Page 146 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“I’m worried about your friend.” Emma Jean sighs and reaches up to scratch at her hair again. I don’t think she even has an itch; it’s just a nervous habit.
“Me, too, Miss Emma Jean. Me, fucking, too.”
I take her back to the house and park in the garage, closing the door behind us.
“Alright, girl, you’ve caught my interest.” I hand her my phone without looking at her. “Put your number in there, and we can find another time to talk.”
“Thank you,” she says, clutching my phone to her chest like it’s precious. “You won’t regret this, Scarlett. Not at all. I’ll make it worth your while. If we work together, we can get to the bottom of this. Maybe we can even get your friend, Lucy Hall, away from that horrible family.” She adds her number to my phone and passes it back. I don’t offer her my number. Not yet. She can wait for me to call or text her.
“Do you know about the redevelopment plans for Springfield?” I ask in the sudden silence, turning to look at her. Emma purses her thin, pink lips, and then offers up a nod.
“I do. I know a lot. More than you’d think. With your connections and mine, we could uncover every nefarious thing that’s going on in this city. Think about it, okay?” She opens the door and climbs out, and I follow her.
The garage connects to the house through a door in the living room. I start for it with Emma just behind me and then pause.
Nobody should be home right now and yet … there’s just this feeling you get when somebody is in a house with you, this prickle on the back of the neck.
I put my arm out to block Emma Jean from taking another step. Lifting a single finger to my lips, I remove my knife from my pocket and flick the blade out. I should’ve taken the Glock with me, damn it.
Kicking off my heels, I creep up the few steps toward the door, wetting my lips before I reach for the knob. Wouldn’t want to actually stab my mom or sister or something. Pretty damn sure that it isn’t them or anyone else in my social circle inside though. There’s a certain sense of menace in the air that has me on edge.
Nefarious intentions, I can smell them. Growing up in the southside, there are two choices: learn to sniff out trouble or have trouble sniff out you.
If I came here to hurt someone, where would I hide?
I gesture for Emma to move further back into the garage, and then I kick the door in.
A man immediately lunges forward, temporarily disoriented by the fact that there’s nobody standing there. He’s dressed all in black, and I can tell right away that he isn’t anyone that I recognize.
Emma screams and clamps a hand over her mouth as I throw myself forward, blade out, and bury it right in the guy’s stomach. He grunts, shoving me back hard enough that I hit the wall with a sharp exhale of breath. He throws a punch at me that I avoid by dropping low, knocking my body into his legs so that he stumbles a bit, off-balance just long enough that I can get to my feet.
The man reaches for a gun on his belt, but I’m already on him again, swinging the knife at his chest. The blade buries itself in his body, and he snarls, reaching up to grab at my arms. We struggle for control of the knife as Emma Jean sprints up the steps and into the house. She heads straight for the kitchen as the guy and I grapple with one another, blood slicking our hands.
I can’t let him get that gun.
No way am I getting shot in my own home, not today, my friend.
He throws me off and I slam into the side table next to the couch, snatching up my grandma’s favorite lamp and throwing it at the guy. It shatters against his raised forearms as he moves to block it. Shit, Gram’s gonna be furious about that.
Without thinking too hard about it, I throw the knife at him, and then charge. Using my full bodyweight, I slam into his stomach. He stumbles and falls back, bleeding profusely across the hardwood floor. How I’m going to get all of this cleaned up before my family gets home, I have no idea.
The goon keeps going for his gun, but I grab onto his arm and bite him hard on the wrist, making him howl. Emma Jean appears from the kitchen with a new knife in hand, but then she just stands there, wide-eyed and shaking.
“Stab him!” I scream at her, but she just panics and sort of thrusts the knife in my direction. I snatch it off the floor before my attacker can get ahold of it, and then, without really thinking things through, I slam the blade down into his chest.
