“Shit,” Aspen grinds out through gritted teeth, watching as Bohnes very casually offers me my phone. I take it from him, shivering at the ice-cold touch of his fingers before he pulls away again. He slips a knife out from the pocket of the white hoodie that he’s wearing and then moves up to Aspen’s front tire.
Without a word, he stabs the blade into it, the air escaping in a hiss.
Neither Aspen nor I move. It feels too dangerous to. No, we’re both more than well-aware that it’s better to sit still and let this happen than to fight it. Unless, that is, we’re willing to take it all the way.
Bohnes has a mission in mind, and he’s going to accomplish it. He walks around and systemically stabs all four tires with his knife before slipping it away again and coming to a stop about a foot from Aspen’s dark form.
“One time and one time only, eh, Ash Kelly.” Bohnes emphasizes the use of Aspen’s brother’s name before turning to look at me, sitting on the edge of the hood with my wedge shoes propped against the silver and black paint, knees slightly spread, elbows resting against them. “Get up. I’ll give you a ride back to your car, Scarlett Force.”
He takes off and I nibble on my lower lip, debating on whether or not it’s actually safe to climb into that gorgeous black Chevelle with a fuckboy who just watched me crown another fuckboy for the first time ever. Second man I’ve ever slept with, and Bohnes hates that.
“Go. I certainly won’t be bothering to make sure you get home safe,” Aspen quips, his voice darkening and shifting into that awful tone he used the first day I met him, when I was certain he was one of the worst, most awful human beings on the planet. And from someone like me who’s met a shit-ton of them? That’s a lot.
“Fuck you,” I murmur, but I’m not entirely angry. I see what he’s doing, trying to drive a wedge between us. For whatever reason, he really thinks that me sleeping with him puts me in some sort of danger. Why? Because of his family? Because of the situation with my girls? Whatever the reason, I’m not down for playing games.
I stand up, turning to look at him in the dark, wondering if he’ll really be able to do it, to stay away from me after a fuck like that. But Aspen is already turning away, moving around the back of his car so that he can get to the driver’s side door without passing me.
“Goodbye, Ash Kelly,” I say, offering up his preferred name one, last time. The sound of it makes him freeze with his hand on the door, and he shudders, but it doesn’t make him stop altogether.
After a moment, he climbs in and, even as I’m still standing there, slams and locks the door. He can’t go anywhere with four flat tires, but I see that he’s finished with our interaction, our conversation.
“God, I hate rich boys.” I slide my hand over my face and then follow after Bohnes, finding the Chevelle idling like a dark god on the side of the road. I climb in without looking at him, the soft easy tones of some R&B song oozing out of the speakers.
KMZI 66.6, obviously.
The song ends before either of us says a single word and one of the currents hosts—this one uses the alias Wolfman—takes a minute for some local goss rather than starting the next song.
“So, the house I grew up in—which, you know, I recognize by Prescott standards isn’t all that bad—was just bulldozed yesterday along with about, uh, another twelve or so houses just like it. These were good solid homes, brick exteriors, seventies construction. I remember our next-door neighbor having this sort of pristine, almost time capsule-like mid-century modern design inside.”
Bohnes reaches out to change the station, and I grab his wrist, staring at the anatomically correct bone tattoos on the back of his hand and not his face. There’s no denying the charge between us, even with just the smallest amount of contact between my fingertips and his wrist. I can feel his pulse, even and slow despite his obvious anger.
“We needed a neighborhood like that here, with tree-lined streets, all that old ivy neatly trimmed and kept at ground-level. There was a magic to that area, you know? A hope for something better.
We sure as shit didn’t need a slick-ass East Coast turned So Cal mayor like Kelly to sweep in and save us from ourselves. You say you’re putting up affordable housing complexes, huh? Well, a lot of those families in those homes were generational. You, and your best buddy from Archer Realty, are destroying the integrity of this neighborhood and this city one steel and glass monstrosity at a time.
