Page 143 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
As I get dressed, I think about his voice on the phone last night. He did his best to hide it, but something was wrong. Something big.
“I need your help.”
What could a rich boy like that possibly need my help with?
Guess I’ll find out later, won’t I?
I dress in a black-and-white gingham jumpsuit with white heels, slipping white cat eye sunglasses onto my face to fight off the gray glare outside.
“Off we go,” I say, gesturing in the direction on the door with my chin. Bastian, Nisha, and I climb into our cars and take off for a salon buried deep in the center of the Prescott neighborhood. In reality, the ‘salon’ is just some chick’s house that backs up to an old Mexican restaurant. Place looks sketchy as hell, but the food is off-the-charts good for cheap, so there’s always a huge line in the drive-thru.
The cars in it have to actually back up and move out of our way so we can pull into the salon’s parking lot—but only because the majority of them are Prescott brats who recognize my ride. The owner is already waiting at the back door for us. She gestures us into a surprisingly cozy interior with proper chairs and everything.
It might look like a house on the outside, but it presents as a proper salon on the in.
Also, most important of all, the gossip here is top-notch.
“Talk to me,” I say as Basti and Nisha take up the stations on either side of me. They get the salon’s best girls; I get the owner. Have no idea what her real name is, but she goes by Treasure. Kid you not: Treasure. Already, she’s grinning like crazy and taking my hands in hers, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile.
“Oh, Scar, I’ve got some good stuff for you today,” she starts, pausing to click her tongue at the state of my nails. She mumbles something under her breath before grabbing some nail polish remover, cotton balls, and tin foil.
“Keep ‘em short,” I remind her. Long nails make it harder to masturbate, so … not interested. “Matte black on a few, black-and-white checkered pattern on some others. Throw in black flames over red on the rest.”
“Yes, Queen,” Treasure says, wetting her lips and looking up and into my eyes. “I hope you’ve got a few hours because I’ve got some goss.”
“Spill it,” I say, relaxing into the seat and letting Treasure take over my manicure.
It’s gonna cost me big—I pay for both the gossip and the nails here. But it’s worth it. Oh so worth it.
Treasure’s gossip is valuable indeed.
Most of it pertains to Archer Realty, the Borisov Group (which apparently is the name of Alexei’s father’s company), and the motherfucking mayor.
One of the mayor’s aides leaked this disturbing pamphlet that shows the neighborhoods of Prescott and Four Corners transformed into glass and steel skyscrapers, upscale boutiques, and rolling parks—none of which is for the residents of those neighborhoods. Oh no. Nobody who lives here now will be able to afford any of this luxury.
Not only did Treasure tell me about this pamphlet: she told it to me for fifteen hundred bucks.
That Aspen money is burnin’ up quick.
Worst part of it all? The pamphlet shows the old Prescott track transformed into a gentleman’s racing club. I’m not even quite sure what that is, but it sounds equal parts sinister and horrifying.
I tap my freshly done nails on the steering wheel, my stomach in my throat as I pull into the driveway of my house. First thing I notice is the suburban blight on my porch.
“Miss Emma Jean Thompson,” I murmur with a sigh, parking in the garage and checking the time on my phone. I’m supposed to meet Alexei in like, an hour. What the hell does this bitch want now?
I climb out, leaving the garage door open as I come around to the front door and cross my arms over my chest.
“Hello Emma,” I say, and she turns sharply, moving down the steps of the stoop to come over to me.
“Scarlett Motherfucking Force,” she says with a disturbing level of false cheer. Smart-ass. She wants something from me. I take my shades off, folding them up carefully and giving Miss Emma Jean a dark look.
“What do you want, Suburbs?” I ask, and the forced smile on her pretty round face falls right off. “Time is money, and I’ve got plans tonight.”
First, I’ll meet with Alexei. Next, I’ll head to the track. Bohnes might not have been there last night, but I’m sure he’ll show up tonight. If Widow challenges him, I want to be there to see it.
“Is it possible for us to talk in private?” she asks, her gaze scanning the street like she’s nervous about something. I mean, pretty little thing like her? I would be, too. She has a right to be afraid. “We could take a short drive?”
