She did it, too, without complaint. At least now I have something to blackmail her with so that she’ll keep her mouth shut. We’ll figure out what, exactly, needs to be done about this situation with the mayor later, after we’ve both had a day or two to process.
As I thought, I’m going to have to bring Bohnes into this regardless, whether he asks me for my hand in marriage or whatever the fuck else. Wouldn’t be so bad anyway. I mean, I’m just saying that I wouldn’t totally hate it.
“They came to a private agreement, Scar. I don’t know the details, but what I do know is this: that fight was about you, this race is about you, and I think they damn near woulda killed each other if we hadn’t intervened in the fight.” Nisha pauses for a moment, like she’s considering her words carefully. “Is there something going on between you and Aspen Kelly? Don’t lie to me, Scarlett. I’ll know if you do.”
I purse my lips and then sigh. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have agreed to keep that night a secret from my friends. I shouldn’t have agreed to it at all, to be frank.
“Not anymore,” I promise, and Nisha groans.
“Well, whatever it is that you’re up to, get your ass down here quick. I want you here when that race ends, just in case.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise, a raw, empty feeling in my gut. Not only did I kill a guy today, but now Aspen Kelly is back and fighting with one of my possible fuckboys over me? It makes no sense. He was so damn serious when he told me off last night. “Call me if anything else comes up.”
“Yes, Queen.”
She hangs up, and I gun it, heading to the country club, of all places, to meet Alexei Grove.
I can’t help but wonder if the rich assholes will even let me in the door.
I yank my shirt back on and then use some of the disposable wipes from my bag—I originally bought these to clean Bohnes’ cum up after our quickies—to scrub the dirt from my hands.
Can’t fix my fucked-up manicure but oh well. I’ll just have to pay Treasure another visit.
I park Bohnes’ Chevelle at the back of the lot, near the exit. It’s a Prescott thing.
And then I yank the rearview toward me and do my best to smooth the stray strands of hair around my face into some semblance of presentable. Eh, good enough. Even without perfect hair and makeup, I’m hotter than every other bitch in there. At least I know how to plan ahead: I packed deodorant, a red pencil skirt, and perfume.
A quick cleanse of the pits with the wipes, a dab of deodorant, and a spritz of the fragrance goes a long way. Right there in the front seat, I shimmy out of my jeans and yank the pencil skirt on, slipping a long-sleeved black crepe blouse with a big bow at the neckline over my bikini top.
I step out onto the pavement, tucking the shirt in so the high-waisted skirt sits at the curve of my waist, and then I toss my braid over my shoulder and strut for the front doors of the Oak Park Country Club like I was born to be here.
“Are you a guest or a member?” the man at the door asks, but I don’t get the chance to answer.
Alexei appears behind him and, after a quick glance from the employee, inclines his head. He gestures me in with a pair of white gloves on his hand. He’s wearing another suit, a black one this time, but it doesn’t look nearly as expensive as the one from last night.
“Miss Force,” he says, his green eyes sweeping my outfit with little recognition. No, there’s too much sadness in his gaze for him to appreciate how damn good I look. That scares me a little. What could’ve possibly happened between last night and now? It’s, what, seven-thirty?
“Sorry about being so late,” I say, but Alexei just shakes his head and gestures in the direction of the restaurant with his hand. Everyone here seems to know him, offering slight nods of the head, smiles, or a politely murmured “Mr. Grove”.
“Not a problem at all,” he tells me, his voice so supremely pleasant that I can’t help but squirm a little as I follow him to a table against a wall of windows. There are bright white lights outside, illuminating the rolling sea of green that denotes the golf course. Even at this hour, there are people out there hitting little white balls around and pretending to be important.
How nice for them.
Alexei pulls my chair out for me which is, like, way too cute, and takes a seat across from me. He appears … nervous. More than that, brooding. Pensive. Concerned. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair with one arm banded over his chest, the elbow of the other resting in his palm. He puts his chin in his other hand and looks across the table at me.