We need opportunities and education in Prescott, not multi-million-dollar development deals under the name of a ‘housing shortage’. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Mayor Kelly. Oh, and get this? His son, Aspen Kelly, total d-bag. We approached him for an interview last week and he spit in my co-host’s face.”
Kellin shoves my hand aside without warning and switches the radio off.
Next thing I know, he’s grabbing my arm and yanking me over to straddle his lap, my spine pressing uncomfortably tight against the steering wheel. He’s hard, too. I can feel him beneath me in a way that’s criminal.
I make myself look into his eyes, this pale gray-blue that’s almost white. A darker ring of sapphire frames his irises, offering up the slimmest circle of contrast between them and the surrounding whites. His pupils, however, are fully dilated at the moment and consuming most of that ethereal color.
“I cannot believe you let Ash Kelly”—Bohnes practically hisses out the name, making it clear that he heard everything—“mount you on the hood of his car like that.”
“Are you jealous?” I query back, cocking my head to one side. I can’t forget the way Bohnes held those perv’s fingers out to me like an offering. It was romantic, yes, but I don’t know how many times I need to say it: I don’t want romance.
It isn’t sex and fuckbuddies and fuckboys that destroy people like Lemon or my mother or my aunt—it’s love and romance. So, I can deal with the sex, but I don’t want anything more than that. I don’t want to fill all the cracks in my psyche with damaged men and watch myself get blown apart from the inside out.
It’s a pretty common fate for a lot of Prescott locals.
More often for women than men, but I have seen my uncle get his life turned upside down by a drug-addicted bitch once.
Bohnes laughs at me, the sound muted and disturbed in the quiet confines of his car. Why did I climb in here with him again? Oh, that’s right. Because I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of anyone.
“Am I jealous? I cut off a man’s fingers for daring to touch you on the dance floor. You think I won’t do worse to the precious, little mayor’s son?” He asks this in a conversational tone which is either extremely worrisome … or extremely encouraging; I’m not sure which to be honest.
“Want to help me kill his brother?” I ask, and that gives Bohnes pause. He peers at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Ash Kelly.”
Now his eyes shift to the side, out the driver’s side window, and he thinks for a long moment.
“I’d love to kill Ash Kelly,” he agrees before flicking them back to my face. “But first …” Bohnes reaches down to unbutton his jeans, freeing his hard cock into the narrow space between our bodies. “I want you to soak my dick the way you definitely didn’t soak his.”
I purse my lips, but my hand is already sliding down to stroke and tease him, my thumb rubbing the pearly drip of pre-cum into his head as he groans and flicks his tongue against the edge of his lips.
“Let’s talk price,” I start, but he just laughs at me and then takes advantage of the fact that, while I put my tits back into my bra, I didn’t button up my shirt. Bohnes yanks the cups down the same way Aspen did, digging his fingers into the soft, round weights as I bite my lower lip and moan.
“No. I won’t talk price with you right now. You already have a debt that needs to be paid.” Bohnes releases my breasts and then pushes me off of him and into the passenger seat before taking his cock into his own hand and making this tight, rapid corkscrew motion with his fist. He watches me kick my wedges off, slip out of
my cigarette pants, and then he turns so that he can stretch his legs out on the bench seat in my direction.
I crawl back into his lap and maneuver over his shaft in the tight space, his back to the driver’s side door, my leg wedged between his big body and the back of the seat. There isn’t a ton of room, but somehow, it makes the whole interaction that much hotter. Like, he can’t wait. He needs to make sure that he’s still got the advantage over Aspen Kelly.
“You know,” he whispers, yanking me roughly against him as I ease down his length with my tight wet pussy, inch by careful inch. “I’d kill Ash Kelly for free.”
And then he’s shoving my hips down so hard that I cry out, curling my hands around his broad shoulders as our pelvises meet with a loud smack. My right hand fumbles out and manages to turn the radio back on. “TRRST” by IC3PEAK and ZillaKami is playing. It’s half in Russian, half in English.
