Page 36 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Leadership always comes at a sturdy cost; I didn’t achieve this level of notoriety by being nice.
Speaking of, when I showed up this morning and found Widow parked in my spot again, I called in a favor from a local female tow truck driver. She used to attend Prescott, and she helps us out every now and again for small favors or petty cash.
I had that fucker’s car towed five blocks down and dropped off in front of the empty elementary school. Bitch.
Widow finds me later, his quiet rage a storm that I won’t allow myself to be caught in. I stay with my girls, and he maintains a careful distance. If he approaches me when I’m with my crew, he’ll find his ass in a similar situation to Guy Mallory, the kid who thought he’d offer up bets at the track that he couldn’t repay.
First time he reneged, it was a blow job he’d offered up to another guy. Second time, it was three hundred bucks in cash. He took off in his car after losing the race, and when he came to school the following week, several students held him down and ran his hand over with one of their cars.
He ended up having to get it amputated. Pretty fucked-up, huh? My crew and I weren’t a part of that stunt, but the results were the same: don’t offer up currency that you can’t pay. Everyone who attends this school knows the price of a lie: lies from their parents, from administrators, from the world at large.
Last thing any of us needs is another silver-tongued liar in our midst.
“Did you ever find the time to meet up with Guy?” I ask Widow, sitting on the front steps with my girls spread around me like my own personal harem. I’m even stroking the hair of one of the freshman girls who’s curled up near my feet. I don’t mind showing affection when it’s warranted.
“This is how you’re going to deal with me, is it?” Widow asks, his voice a hissing whisper as he studies me from a safe distance. “Surround yourself with bodyguards because you’re too much of a bitch to face the consequences of your own actions?”
“I told you not to park in my space,” I warn him, rising to my feet and turning to face him dead-on. “Last time, I stole your car. This time, I had it towed. You’re lucky, too, that my girl was busy. We could’ve had it impounded, but instead, it’s just a short, easy walk away. Next time, I’ll have it crushed into a pretty purple cube that you can collect from the junkyard.”
Widow’s mouth curls up at the edge, like he might sneer at me, but he crushes the emotion down as I meet his eyes, unwilling to budge from my position. Fuck, I hope he comes at me today, so that I can kick his ass to kingdom come.
I’m angry, and I’m edgy, and I’m upset about Lemon.
Bastian’s mad at me, too. Nisha is as well, but not the crying/screaming/raging sort of angry that Basti is, a deeper, more visceral sort of mad. Not just about Lemon, I don’t think, but about the way I’m handling Widow, about how I lied about sleeping with Bohnes. All of it.
“I will park there every fucking day if I damn well please,” Widow tells me instead, and I laugh. The way he keeps his cool scares me a little. Then I think about his cum dirtying up the inside of my car, and I grin.
“Yeah? You sure you don’t want to borrow my car again so you can whack off in the front seat?” I query, but he doesn’t give me anything in response. Instead, he licks his lip and turns away, pounding down the steps and heading in the direction of the Stingray.
I should’ve rubbed one out, left some of my own juice in his car. The bastard. I watch him go, aware that we’re nowhere near to ironing out our issues. If Widow can find me alone, I’ll be in trouble.
Nisha finally emerges from inside the building, pushing past the glass doors with a sharp frown creasing her mouth, Basti on her heels. Jennifer is just behind them, her face swollen and bloodied up from having the shit kicked out of her last night.
I didn’t do any damage myself—it’s best if the boss stays out of simple disciplinary actions—but I had my girls put her in her place and punish her for leading Widow to our hiding place at the lumberyard.
Jennifer keeps her head down and doesn’t look at me. Good for her. It’s best if she stays out of my way for a while.
“Do not engage with Widow,” Nisha warns me, but I’m already turning away and she’s grabbing my arm, her long, gold nails digging into my skin. “Scarlett, I mean it. He’s dangerous as hell. He killed his uncle—for whatever reason—and he’s been locked up for years. He isn’t mentally stable.”