“Order anything you like—it’s on me,” he says, and I cock a brow.
“Please tell me you’re going to eat?” I ask as his sea glass green eyes sweep over the restaurant like he expects to be assaulted at any moment. Such a change from last night when, as grossed out as he was, he strutted around the art gallery like he owned it.
“I won’t be eating, but I assure you that I have no problem if you do.”
Huh.
I shrug and accept the menu when the waiter brings it over, ordering a pricey appetizer of bacon-wrapped scallops right off the bat. Not even sure what a scallop is, exactly, other than that it’s seafood, but fuck it. I’ll try anything twice.
“What’s going on, Alexei?” I ask, surprised at how comfortable I feel with this guy despite the fact that we barely know each other. I robbed him at gunpoint once. Watched him stab Pete the Moron in the leg. Blackmailed him into taking me on a date. What help could he possibly need from me? “We both know you didn’t call me just to ask me out.”
My voice sounds a little odd, not like me at all.
I murdered a goon today and here I am, all girl-hurt because this hot guy didn’t ask me on a second date. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Alexei’s gaze swings my way, and he offers up the barest hint of a smile.
“If circumstances had been different, I would’ve asked you out again. You’ve intrigued me, Scarlett Force.” I can’t quite hide how pleased I am at his words, shifting slightly in my seat and putting an elbow on the table. I rest my chin in it, and Alexei’s smile widens just a tad before falling away completely. “If anyone else had kissed me the way you did, I might’ve stabbed a needle into their spleen.”
I don’t find his words to be false bravado. Actually, I believe him more than most people when they make threats like that. Not only did he stab Pete, punch Dale in the solar plexus, and kick Wayne in the face, but he also stopped Aspen from hitting me, moving before I even got the chance to.
Yeah, he’s a bit of a badass.
I believe that he would’ve stuck that needle in me that day if I hadn’t moved away from his car. I can appreciate that. The guy sets boundaries and then follows through with making sure they’re respected. The world would be better off if we could all do that.
“So that’s why you called me today? The kiss? It was an accident, by the way. You didn’t want me to kiss you, and I wouldn’t have under normal circumstances. I’m sort of big into consent, you know?” I don’t tell him that I was frazzled because of that idiot, Aspen Kelly. That’s far too personal to share.
Alexei almost smiles again, but it’s like the expression fizzles away before it can come to fruition.
“I’m not upset by it,” he tells me, turning his head slightly to watch a man and woman making their way across the restaurant to a table in the far corner. As far as our spot, we’re the only people around. The restaurant is fairly empty. Alexei looks back at me, mouth tightening as he considers his words carefully. “Scarlett—”
He pauses as the waiter returns with my drink—they make cherry cokes here, too, but they call ‘em Roy Rogers, apparently. I accept it with a murmured thanks, dragging it in front of me as I watch Alexei’s face scrunch up slightly.
He closes his eyes and exhales, breathing through the reaction, and then opens them again.
I’m at least pleased to see the way he watches me suck on the straw. Even if the idea of touching this gla
ss or this straw grosses him out, I’m not sure that my mouth does. Or at least, it doesn’t skeeve him out nearly as much.
“Scarlett, what?” I ask, leaning back in my seat with my drink in my hands. Would’ve been nice to get some booze but I can’t risk using my fake ID at a place like this. “Just spit it out, Grove.”
He exhales and then leans forward, careful not to touch the surface of the table as he does.
“Last night …” he starts, and then his face just breaks. It’s like watching a small crack in a windshield slowly turn into a spiderweb before it shatters entirely. “Last night, someone murdered my father.”
Um.
I blink at him, my mouth parted around the straw, adrenaline spiking through me.
“What?” I whisper back, looking around to make sure there’s nobody nearby before I lean forward again. “The hell are you talking about?”
“Someone murdered my papa,” Alexei breathes, and now I can see it, how close he is to coming apart completely. More like … he’s about this close to having a violent meltdown. Whoever happens to be in his way when he finally does is going to suffer terribly. “They’re looking for me now, too. I …” He trails off and looks behind him, surveying the room yet again before turning to me. “I came here to see how widespread the corruption was, to see how deep it ran before I made a decision.”