For the briefest of instances, my mind turns to the weird rich guy with the gloves, Alexei, but I quickly forget about him when Bohnes settles his huge, hot hands on my waist, encouraging me to rock against him, my bare tits in his face.
He finds one of the marks that Aspen left and bites right over the top of it, claiming me yet again, even if he has no right to. And damn me for it, but I love it anyway.
This is why I need to be careful with Bohnes.
If he keeps offering me up severed fingers, I might start falling for him.
And that, it’s a very dangerous thing indeed.
It’s a quick dirty fuck that ends with me wrapping my arms around Bohnes’ head and yanking his face into my breasts. The sensation of him biting at and suckling on my nipples very quickly throws me over the edge, and I come, soaking his bare cock just the way he wanted.
He unapologetically finishes inside of me as I rock through my climax, and we sit there joined together for an inordinate amount of time.
Without a word, I push away from Bohnes, and he withdraws his legs from my seat, putting his feet back on the floor in front of him. I yank my pants on, but I’ve probably already dirtied up his seat.
That’s his problem though, am I right?
“Are you going to tell anyone about me and Aspen?” I ask, and something about that question makes him go still. He turns to look at me, his hand on the ignition.
“Oh, no, Scarlett Force,” he breathes out, like some sort of night-dwelling demon. While the rest of his face is carved of shadow, I can see his pale eyes and white hair easily enough. “I think I’ll keep this one to myself—just in case I need leverage against you later.”
And then he’s laughing at me and starting the car, his headlights cutting through the dark, and he takes me back to the track as I stay slumped in the corner, staring at him.
Somehow, I can’t help feeling like I’m being played. Between Bohnes and Aspen and Ash … I’m missing something. And I don’t like to miss things. I bite down on my thumbnail, nibbling at the bright red until we get back to the track.
Neither Bohnes nor I offer up any tearful goodbyes as I climb out and slam the door behind me. Part of me wonders if he might have peeled outta there and sprayed me with mud, but another guy pulls his car out in front of him before slamming on his brakes as he realizes his mistake.
Bohnes lets the slight go this once before rolling past the idiot and cruising down the road as I turn back to see Widow watching me.
He shakes his head at me and scowls, getting into his ‘Vette without a word and taking off after Bohnes. I do not, however, miss the way his eyes take in the dark shape of my bra beneath the still-wet fabric of my white top with the black polka dots.
“Shit.” I rub at my face for a moment, acting as if I don’t see Nisha and Bastian standing on my left, the former with crossed arms, the latter with his hands on his hips. At the very least, coming back with Bohnes has erased any possible suspicions about me fucking Aspen.
Although, I lied by omission to my friends once before when it came to Bohnes. Can I really do it again?
“Well?” Nisha asks, her voice tight with annoyance. “You let Aspen outmaneuver me and take you wherever the fuck he took you. You’re lucky I respected your privacy and didn’t track your damn phone.”
I drop my arm by my side before turning to look at her. Nisha, Basti, and I all have the power to track each other’s phones. Lemon used to be in that rotation, too, but not anymore. She blocked each and every one of us from seeing her location—even Bastian, and she’s not pissed at him the way she is with me.
“Who’s the killer?” Basti grits out through his teeth, making prayer hands at me. He says something in Spanish which, I think, with my limited knowledge, translates to you are a supreme idiot, and if you don’t tell me now, I’m going to slap you. Or … whatever. I only know a minute amount of Spanish because Bastian’s grandmother has been using her native language to shout at the four of us—me, Nisha, Lemon, and her own grandson—since we all started at the crappy preschool together.
“Aspen’s brother—Ash Kelly,” I say, my mouth tightening into a thin line, my voice low enough that sure as shit nobody can hear me over the roar of the track. I give my besties a dark look. “I’m handling it. I don’t want either of you involved.”
“You’re handling it?” Nisha quips as Basti’s brown eyes flick in the direction of the road, as if he can still see Kellin Bohnes. He gets it. “By yourself?”
I give her a look and she closes her eyes in frustration.
