Page 4 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
My chest tightens, and I find myself struggling to pull in air.
There’s only one guy at this school who’s ever given me a reaction like that, and his name is Kellin Bohnes. Speaking of … he sweeps past dressed head-to-toe in black and white, as always. He pauses briefly to glance over at me. I turn my head slightly, just barely managing to drag my eyes away from Widow’s powerful gaze.
Bohnes’ ice-blue eyes meet mine, and I grit my teeth. He gives me the barest whisper of a smile before continuing down the hall like a specter, some living shadow that’s barely allowed to call itself human.
I look back at Widow to find that he’s still staring at me. That’s a good sign, right? Maybe I can get ahold of his car more easily than I thought? His gaze is raking slowly over me, taking in my black top, my high-waisted jeans, my red stilettos. I know what I look like: I calculate my appearance to deal maximum damage.
Thick dark lash extensions, sharp brows, my lips naked and clean, my lids free of shadow. I use a bit of blush, but that’s about it. My eyes are a deep brown, my skin flawless, raven hair plaited into a smooth braid and falling just past my ass.
I smile and this guy—Widow—frowns.
I pull my braid over my shoulder, stroking my fingers along the length of it as I make my way over to stand in front of him. He’s wearing a loose white t-shirt that’s splattered with paint, holey jeans, and dark purple Doc Martens that match his damn car. He has a lush, angry mouth and a haunted gaze that’s clearly seen a lot of shit.
I can relate to that; I grew up in the southside.
Prescott is not a kind or forgiving neighborhood.
“Hey,” I say, lifting both brows at him as I let my gaze purposely sweep his body before returning to his face. His eyes are this glorious amber color that pairs well with his hair. It’s this tousled mix of purple, turquoise, and black, a blend of jewel-tones that make his unusual eye color pop even more.
“Hi.” Just that. He curls his lip at me and turns away, looking down the opposite hallway in what’s very clearly a dismissive gesture. Also … his voice. Oh my God. What the fuck is with this man’s voice? It’s a deep timbre that crawls into my head and fucks my eardrums, making my thighs clench together in raw, carnal appreciation.
Yet … he’s dismissing me?
“You’re new here?” I ask, maintaining my careful smile as I hear Bastian curse behind me. He knows I hate to be ignored or dismissed—especially by Prescott boys. Not that this guy Widow looks like a boy at all.
He turns back to me, sweeping the hand with the tattooed spiderweb over his thick moue of a mouth. Shit, I wonder what he tastes like? He smells heavenly, like black plums and ripe apples, like the woods at night when the moon is low. I lick my lips and he notices, exhaling a long breath.
“Yeah, I’m new here. What do you want?”
“Oh fuck,” I hear Nisha murmur as she rejoins our little group in the hallway. Widow lets his golden eyes lift up to her before dropping them back down to me. I’m starting to get pissed, but I can’t let the asshole see that just yet.
I move a little closer, reaching up to touch the side of his face. There’s clear intent in my gaze: I’m going to kiss this motherfucker, reach into his pocket, and steal his keys. His hand comes up too quickly for me to take note of, and his strong fingers are holding my wrist in a punishing grip. A sharp exhale of pain whispers past my lips, even though I try to hide it.
“Let go of me—now,” I grind out just before Widow shoves me back a step. I end up stumbling in my heels, Basti catching my arm. My eyes shift to the side, searching for Bohnes, hoping he didn’t see this whole interaction. If he did then … Well, here’s the thing with Kellin Bohnes: he’s my fuckboy.
This is a new development for us. It’s only happened six times so far, but it’s been nice. Frankly, I’m not sure why I’m concerned about him seeing this at all. He refuses to acknowledge my existence within the confines of Prescott High.
But at the racetrack …
“What the hell is your problem?” I snap, yanking out of Bastian’s grasp and getting up close with Widow. He rises to his full height, staring down at me with an empty facial expression that, despite its relative blankness, gives away an important piece of information.
He’s dangerous, this one.
I’m going to have to watch him.
“Do not touch me,” he says, words that I’ve never heard from a man in all of my life. Don’t touch him? I’m tempted to kick him right in the balls. “Ever. I hate to be touched.”