“Why aren’t you—” I start, but I don’t even finish that sentence because it’s too dumb. Why aren’t going to the police with this? Duh. What did Emma Jean just tell me about the Springfield Chief of Police? He’s in bed with the mayor. Alexei hates the entirety of that crowd. He might not trust the police, at least not the ones in Springfield. “What about going to the FBI or something?” I add, but he shakes his head, reaching up to rub at his face with his gloved hands.
“I need to know if my father’s family is involved in this before I do anything drastic,” he continues, lowering his voice to a whisper. His family? Like … the mob? That’s what Nisha told me this morning, that Alexei’s father had mob connections in New York. “If they’re involved, and I go to the authorities, they’ll find out about it.”
“Why tell me all of this?” I ask, utterly stunned. Of all the things I thought he might ask me for help with today, I did not expect this.
Alexei pauses again as the waiter drops off my scallops and I place a dinner order—a big, fat juicy filet mignon with grilled asparagus and goat cheese mashed potatoes. A girl’s gotta eat, right? Even—or especially—one who killed a thug today. Not just any thug. The mayor’s thug. The mayor’s thug sent after a reporter who’s digging into Ash and Aspen Kelly.
Fuck my life.
This is exactly why I don’t like to get involved with rich boys. What the hell have I opened myself up to?
I notice the waiter doesn’t even offer to get Alexei anything; he must recognize him.
“I want you to help me kill the men involved,” he explains, and I set my drink down hard on the table, hard enough that Alexei has to pause and check to make sure we still have privacy. He glances back at me. “Not only that, but I want to figure out who else knew about last night. It was clearly a planned hit.” Here he pauses, swallowing hard and closing his eyes tight as he struggles to control his breathing. Alexei reaches up a hand to his forehead and rubs at it like he’s exhausted. I notice now as I really look at him how big and how deep the purple circles under his eyes are. “Oh, Papa …”
“Why me?” I ask, trying to figure out what I could’ve possibly said or done to make him think this was a task worthy of me. I mean, it is. My crew has handled situations like this in the past. Thing is, who killed the rich and powerful CEO of the Borisov Group? That’s nuts. As I wouldn’t get my girls involved with the mayor, I can’t bring them into this either.
“Because you despise those people,” he explains, almost pleadingly, but then, I’m not sure if Alexei Grove is capable of such a thing. “Because Ash Kelly shot your friend and you’re looking for him anyway, aren’t you?”
“What does your father’s death have to do with Ash Kelly?” I’m thoroughly stumped now, pushing the small plate in front of me aside and pulling the entire plate of scallops close. I stab a fork into one and lift it to my lips, taking a tentative bite to see if I like it. The maple flavor of the bacon mixes well with the mild sweetness of the scallop; the texture is buttery and smooth.
Well shit.
Good deal.
I take a huge bite and Alexei shivers, reaching up to scratch at his temple with a gloved finger. He closes his eyes, too, so that he doesn’t have to watch me eat, apparently.
“Because he was shot by the police chief,” Alexei explains, eyes still closed. “And the mayor and the police chief—”
“Are good buddies?” I add, and Alexei opens his eyes.
Holy. Fucking. Crap.
I am in deep here. I’m in deep, and this is big, much bigger than I’m used to dealing with.
My instincts tell me to run far and fast and ignore all of this, get the hell out of Prescott with whatever I have left from the money I won when I raced Aspen. This is … I can’t even process this shit right now.
“How did you know that?” Alexei asks and then, as if he’s thought better of it, waves the question away with a sweep of his gloved hand. “No, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. You knew and that’s what’s important. You’re just the person to help me with the job; you and your crew.”
I’m shaking my head already because I can’t drag my girls into this. No way. Look what happened during a simple ‘traffic stop’ with Ash Kelly. He fucking shot Evelyn. And his father is involved with the police chief who killed Alexei’s dad? A rich, billionaire type with mob connections?
