“Alexei,” a man says, his face ruddy with alcohol, his dirty blond hair just a shade darker than the boy in front of me. Even though the man is clearly older, and slightly overweight, there’s no denying the similarities between them. This must be Daddy Dearest. “Who is this beautiful young lady you’ve brought with you?”
His accent is thick whereas his son doesn’t appear to have any accent at all. Interesting. So Alexei grew up in the States maybe?
“Papa,” Alexei says, inclining his head respectfully. He folds one arm behind his back and uses his other hand to indicate me. “This is Scarlett Force, my date for tonight.”
Just that. Nothing about how he lost a race and had no choice but to bring me. Nothing about me being poor. Nothing disparaging whatsoever. My estimation of this Alexei Grove guy grows by leaps and bounds.
“Scarlett Force,” the man says with a big, happy belly laugh. Oh, I like him already, too. Doesn’t usually happen with entitled rich fucks. Normally, I hate them—and to be honest, most other people in all walks of life—right off the bat. “What a glorious name! It’s a name that’s meant to be in lights, I must say.”
“Funny that, I had the same sentiment just the other night,” I reply with a grin, and then Alexei’s father howls with laughter, and I’m beaming brightly right back at him while Alexei offers up a tight smile in response. How is his dad so animated and he’s so … closed-off and paranoid? What the hell happened?
“Scarlett Force, this is my father, Pavel Borisov.” Alexei once again inclines his head, his eyes going wide when his father claps him good-naturedly on the back. Alexei grits his teeth, and I can see that he’s struggling a bit to control his breathing, but he doesn’t remark on the move.
“Sorry, son, sorry. I’m so sorry.” Pavel turns to me, gesturing wildly with a glass of what I think is vodka. Not tryin’ to apply stereotypes or nothin’, but that looks to be what it is. “Alexei lost his mother a few years ago, and ever since then he’s been obsessed with germs and bacteria and whatnot.”
Alexei’s nostrils flare as he gives his father a dark look.
“Please resist spilling our family history to people that I barely know,” he chastises, but his dad ignores him, draining his drink, and then turning and loudly bellowing for a waiter to bring him more.
Something about the commotion seems to have drawn Aspen and Lemon’s attention. The crowd parts, and then there they both are, standing at my right elbow.
Shit.
I grab another drink from a passing tray so that I have something to do with my shaking hand. Alexei notices, his gaze switching from me to Aspen.
“What are you doing at my party?” Lemon grinds out, and her skin—which is now a faux tanning bed orange instead of her usual white girl white—is turning red as she glares daggers at me. I just stare back at her and raise both brows as I smile, lifting my glass in salute.
“Congratulations, sweetie. When you told me that Aspen was big-time, I didn’t believe you. Still don’t, but you know, congrats anyway.”
For his part, Aspen plays the role of bored, disinterested fiancé quite well. His mouth is turned down in a slight frown, his gaze scanning the crowd like he’s already finished with this conversation. When he looks back at me and our eyes meet, I feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
I take another sip of my drink as Lemon clings to her man’s arm like I came here with the sole purpose of carting him off. You know what, little girl, you can have ‘im.
Even if his cock was thick and long and filled you up so good, and his mouth on your tits made you want to sell your soul for just another moment naked in the rain with him? Even then, Scarlett?
Even then.
“You were not invited,” Lemon snaps, letting her rage get the better of her, the way she’s always done. “Specifically.”
“Yeah, what the hell is that about?” I ask, lifting my glass in her direction with a tattooed hand. I know what I look like tonight: intimidating as hell. My hair is wavy and glossy, hanging in a thick raven sheet down my back, a frame for my curvy body and flawless skin, my little black dress, my fabulously outrageous shoes with the embroidered rose and vine detail on the heels. “I mean, I guess I could understand why you wouldn’t want me here, but Basti? Come on, Lem. He’s heartbroken.”
She doesn’t even have the guts to look chagrined the way she should.
How dare she hurt Bastian the way she did? Me, I understand. I’m a lot to deal with and I very freely call her out on her shit. But Basti? Poor Basti.
