Page 34 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Even they stop.
For a split-second, the world is on pause. And then Widow’s arm is coming up and slamming into Aspen’s. The gun goes flying into the mud, and then both boys are on their backs in the slick of it.
First, Widow’s on top. Then Aspen. They’re spinning as fast and hard as the Stingray did when my Pantera dropped from the sky like a fallen angel. I cross my arms under my breasts, content to watch the idiocy play out from here.
Whatever happens between the two of them is not my problem. After a moment, I walk over to pick up the handgun from the ground, glad that I’m wearing my driving gloves so as not to leave any fingerprints. Who the fuck knows where this thing has been and what it’s been used for?
I hold the weapon with two hands, aiming for the large dirt mound that Widow used to jump the track. I fire off a round. Then another, another. And then I swing the gun over to point at the two men.
I won’t kill either of them. That wouldn’t go down well, with so many witnesses. But I could shoot Widow in the thigh. He’d deserve it. Shit, Aspen, too.
They pause in their fight, pushing away from one another and climbing to their feet, both of them covered in mud and blood and panting like crazy.
“You’re damn lucky, Widow,” I tell him, keeping the gun pointed between the pair of them. I could switch it to one or the other with no problem. I’ve been taught how to handle a weapon like this since I was ten. It’s necessary, growing up in the Prescott neighborhood. “We allow one—and only one—mistake at the track. If you ever disobey the rules here, you’ll face the consequences.”
“Which are?” he huffs out, spitting blood into the mud as he stares at me from gold eyes turned bronze with quiet rage. I need to watch myself with this one. As dangerous as Bohnes seems, as disturbing as Aspen is, it’s Widow that scares me the most.
A man with nothing to lose. A man whose spirit was broken a long, long time ago.
“For a stunt similar to the one you just pulled? If I were you, I’d go find Guy Mallory, ask him what happens.” I start to lower the weapon, lifting it up again at the last second and firing off the last few rounds. Once it’s empty, I offer it up to Aspen.
His ebon eyes meet mine, shimmering with fury.
“A lesser man might suggest you had this piece of white trash wait on the sidelines for this express purpose.” Aspen yanks the weapon from my hand, and I find myself insanely grateful that I emptied the magazine.
I was losing this race, no doubt about that.
It infuriates me. I can feel that wild rage inside of me—the same emotion that’s gotten me into trouble on so many occasions before—writhing, screaming, frothing like white rapids around rocks.
“A lesser man, perhaps,” I agree, forcing a smile that stretches my angry mouth in painful ways. “But not you, Aspen Kelly.” I turn to Nisha and Basti as they finally appear around the rear of my Pantera.
Much to my surprise, Lemon is with them.
My eyes widen at the sight of her, panting, her legs sunk halfway up her calves in mud.
“Lem,” I breathe as she bites her lip like she’s ashamed. She should be. She fucking better be.
“I’m sorry, Scarlett,” she says, but I ignore her, my attention moving over to Aspen. He’s smiling at me, but it’s a far worse expression than the frown he was just wearing.
“A lesser man,” he says, and I know what he’s thinking, that Lem showed up here and my friends gave Widow some sort of signal to interrupt the race. It makes sense, all things considered but for one thing: Widow has no motivation, desire, or want to show me a favor.
It’s his ass on the line, not mine.
Aspen turns and heads in the direction of the Cobra as I look back at Widow.
“If you ever touch my car again, I’ll kill you,” he says, but the sentiment just makes me laugh.
“You can go ahead and try,” I offer up, keeping that awful smile on my own face as he makes his way back to the Stingray. He starts the engine, and then off he goes, rolling through the mud past us before blasting up the drive that leads to the parking lot and back to the street.
I can hear the engine roaring for a full minute before I turn back to Lem.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss at her as I feel the intensity of the crowd wane. People break away grumbling, drifting back to the bonfire or setting new rules for the next race.
