Page 26 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“Sounds good,” I reply absently, my mind already straying back to the track. Will Aspen Kelly be there tonight? He said next weekend … Either way, I need to be careful around that man. He’s dangerous in a way that I don’t think Bohnes is.
Would Bohnes kill me if he thought he had something to gain from it? Probably. But would he rape me? No, I don’t think so.
Aspen … I grit my teeth, glancing up to realize that both my grandma and my mom are staring at me, likely trying to figure out the meaning behind my tense facial expression. I’m saved by the bell when Alexis storms back out, yanking Anita’s chair from the table and sitting down hard in it.
She lets her dark brown gaze slide over to mine. Other than our eyes, we look nothing alike. My hair hangs in a gentle wave, raven-black and so long that I sometimes sit on it. Alexis has curly brown hair that falls to her shoulders and frizzes into a poof at the slightest opportunity. We have different dads, so our dissimilarities make sense. It’s not just the hair though: it’s her nose, her mouth, the shape of her eyes, everything.
Our youngest brother … I exhale. I try not to think about him. Him, or my cousins. They’re the reason I hate the color red, but also the reason that I try so hard to push back against that pain.
Thus, my red car. My red heels. Red leather pants. Red on the pavement when I beat some bitch’s ass for disrespecting me.
That reminds me …
I pick up my phone to text Lemon. Dark goddess only knows she won’t be the one to message me first. I send over a quick hey, girl, call me and then look back up to see that Alexis is still staring at me.
“Hi,” she says, and I force myself to smile at her.
“Hey,” I reply easily, trying to maintain a pleasant facial expression. It isn’t easy. I don’t often wear pleasant facial expressions. Mostly, sneers or frowns or smirks. But my sister doesn’t deserve any of that.
“Can you take Alexis to the mall for me?” Geneva asks, and I nod.
I’ll take her—in Widow’s car.
Widow.
Adrian.
He’s as fucked-up and weird as Bohnes.
I won’t lie though: I got myself off last night thinking of his web-inked hand stroking his massive dick. The fantasy morphed into Bohnes about halfway through, pounding me against the side of the tree. I loved it, too. I loved having his cum in me while I kicked Aspen’s ass on the track.
See what I mean? There’s something wrong me. I’m as much of a psycho as all the rest of ‘em.
“Scarlett?” Geneva repeats, for what’s probably the fourth or fifth time. I notice that my grandma’s gotten up and left with a stack of dishes in hand. Shit.
“Yeah, I heard ya,” I snap back, rising to my feet and gathering the rest of the dishes to take into the kitchen. “Gram, I’ve got that,” I tell her, scooting into place in front of the sink.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says, and it has such a different ring when she says it. How come old ladies can use nicknames that melt your heart, but when some cocky prick says it, it makes your skin crawl? Aspen’s voice echoes in my head.
“You read my mind, sweetheart.”
Fucking sick.
I vigorously scrub the plate in front of me as Patricia offers me up a pat on my shoulder and moves away to her favorite recliner to rest her feet. I finish up the dishes, put the leftovers away, and head upstairs to change.
I can’t even believe I have to make a stop at the goddamn mall today. My mother forgets sometimes that it isn’t 1999 and fucking nobody wants or needs a mall. Whatever Alexis wants, she can order it online.
I don’t say any of that shit aloud though.
Instead, I suck it up, dress myself in high-waisted black sailor shorts that threaten to crawl right up my ass crack and pair them with a red and white striped top that tucks in. It’s got a nice, low-scooped neck that shows off my massive rack.
Ratchet as fuck and proud.
I’m slipping my feet into black peep-toe Jimmy Choos that I won on the track last week—massive score: these are worth about a thousand bucks—when Alexis moves into the room behind me. She gives me a dark look that I really don’t like. I’m looking at her over my shoulder as she shakes her head at me.
“You slept with Kellin,” she whispers, voice accusatory, and my mouth drops open.
“Does fucking everyone in Prescott know? Jesus.” I adjust my strap and put my foot down, crossing my arms under my breasts. Gossip travels fast around here—particularly when one of your ride-or-die besties runs her mouth off at the goddamn track.
