillowed beneath my cheek as I study her expression, ethereal and otherworldly in the moonlight.
“You look like some gloriously vengeful ghost, the sort that lures men to their graves.”
Scarlett snorts and reaches up, pushing back impossibly long strands of raven-colored hair.
“Any man that creeps on a ghost thinking he’s about to get his rocks off is probably better off dead. Good riddance. Where are those vengeful ghosts when you need them?” She huffs again, drawing her knees up and putting her arms around them. I do my best not to smile at that—it’d be a dead giveaway—but I want her to know that I am that vengeful ghost.
Anyone that bothers Scarlett is worth a haunt.
“You’re thinking about Chet Jr. Cody Archer.” It’s not a question; I know where her mind’s gone. I know her far better than she thinks I do. “Don’t. He isn’t worth the neurons.”
“He told me that he and Aspen used to take turns on Lemon.” Scarlett adjusts herself so that she’s lying on her side facing me, pretty lips pulling down into a frown. “Do you think that’s true?”
I say nothing because Ash Kelly has yet to divulge his secret.
At least, he hasn’t divulged it to Scarlett. He told me which I find quite odd. I’m convinced at this point that he believes we’re becoming friends. The idea of it makes me shudder, but that’s neither here nor there.
I reach out a hand to brush some of Scarlett’s dark hair back again. Does she know that the video Widow uploaded for her earlier is going viral? Does she know how many people find her inspirational? Female, poor, disregarded.
Talented.
“Even without P-Trip, you’ll be famous someday. If it’s what you want, I’ll make it happen for you.”
She just stares at me and then, in an oddly vulnerable maneuver, turns over and scoots so that her ass is pressed to my crotch, and I’m wrapped around her like a cocoon. Spooning, I believe, is what the layperson calls this position.
“Why are you like this?” she whispers, and I know that I’ve done something right. I try my best not to preen my monster fur while she’s wrapped up in my arms like this; I don’t want to frighten her. Although … I’m not sure there’s anything I could do to frighten her other than harm her which, obviously, will never happen.
“Like what? I’m fairly certain you’re the only woman who finds me charming.”
“You said you could sleep with any girl in Prescott,” she returns, voice colored with jealousy. That just makes me laugh, and the sound causes goose bumps to rise on her bare arms. I rub my palm up and down her left one and smile against her hair, breathing in her cherry and chocolate smell.
“Which is not the same thing as them finding me charming, I’m afraid.”
There’s another long stretch of silence there where I wonder if she hasn’t fallen asleep.
“Bohnes, why did Megan Face and Tommy Tits have that sleeping bag?”
Mm. Of course she’d want to know the answer to that question. I have it, obviously. Before I started work on Chet Jr. Cody Archer, I finished work on them. Didn’t kill either of the idiots; they weren’t worth the dirt I’d bury them in.
But I don’t think either of them will be a problem in the future.
“Because they were paid to find Lemon, and to watch her.”
“But why?” Scarlett grinds out. Only, I’m not going to tell her. This one’s on Ash Kelly.
“Let’s see if your wealthy boy toy tells you the truth first. If he doesn’t, then I will.”
Scarlett turns over to look up at me, and I can see in her eyes that she’s afraid. It’s not death that scares her; it’s not pain; it’s not failure. The only thing that frightens this woman is seeing the ones she cares about get hurt.
It makes me even more determined to protect her.
“I’m not going to like this revelation, am I, Bohnes?”
I can’t control the frown that softens my lips, but I can at least push her onto her back with gentle fingers and climb over her.
“No, darkest love, I don’t think that you will …”
I shed my pants, and she spreads her legs, and for a couple of hours there, the whole world is bliss.
I suppose that’s where the phrase calm before the storm was coined. Not on a ship at sea, but in the arms of a man’s beloved.
There’s always a spot of clear, blue sky before the lightning strikes.
Scarlett
Someone is pounding at my door and screaming.
I wake up with a start, panting heavily, shaking all over, sore as hell between the thighs. Bohnes is gone as he always is before first light, and my idiot sister has damn near sent me into a panic attack. I’ve had fewer and fewer of them as of late, but they’re not entirely gone.
Waking me from a dead sleep by punching my door and yelling? Not a good look.
