Page 27 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
My sister graduated Prescott High three years prior, but she’s as embedded into the dark fabric of this neighborhood just like anyone else. This place, it has claws. Once it gets ahold of you, it doesn’t let go without a fight.
Alexis isn’t able to put up much of one, so it’s going to fall to me.
My grandma is too old and too tired. My mother has—and never had—motivation of any sort. Aunt Anita is broken. My sister is sick …
It’s just me. It’s all up to me.
But I am more than up to the task.
“Everyone knows, but it’s not fair. Why wouldn’t you tell me first?”
I feel my eye twitch, holding back a sigh as I pause to use my lash brush to comb out my extensions. They’re big and full and dark, and they give me this doe-eyed look when paired with my brown eyes that’s total bullshit. All one need do is look at the shape of my mouth.
It’s built for sex and sin; that much is obvious at a single glance.
“Why does everyone care so much about me losing it to Bohnes? I wasn’t going to stay a virgin forever.” I snatch my clutch—I didn’t steal this one, Lemon did and then gifted it to me—and head for my bedroom door.
Alexis doesn’t budge, her eyes glimmering with hurt.
I messed up, didn’t I?
The thing with Bohnes though, it just happened. When it did, it was mine. It was a dark, dirty, heavy, sweaty secret. It was something of mine to keep in the shadows, to hoard in the dark. Now what do I do with it? When everyone will know that my smoke breaks in the woods are much more than that.
And … do I care?
No.
No, I don’t.
Yet, when I look at my sister, I see pain there that has nothing to do with Bohnes and everything to do with the fact that I’m growing up and things are changing. Alexis has a hard time with that sort of thing. She’s only had one boyfriend, and it didn’t go well for her.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Bohnes isn’t my boyfriend, and he won’t ever be. He’s just a fuckboy. Come on.” I gesture with my chin in the direction of the door.
I’ll wash the dishes for my grandma, take my sister shopping … and then I’ll rip the angel wings out of my back and spatter the walls with blood. Demon wings, baby. All I need are demon wings, cute little horns, and a spade-tipped tail.
There’s a reason my car’s nickname is the Devil, after all.
It’s not just about speed. Violence is a thing, too.
Scarlett
The old track has no real name. It used to be called the Prescott Motor Racing Circuit, but none of the students who attend Prescott High now call it that. Once upon a time, there was a campground right off the side of it where our parents and grandparents used to come to make out or fuck, but suburban sprawl has cut right through the woods, edging up on our space.
It’s been getting a lot worse lately. Lots of houses, empty lots, trailer parks, and apartment buildings are being purchased by greedy developers.
Gentrifying the southside is the hottest new ticket to easy money.
Makes me furious as fuck.
“Did you see they just bulldozed the old party house?” I ask Nisha as I step out of Widow’s sexy little Stingray. As soon as I slid into the front seat today, I felt my body go white-hot, heat gathering at the apex of my thighs. Unfortunately, there’s nothing that dampens my sex drive more than the presence of my older sister.
On the way over to the track tonight though … I considered pulling over and rubbing one out, letting myself soak Widow’s pretty seats. After all, I’m not stupid enough to think I can keep this up forever. A guy like Widow? Someone who basically grew up behind bars, he’s scrappy enough to get his car back.
I should leave him a little gift for when the time comes.
A little taste of Scarlett.
“I saw,” Nisha agrees, her signature gold shadow caked on, cheeks dancing with stars in the light of the bonfire. Somebody’s set one up at the edge of the muddy parking lot. It’s been bright and sunny for hours, so it’s drier today than it was yesterday, but as usual, as soon as I step out of the car, my heels are stuck in it.
I’m used to it. Actually, I like it. Fancy, stolen high heels and the slick kiss of mud.
“Where’s Lem?” I ask, looking around as I see Basti lounging on one of the tables on his left side, a gaggle of our girls gathered around him. I shift my gaze over to Nisha as soon as I realize that she’s gone silent and still.
