Page 68 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“You’re too nice,” he whispers to me as Nisha and Bastian maintain their positions as sentries, almost obstinately in the face of the fire in this room. My body suddenly aches and my fingers itch to touch Bohnes.
I’ve never had a guy give me a pervert’s severed fingers before.
It’s my new benchmark for total romance.
“I’m too nice because I gave a guy back his fingers?” I query, not even bothering to hide my surprise. “Really?”
“That’s why you need me to protect you,” he continues, rising to his full height and looking down at me. “You’re too kindhearted.” He chuckles, the sound deep and dark and velvety, and then he’s slipping past me and swiping his crimson fingers on the front of his already bloodied white shirt. “Also, you owe me.” He points at my crotch and smirks. “The panties. I won the race.”
Shit.
He did, didn’t he?
With a small grumble, I slide the panties down, stepping out of them in my heels with one leg and then the other. I pass them over and Bohnes offers me up a grin.
“Many thanks, Force.” He tucks them into his back pocket and then opens the door that leads to the bar, leaving the three of us alone in the semi-darkness of the single bulb.
I turn to look at my friends.
“Oh,” Bastian says, gritting his teeth. You’d think we might be a skosh more upset about the machete thing, but believe it or not, I’ve seen much worse. “Girl, you are fucked.”
“Break this off now before it gets worse,” Nisha says, grabbing my arm the way I might grab Lemon’s. I look from her hand to her face, but I can’t find it in myself to be upset. “Kellin has never been all there, and he’s only getting worse.”
“That guy groped me,” I explain, gesturing loosely in the direction of the door. “He got what was coming to him.” I turn back to Nisha, doing my best to hide the slight smile that’s threatening to crawl across my lips.
“Ay, Dios mío,” Bastian begins, lifting his hands up in prayer. “Please help my friend. She’s as stupid as my other friend when it comes to boys.”
“Severed fingers are not roses and chocolates, Scar,” Nisha continues, but now I’m just grinning and they both know that I’m not displeased.
“Nah, they’re better.” I shrug my shoulders as the two of them exchange knowing looks. “Anyway, don’t worry about me. I’m not Lemon. I’m not looking for Kellin Bohnes to save me from anything. He’s a stiff cock and that’s it.”
“Sure thing, Queen,” Nisha says with a long sigh as I make my way back behind the bar, skirting around my girl and grabbing the bottle of Johnnie Walker by the neck. I bring it to my lips, swigging it as people turn to stare.
Whispers and rumors are already circulating, and even though I can’t see Bohnes from where I’m at, I know where he is based on the way people skitter out of his way. I shouldn’t follow him, but …
I take the bottle with me, heading up the stairs and into the relatively quiet living room area. He’s waiting there, turning to look over his shoulder at me with a horrible sharp-edged smile. He turns away again and moves over to stand in front of the window, staring out at the relatively quiet street in front of us.
“Don’t touch what’s mine, eh?” I ask, pausing beside him. I take another drink of the whiskey. My entire body hurts in the best way. I want him to touch me. Better yet, I want him to grab me, ruck my dress up, and fuck me against the wall.
First, I need to reestablish our boundaries.
Bohnes says nothing, but his mouth twitches slightly.
He reaches up to rub at his face, smearing a bit of blood on the side of his jaw.
“I would’ve ground his fingers up in a garbage disposal,” he says, completely and utterly ignoring my question. “Why give them back?”
“Because if he gets the fingers reattached, his uptight Fuller parents won’t look into the incident nearly as much as they would if he lost them completely.” It’s true. The Fuller neighborhood—where that guy clearly hails from—is full of those overexcited middle-class househusbands and housewives who get their panties in a twist over every little thing.
I don’t want them over here protesting our very existence yet again.
“So practical,” Bohnes purrs, moving away from the window and opening the front door. I have no idea where he’s going, but I follow him anyway. I’m not afraid of him. If I have to, I’ll kill him myself. “Except with me.”
He stops at the bottom of the porch steps and looks up at me.
“Why is that anyway? Why let me pop your cherry, Scarlett Force?”
I cringe at his crudeness, gritting my teeth and debating whether or not I want to hit him over the head with the liquor bottle.
