Page 28 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“What do you mean where’s Lem?” she asks me, her voice tight with worry. “I just assumed you two made up today like you always do?”
My heart drops as I lift my phone up for emphasis.
“She hasn’t called or texted me, and I haven’t seen her post anything since yesterday.” Let’s just say that my friend is addicted to social media; she usually posts a dozen or more times a day across all platforms. If she didn’t come back then … the last time we saw her, she was with Aspen Kelly.
The final words I spoke to her ring in my head like a death knell.
“If you get in that car, we will never see you again. Give me the fucking keys, Lemon. You’re a waste of life.”
My gaze scans the gathered crowd. All the usual suspects are here—Kellin Bohnes included. He notices me, offering up the barest kiss of a smile on his awful mouth before turning away again. As soon as he stands up from his spot, leaning back against his car, and takes off for the trees, I know he expects me to follow.
Chicks over dicks, my friend. I don’t bother to call out to him or explain things; I shouldn’t have to. That’s what a fuckboy is all about, after all. I dial up Lemon’s number, pacing a small rut in the mud and cursing under my breath as Basti finally deigns to get up from his throne and makes his way over to us.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dark and strained. He can be a lot of fun—and most times, he’s pretty chill—but when things get serious, he buckles down quick. “Where’s Lem?”
As soon as Basti asks that question, and sees the look on my face, he knows. He starts cursing in that signature way of his—a lot of fuck your cock, fuck your clit, not sure whose cock or clit but it’s a Basti thing—and then his phone is out and he’s leaving her a scathing voicemail.
“Girl, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll call me back right goddamn now.” Basti hangs up and then starts sending out rapid-fire messages to his network of female friends. Me and my girls—and Basti, the only penis allowed in our crew—mostly stay away from the boys of Prescott.
To be honest, our school could use a dominant male on campus. Bohnes has the personality for it, but clearly no interest. Widow … again, he’s got the clout and the backbone to back it up—I can’t tell ya how few people would ever have the balls to put a knife to my throat—but he seems like a bit of a loner.
There’s not a single other soul enrolled in that shithole who could handle it.
I pause at the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot. I’m here every Friday and Saturday night. Have been for years. Sometimes we come by during the week, too, just to drive, just to roll the windows down and feel the wind in our hair, to practice, to purposefully spray each other’s cars with mud.
I recognize the sound of most of the cars that frequent this track. I have a good mind for it, too. Cars. Like, I know the distinct whisper or cadence of a specific engine, the roll of this car or that car’s tires on the dirt road that leads to the track.
It’s the Shelby Cobra.
I whip around, my heart in my throat, my knife somehow in my hand. I’m not even sure how it got there. As I said, I have a bit of a temper. I try to be even-keeled, and I know I make good decisions … most of the time … but when I’m mad, I’m fucking furious.
No sooner has Aspen Kelly stepped out of his car than I’m on his ass, the knife pressed to his carotid. If he hurt Lemon, if I can’t find Lemon … I will kill him. I’ll try to do it in such a way that I don’t get caught, but it’d be worth it to me.
This world is made of monsters. It’s run by monsters. The kind and the sweet and the generous are stomped on and crushed and ground to dust by monsters. What the world really needs are monsters with hearts—be they black or cracked or drenched in shadows.
So I will kill predators and I will kill pedophiles and I will kill murderers, and I won’t lose a wink of sleep about it. I’ve done it before—more than once.
Everyone here knows it.
It’s why the music stops, the talking stops, the idling cars get their engines shut down until the only sound is my breathing and Aspen’s surprised—but somehow, pleased—inhale.
“Well hello there, Scarlett Force,” he says, and I hate how fucking excited he sounds at the sight of me. I want to kill him so badly in that moment. I end up leaning in and pushing the blade to his skin enough that a single drop of crimson appears.