“I didn’t invite Bastian because I knew that you’d probably come as his plus-one or something. But, like, seriously, how are you even here right now?”
I let my lips twist into a crooked smile.
“Scarlett is my date,” Alexei offers, jumping in when he certainly doesn’t have to. I don’t need to be defended by anyone, but I enjoy a bit of chivalry, too. Oh, I think I might be getting a crush on this guy and his highborn face. He lifts his chin up and tilts his head slightly to one side as Aspen meets his eyes and smirks in response.
“Couldn’t stay away from that cheap Prescott pussy, eh?” Aspen murmurs, just loudly enough that only the four of us can hear. Based on Pavel’s reaction, I’m almost certain that he doesn’t.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she, Aspen?” Pavel asks, barely keeping up with the conversation, drunk as he is. He sloshes his drink on the floor again as he gestures at me, and I stand there with my fingers squeezing the thin, delicate stem of the champagne flute.
Cheap Prescott pussy.
My temper threatens to get the better of me, and I do my best to drown it with the champagne, chugging the entire glass in a single gulp. Fuck, I want to kill him. I want to kill him and exonerate myself.
How fucking dare he reduce what happened between us to something so … trashy? So sleazy? His eyes find mine, glimmering like an oil slick, and he sweeps them over my body with a crude run of his tongue across his lower lip. Lem notices and makes this small sound of protest that Aspen ignores entirely.
Mad as I am at Lem, stupid as I think she is, I can’t handle watching him treat my friend like that.
“Oh, I’m not sure ‘beautiful’ is the right word,” Aspen cajoles, smiling in such a way that the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Fuckable, surely. Big tits on display, a mouth built for cocks, a dress that’s easily lifted up for a quick—”
It’s a mistake. I know that before I even do it, snatching Pavel’s drink from his hand and chucking the contents into Aspen's face. Lemon lets out a small shriek, but I swear to God, in that split-second, I see Alexei smiling. I hand the empty glass back to a very confused Pavel, so I can free my right hand.
I throw a hard punch that clocks Aspen directly in the throat. He goes stumbling back, clutching at his neck and choking. Best place to hit someone without drawing blood. Pretty brilliant, right? Also, it fucking hurts. He wraps his fingers around his throat and lifts those dark eyes up to mine. There’s nothing but rage and hatred burning there, no sign that we had any connection whatsoever.
“Cheap-ass whore,” Aspen croaks out, and then he’s coming at me, but before I can retaliate further, Alexei steps in between us. He grabs Aspen’s wrist in one of his gloved hands and halts what I think was intended to be a violent backhand across my face.
Not that I would’ve let Aspen hit me, but oh.
Hello Alexei Grove.
“You’re ruining my party!” Lemon cries at me, grabbing onto Aspen. He tenses up and scowls at me, but he doesn’t throw her off. Only because so many people are watching, I believe.
“Oh no! He choked on his champagne!” I gasp, overacting like crazy and not caring. Pavel blinks his green eyes confusedly, looking between me and Aspen, and then, because he’s drunk as hell and also a really nice guy, he backs me up.
“Get the boy a napkin and some water,” he bellows, and people rush to obey. I get the idea that Alexei and his father are sort of big deals around h
ere. Bigger than the Kellys maybe? Or just richer? I’m not quite sure, but when Alexei deigns to release Aspen from his grip, the latter scowls and clutches his arm against his chest.
But he doesn’t make any other moves to come for me. That, and he doesn’t throw us out the way I thought he would.
“Refrain from laying your hands on my date,” Alexei warns him, and then this all-over shudder takes over his body and he’s turning away, pulling his white glove off finger by finger. “Come with me,” he growls as he passes by me. He turns to his father next. “I’m going to call the driver around and send you home. You’re plastered, Papa.”
“I’m just fine,” he slurs, but he clearly isn’t. Alexei sighs and closes his eyes, pulling the glove off and moving over to the nearest waiter with an empty tray. He dumps the glove onto it and then removes the other, tossing it atop the first.
