Page 60 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
“Something wrong with him that can’t be fixed?” Bohnes asks, appearing from the shadows on my left side. I glance over at him, catching sight of his pale eyes, alight with triumph and violence, glowing from the light of the bonfire.
He turns toward me, and the smile he offers looks more like a corpse’s grimace.
“Did you like that, Scarlett Force?” he asks me as I let my gaze shift past him. Widow is gone. He must’ve left right after the race ended. Too bad. I would’ve loved to see his reaction at losing this thing.
It could’ve given away so much. Like, does he give a flying fuck that I’m not an option for him anymore? Does he, as he stated, truly not give a shit at all?
Then again, why on earth would he challenge Bohnes with the sole request of keeping us out of each other’s beds. Why? There’s only one reason there that I can ascertain: he wants me.
I bite my lip as I look back at Bohnes.
“I think you’re an idiot and an asshole,” I say, and Bohnes’ grin gets even bigger, stretching across his sharp mouth like a disease. “You could’ve gotten yourself or Widow—or both of you—killed.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, as if he wouldn’t mind either way.
I glance back at Alexei to find him slipping on a fresh pair of white gloves, panting heavily and then looking at his shoes like they’re dripping with pus and swarming with flies.
“Why did I come here?” he’s murmuring, over and over and over again. Meanwhile, Pete has been set up on a picnic table and one of the girls is ripping his pant leg open with the knife she pulled out of his thigh. There’s some blood but not an excessive amount of it. Pete’ll be just fine.
Alexei takes a handkerchief and raises it to his forehead, dabbing off some of the sweat and then throwing that in the trash can along with everything else.
“You okay there, buddy?” I ask, and the look he throws me, it’s pure venom.
“Leave me alone,” he hisses out, and then he’s climbing back into his car and taking off. Well, he’s rolling off more like, as if trying to minimize the amount of mud on his vehicle.
What a strange character that one is. I’ve seen plenty of weird rich boys in my day, even more weird poor ones, but this guy is certainly one of the most unique.
Also, he officially wins the award for priciest car I’ve ever seen at the track—nearly double the value of the Shelby Cobra which was the prior winner. I’d have appreciated the Miura more if tonight hadn’t been such a twisted clusterfuck. Frankly, I’d put my body up for grabs to race that beauty in exchange for borrowing it for, like, a week.
“I’d offer to drive you to the party, but I know you’d refuse,” Bohnes says as I look back at him, raising both of my brows in his direction. “See you there, Scarlett.”
He moves away and climbs into his Chevelle as I look back to see both Basti and Nisha approaching Lemon. She’s still stuck to Aspen’s side, which is predictable but absurdly annoying.
Pulling in a deep breath, I join my friends, locking eyes with Aspen Kelly first and foremost.
“How are your eyes?” I ask him, smiling prettily. He stares at me for a moment, and then forces a smile that looks cracked at the edges. Not like something well-worn and used, more like something brand-new and shiny that’s being put under a lot of strain. Once again, he’s got those pricey diamond cufflinks on, and he reeks of heavy cologne. “Were you able to get the detergent out easily enough or did it require a hospital visit?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lemon snaps, but Aspen looks down at her with a commanding stare.
“Be quiet,” he snaps, and she shuts her mouth like a well-trained dog.
The entire situation infuriates me to no end.
“What is going on, Lem?” Nisha asks as I reach out and, much as I hate to do this, end up wrapping my fingers in Lemon’s hair and dragging her forward. Aspen doesn’t stand up for her, but Bastian does.
“Scarlett, what are you doing?” he grinds out as I throw our friend to her knees in the mud. When she tries to stand up, I put my foot on her back and shove her the rest of the way to the ground.
“Did you not hear me when I told you to stay out of Prescott?” I ask, my voice calm and level, even as I’m screaming on the inside. It brings me no pleasure to treat my friend this way, but I don’t have great choices here.
Everyone here heard me tell Lemon not to come back until she’d gotten on her knees and apologized. Our world isn’t made up of rainbows and kitty cats, trigger warnings and apologies, second and third chances.
