Page 156 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
I stop talking, heading in the direction of Springfield. More specifically, Prescott. Because if Alexei is staying somewhere that Bohnes set up for him, then that’s where his hideout is going to be.
“Is there no way for me to convince you?” Alexei asks, after gathering some of his control back. “I’m all alone, Miss Force. I have nobody else to ask for help. If I go to my family, and they’re involved, they’ll execute me on the spot. The police chief murdered my papa. He was … he was everything to me.”
He works his jaw before turning his gaze out the window.
I’m such a sucker for a fuckboy psycho, I think, gnawing at my lip but knowing that I can’t get myself involved in this mess anymore than I already have. I might not even be able to avenge Evelyn let alone help Alexei. And Aspen Kelly? Well, whatever brought him to the track tonight, I need to figure out and then send him packing.
I’m done with this shit.
Even if Prescott is going to be bulldozed to the ground? Even if Archer Realty and Mayor Kelly want to put a gentleman’s racing club over the top of your track?
Even … even then.
“Is there somewhere I can drop you off?” I ask, and I refuse to look over and see the expression of disappointment on that boy’s face. I can feel it, and that’s more than enough.
“Main Street in Springfield is just fine,” he says, and I end up pulling to a stop in front of the tattoo parlor that takes our fake IDs. They did all my ink for me in there. Alexei hesitates briefly before climbing out, turning to look at me in such a way that my heart skips and jumps, and I know I should never have met his eyes in the first place. “Thank you for entertaining my request today, Scarlett. And I’m sorry that I put you in danger; I’m not thinking clearly.” He pauses again and heaves a huge sigh, hands limp in his lap. “If you ever need anything, feel free to call or text me.”
Alexei climbs out and closes the door behind him, his body shuddering violently at the state of the sidewalk and the homeless dude picking through the trash just a half o’ block down. He starts walking but, even though several people turn to look at him, I’m not worried.
They might think a rich guy in a suit is an easy target—more often than not, he would be—but not Alexei Grove. Not even close.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, but then I find myself just sitting there and realizing that, dumb as this is, I’m going to do it: I’m going to help him. I’m in the middle of rolling my window down so that I can call out to Alexei when my phone rings.
It’s Nisha.
“Yeah?” I ask, watching as Alexei turns a corner and disappears from sight. I’ll go after him in a minute. Then, I need to get in touch with Bohnes and talk this out. Not just the deal with the body, but also the fact that he’s working with Alexei. I need to know his thoughts on this whole thing.
“You missed the race, Scarlett. And Aspen, he’s refusing to accept the fact that he lost. He’s taunting Widow; it’s getting bad. Get your ass over here and deal with this shit.”
“Fuck.”
I’ll have to call Alexei and talk this over later.
I hang up the phone, wait for a break in the traffic, and then head my ass over to the racetrack.
Scarlett
By the time I get there, a crowd has gathered in the parking lot. I storm right through the onlookers who part as easily as the Red motherfucking Sea, and then find myself at the edge of a brutal and bloody fight between Widow and Aspen.
They both have torn clothes, swollen lips, black eyes.
They’re both panting and circling one another.
Widow looks feral, like some sort of wild beast dragged into the city against his will. Aspen, on the other hand, as soon as I look at that horrible smirk on his face or the way his dark eyes shimmer with violence, I feel sick. Absolutely fucking sick.
How did I have sex with this guy? How did I enjoy it? He’s hideous. He’s wrong. Something about him is more than just broken or dark or twisted; it’s clinical.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I demand, my voice booming. The crowd goes silent, and I spot Nisha and Bastian on the opposite side of the makeshift ring, created by the press of students hungry for blood.
Widow turns his attention my way, swiping his arm across his mouth and spitting blood. Aspen, on the other hand, just smiles at me. It’s slimy and sleazy, and it makes my skin crawl. I need to extricate myself from this man and quick.