“Dispose of those,” he commands, and the man inclines his head before scurrying off. Alexei pulls what look to be antiseptic wipes from his pocket, tearing open the packages and meticulously cleaning his fingers as I let my gaze slide back over to Aspen and Lemon.
They’re both still staring at me, and Aspen is murmuring something to her under his breath. His glare is damn near painful. Not just because I fucked him, but because I can see that we’re not done with this yet.
He’s going to come after me for that little stunt.
I can see it right now, in the glint of his oily eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I turn back to Alexei, his teeth gritted as he frantically scrubs at his hands, gesturing for another waiter to approach with an empty tray. Do they not have trash cans around here? A quick glance around doesn’t reveal a single one.
Wow.
Rich people suck. Can’t even throw their own trash away, now can they?
Alexei dumps the wipes along with their packaging, and I offer up my empty champagne glass. Next, my date removes a travel size hand sanitizer. He soaks his hands in it, teeth still gritted in disgust, shakes them dry, and then pulls a fresh pair of white gloves from his jacket pocket.
When I look back at Lem and Aspen, I see that they’re gone.
That didn’t go how I was hoping. Not only did I not get to spend a single second alone with Lem, I made things worse. It’s like, even if you know someone you love is in a toxic, harmful relationship, if you try to pull them away, all it does is push them closer.
You cannot save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
Lemon … clearly doesn’t want to be saved, but how can I just let her stay here and be used?
“Hey Alexei,” I say, as soon as his gloves are back on, and he looks marginally less panicked. He shifts his green eyes over to me, and I shiver. Damn. He’s fine. So fucking fine. I can only imagine what that pretty face might look like while he comes, if he’ll turn feral in bed, if I could wake up his base instincts. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re very welcome,” he offers up, studying me and then letting his gaze drift back over to where Lemon and Aspen were. They’re gone now, disappeared into the thick, luxe crowd. “For what he said, I would’ve done worse. You were kind enough not to ruin his suit with blood.”
“Didn’t want to get you thrown out,” I say with a slight half-smile, wishing that I was a lightweight drunk like Lemon so that three flutes of champagne would do literally anything to calm my nerves or my anger.
That causes Alexei to laugh, this low, confident chuckle that’s surprisingly devoid of arrogance. I mean, he’s hot, fit, rich, drives a Bugatti, and he isn’t an arrogant twatwaffle? Don’t get me wrong: he’s weird as hell, but hey, we all got issues.
“As if he could,” Alexei remarks with another sigh, this one apparently directed at his father. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, Miss Force.”
He slides his phone from his pocket and makes a quick call.
“I need you to come in here and pick him up.” A pause as Alexei looks back at his dad again. Pavel’s patting some guy in a fancy suit on the back and guffawing over whatever he’s just said. The other man does not look amused. He’s tall and broad shouldered, but with this commercial sort of look, like everything from his hair to his nose to his mouth is manufactured. “Take him straight home; he’s belligerent at this point. Thank you, Adam.”
Alexei hangs up his phone, following my gaze to the Ken doll guy.
“CEO of Archery Realty Investments,” he explains, and I shift my attention back to his face.
“You’re very free with all of this information. You could charge for it, you know.”
“And I would do that why? I have plenty of money.” Alexei puts his phone back in his slacks and then tucks his right hand into the opposite pocket. “You clearly dislike these people as much as I do. If you use this information for nefarious purposes, it would only be a blessing for me.” He turns away briefly, watching as a man makes his way straight over to Pavel and carefully disentangles him from the Archer guy.
The way the man scowls and swipes at his suit arm after Mr. Borisov stumbles away makes me want to throat punch him, too. It’s not like how Alexei wipes himself down, upset at microbes in a way that’s understandable even if it’s unreasonable. That guy, the Ken doll, he looks … contemptuous, as if he thinks he’s so far superior to Alexei’s dad that the thought of being touched by him taints his perfect image.
Hmm.