I mean, come the fuck on here.
Also, if the mayor was willing to kill Emma Jean for the things she knows, what would he possibly do if we waged war on him and his people?
“Alexei,” I start, but then his eyes widen as he looks past me in the direction of the door. In an instant, he’s up and grabbing my wrist. I drop my fork—and the delicious bite of scallop stuck to the end of it—as Alexei drags me along the wall of windows and pushes his way through a side door that leads out to the golf course.
I’m still in shock that he just willingly touched me—even with his glove on—as we pass by a statue of some old guy and then continue on around the side of the building toward the parking lot. Alexei opens a gate that leads off the property and then pauses on the other side of it, his eyes focused on the bright orange paint of his ’69 Lamborghini Miura and the two men waiting beside it.
Looks like his suspicions were justified.
And here I am, with him, putting myself directly in the line of fire.
I just followed my pussy and my heart right into another shitty situation because of a cute boy.
Goddamn it.
“Come on,” I growl out, pushing Alexei’s hand off my wrist and then grabbing it with my own hand. He shudders, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing me to lead him through the shadows along the edge of the property.
Thank the dark goddess that I parked near the exit.
Yeah, it’s a Prescott thing—for good reason.
We stay to the trees as long as we can before making a quick beeline to the Chevelle. I’m not sure if the goons see us or not, but as soon as we’re both in and the doors are closed, I ease out the gate and then hit the throttle, blasting us down the road and away from the country club.
Once we’ve got some distance, I slow down, unwilling to get pulled over by a bourgeois Oak Park cop.
“Dude, you are in big trouble,” I warn him, but he’s already leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed, obviously aware of his predicament. “You probably shouldn’t go home tonight.”
Alexei lifts his head up, staring down at his gloves like they’re contaminated. I can tell that he wants to take them off, but knows that if he does, there are no antiseptic wipes, no spare gloves in here for him to use.
/> “Seeing as the murder took place in our residence last night, I’m aware of that. I asked your friend—Kellin Bohnes—for a place to stay.”
My blood chills as I flick a quick glance his way.
“You did what?” I grind out, thinking about how I’d enjoy slowly slicing Bohnes’ nuts off with a dull knife. He didn’t think to tell me that Alexei came to him for help?! But of course not. At least that explains how he knew about today’s meeting. “What did you pay him with?”
“My Rolex,” Alexei explains. Ah. Makes sense. “I was going to offer up something more, if he’d help with this endeavor. A third of my inheritance, if he can help me get it back. But to do that, we need to take down everyone involved in my father’s murder.” Alexei looks down at his lap for a moment before turning back to me. “I’ll offer you a third as well, if you’ll help me. Even without fully liquidating everything, there are hundreds of millions of dollars up for grabs.” Here Alexei pauses again. “The Bugatti, as well. Or a new Bugatti, if you want it.”
The offer is … well, it’s unbelievable. It’s also dangerous as hell, far more likely to end up with my being dead than actually getting any money. On top of all that, say that Bohnes and I did help Alexei Grove out, then what? How could we actually ensure that he’d give us anything at all?
“They killed my papa, Scarlett,” Alexei says, his voice low and so disturbingly pained that it almost makes me uncomfortable. I felt like that, after the accident. That pain turned into violence which turned into murder. I know exactly where this is going.
“I don’t think I can help you,” I admit, wetting my lips and shaking my head. “Much as I think you’ve got a good cause, much as that’s a good offer, it just isn’t practical. Not only is it dangerous as fuck, but I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t double-cross me in the end.”
Alexei sits back, shivering and sweating and swallowing hard, and I realize how difficult it must be for him to be stuck inside Bohnes’ car with no way to change his gloves or clean himself up.
“What you did just now, inviting me over to the country club, you knew there was a chance those thugs would show up, that I could end up with my own neck on the chopping block, and yet, you did it anyway. I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work.”
F*ckboy Psychos Page 39