“We’re a crew, Scarlett,” she bites out, opening her eyes to glare at me. “You were never meant to handle anything with just Bohnes for backup. I don’t trust him anyway. He’s not all there.”
“Maybe not, but I’d rather put his life at risk than yours. I don’t want you on the mayor’s radar.” I turn and grab for the door of my Pantera when Nisha reaches out to take my wrist.
“Don’t make any moves without at least talking to us about them. I’m not sayin’ we have to be there on the ground with you, Scar, but at least fuckin’ have the decency to have a conversation.”
I nod at that, but it’s a non-committal response at best. I’m not sure that I will. If I have to take my secrets to the grave, I won’t involve Nisha and Bastian in anything to do with the mayor.
“You, and your best buddy from Archer Realty, are destroying the integrity of this neighborhood and this city one steel and glass monstrosity at a time.”
Mayor Kelly. Archer Realty. That reporter, Emma Jean …
“If you tell anyone about this, it puts you at risk. It puts them at risk, too. I won’t allow that.” Aspen’s words to me earlier in the night.
I mull all of that information over as I bite my lip, yank my door open, and hop in.
I think about those things all the way home and well into the night.
Scarlett
I sleep like the fucking dead that night, my body sore and achy in all the best possible ways. The first thing on my mind when I blink myself back to consciousness is Aspen, the way he tastes, the way he smells, the feel of him coming apart and climaxing beneath the cool kiss of the rain.
I did not expect that.
His face unashamedly buried in my pussy, the wild thrusts on the hood of the Mustang, the way he paused with his hand on the door like I’d shot him right through the heart with my last utterance of that name. Ash.
I search myself for regret, but there’s none there.
What a night.
In many ways, it was a victory. I got the information I needed. Ash Kelly. The name of Aspen’s brother. I know now who to look into—and trust me, I will look into him before I make any moves. I’m not stupid enough to go after the mayor’s son without heavy preparation.
Speaking of …
I need to talk to Bohnes again, and more than just a quickie ‘I’ll let you fuck me after Aspen fucked me’ sort of thing. If I’m going to do this, and do it without putting my crew in danger, then I’ll need his help.
It occurs to me that Widow might also be an option, som
e additional backup.
I don’t have to lay my soul on the table, but maybe we could come to some sort of agreement?
That money from Aspen feels tainted somehow, like maybe I shouldn’t use it on myself. Some of it I’ll give to Evelyn’s family. It’s the least that I can do, a pathetic attempt at trying to staunch some of the impossible bleeding the Morenos are going to go through when Evelyn doesn’t come home.
At first, they’ll assume what every Prescott parent wants to assume.
She’s just run away; she’ll come back.
But as the days tick by, it’ll dawn on them with a disturbing sense of sickness, of vertigo, like the world is no longer straight. That they exist in twisted and tilted angles, that reality is forever altered.
They’ll know, like the parents of so many missing teenage girls know, that she is never coming back.
I put my face in my hands for a moment to get myself together, listening to the thump of Alexis’ music through the wall. She listens to KMZI 66.6, too. Everyone does, because I listen to it.
Whatever I do, however I do it, it doesn’t matter. I’m imitated, mimicked, copied. Sometimes, it’s in small ways—like the black and white bracelets I wore every day for a month last year—or sometimes, it’s in big ways, huge ones.
A girl once showed up to Prescott High driving a red Pantera.
No, no. I ignore the small slights because like, to be honest, I don’t follow trends. I make them, and then I move on. Slurp up my leftovers, bitches.
Alexis … is a different story. When I was little, I used to imitate her.
She’s the reason I started listening to that radio station and never quit. Sure, there’s Spotify, there are Podcasts, there’s iTunes, but nothing beats that static-y purr in the morning, the smooth, cool voices of the radio hosts, that deep-down Prescott melancholy mixed with a little dash of sour hope.
Nothin’ like knowing you’re one of a few in your community listening to this shit, that it isn’t available anywhere else, that the hosts—who have never revealed their identities, despite changing several times over the years—will never allow their content to be uploaded.
F*ckboy Psychos Page 27