“There’s food here, if you’re interested. It’s expensive and pretentious and entirely overblown, but I do believe that it’s of relatively good quality.” Alexei turns in the direction of the far wall and, if I peer between the strange half-walls that dot the floor, all of them covered with more hideous art, I can see the barest hint of some sort of fancy buffet.
“You gonna eat any of it?” I ask, and Alexei visibly shudders again.
It hits me yet again what a big damn deal it was for him to grab Aspen’s wrist for me like that.
“Certainly not.”
He takes off, but not before holding out his hand to indicate I should follow. I keep stride with him, and we pause before the glimmering display of wealth.
There are chocolate covered strawberries decorated with gold leaf, charcuterie boards, olive tapenade, shiny piles of what I think is caviar, meat skewers with mint, little shrimp tart things, bruschetta, fruit and cheese boards, and even oysters.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, snatching up a plate and unashamedly piling it high with goodies. Alexei looks on, bemused but also simultaneously disgusted, his hands twisted together behind his back, as if to make double sure that he doesn’t accidentally touch anything. “My family went through a few hard years when we didn’t have enough food to eat,” I explain, and Alexei’s expression shifts accordingly.
He seems sympathetic but also confused.
“Not enough food?” he asks, and I nod, taking one of those pretty strawberries and biting into it. Alexei’s eyes drop to my mouth in longing. I can’t tell if it’s the strawberry he’s lusting after or my mouth, but when a bit of juice runs down my chin, he jerks his head away and nods with his chin to indicate a stack of rolled cloth napkins.
I snatch one up and dab at my mouth.
“We got shit from the local food pantry, but people always donate useless crap. They donate Hamburger Helper, but no hamburger to put in it. They donate boxes of mac ‘n’ cheese but no butter or milk to make it with. Without cooking oil or salt and pepper, it’s even more difficult to make anything palatable.” I scratch at my temple and then shrug, digging back into my food. Not gonna waste expensive five-star shit. I’m here so I might as well eat.
“That’s … disturbing,” Alexei comments, looking at the huge table of food that hardly anyone is eating. “I imagine most of this gets dumped at the end of the night.”
“I’m sure that it does,” I reply with a slight growl in my voice. I bite into another strawberry and his eyes find it again, that glimmer in his gaze saying that maybe he likes both things: my mouth and the ripe fruit.
“Anyway, I didn’t come here just to eat. I want to meet Aspen’s brother.”
“Ash?” Alexei queries in surprise, frowning and then shaking his head. “I’ve never met Ash Kelly in person. If he comes to these events, it’s incognito. He’s unhinged. His family is ashamed of him. He’s a violent person with numerous mental health issues. Mayor Kelly wouldn’t want him to make a scene tonight.”
I frown at that, turning to look at the crowd and wondering which one of them—if any—could be Ash Kelly.
Then Aspen waltzes by again and something strange catches my attention.
His hand. His right hand. The one that was bandaged when I saw him last week. As he passes by, I can clearly see that there’s no bandage in sight. And, earlier, when I was talking to him and he was gesturing, I didn’t even see the hint of a scar on his palm.
Cold chills take over me as I look back at Alexei.
“How, uh, close in age are the Kelly boys?” I query, and Alexei lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug.
“I have no idea. I’ve heard that Ash is the younger of the two, but I don’t know by how much.”
“So … it wasn’t a multiple birth sort of situation?” I continue, certain that I’m going crazy. I mean, I must be right? Because if Aspen and Ash were twins, I’d have heard about it. Surely, I’d have heard about it …
But could he have healed from the point of wearing a bandage to having flawless skin in just a week?
“Multiple birth? Like twins?” Alexei frowns and then shakes his head slightly. “I wouldn’t know, Miss Force.”
“No worries,” I say, forcing a smile and tasting one of the meat-mint skewer things. It’s damn good, like melt in your mouth good. “You sure you don’t want any of this? It’s fantastic.”
“It was sitting in the open air with people breathing and coughing and sneezing in the same room. No thank you.” He shivers again, and I shrug.
F*ckboy Psychos Page 33