F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  I stop talking, heading in the direction of Springfield. More specifically, Prescott. Because if Alexei is staying somewhere that Bohnes set up for him, then that’s where his hideout is going to be.

  “Is there no way for me to convince you?” Alexei asks, after gathering some of his control back. “I’m all alone, Miss Force. I have nobody else to ask for help. If I go to my family, and they’re involved, they’ll execute me on the spot. The police chief murdered my papa. He was … he was everything to me.”

  He works his jaw before turning his gaze out the window.

  I’m such a sucker for a fuckboy psycho, I think, gnawing at my lip but knowing that I can’t get myself involved in this mess anymore than I already have. I might not even be able to avenge Evelyn let alone help Alexei. And Aspen Kelly? Well, whatever brought him to the track tonight, I need to figure out and then send him packing.

  I’m done with this shit.

  Even if Prescott is going to be bulldozed to the ground? Even if Archer Realty and Mayor Kelly want to put a gentleman’s racing club over the top of your track?

  Even … even then.

  “Is there somewhere I can drop you off?” I ask, and I refuse to look over and see the expression of disappointment on that boy’s face. I can feel it, and that’s more than enough.

  “Main Street in Springfield is just fine,” he says, and I end up pulling to a stop in front of the tattoo parlor that takes our fake IDs. They did all my ink for me in there. Alexei hesitates briefly before climbing out, turning to look at me in such a way that my heart skips and jumps, and I know I should never have met his eyes in the first place. “Thank you for entertaining my request today, Scarlett. And I’m sorry that I put you in danger; I’m not thinking clearly.” He pauses again and heaves a huge sigh, hands limp in his lap. “If you ever need anything, feel free to call or text me.”

  Alexei climbs out and closes the door behind him, his body shuddering violently at the state of the sidewalk and the homeless dude picking through the trash just a half o’ block down. He starts walking but, even though several people turn to look at him, I’m not worried.

  They might think a rich guy in a suit is an easy target—more often than not, he would be—but not Alexei Grove. Not even close.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, but then I find myself just sitting there and realizing that, dumb as this is, I’m going to do it: I’m going to help him. I’m in the middle of rolling my window down so that I can call out to Alexei when my phone rings.

  It’s Nisha.

  “Yeah?” I ask, watching as Alexei turns a corner and disappears from sight. I’ll go after him in a minute. Then, I need to get in touch with Bohnes and talk this out. Not just the deal with the body, but also the fact that he’s working with Alexei. I need to know his thoughts on this whole thing.

  “You missed the race, Scarlett. And Aspen, he’s refusing to accept the fact that he lost. He’s taunting Widow; it’s getting bad. Get your ass over here and deal with this shit.”

  “Fuck.”

  I’ll have to call Alexei and talk this over later.

  I hang up the phone, wait for a break in the traffic, and then head my ass over to the racetrack.

  Scarlett

  By the time I get there, a crowd has gathered in the parking lot. I storm right through the onlookers who part as easily as the Red motherfucking Sea, and then find myself at the edge of a brutal and bloody fight between Widow and Aspen.

  They both have torn clothes, swollen lips, black eyes.

  They’re both panting and circling one another.

  Widow looks feral, like some sort of wild beast dragged into the city against his will. Aspen, on the other hand, as soon as I look at that horrible smirk on his face or the way his dark eyes shimmer with violence, I feel sick. Absolutely fucking sick.

  How did I have sex with this guy? How did I enjoy it? He’s hideous. He’s wrong. Something about him is more than just broken or dark or twisted; it’s clinical.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” I demand, my voice booming. The crowd goes silent, and I spot Nisha and Bastian on the opposite side of the makeshift ring, created by the press of students hungry for blood.

  Widow turns his attention my way, swiping his arm across his mouth and spitting blood. Aspen, on the other hand, just smiles at me. It’s slimy and sleazy, and it makes my skin crawl. I need to extricate myself from this man and quick.

  More than that, I can’t let Lemon marry him. I just can’t. If she does, she’s going to die.

  Maybe in body, maybe just in spirit, I’m not sure. Either way, I can’t abandon one of my oldest friends, no matter how stupid she’s being right now.

  “Rich bitch over here can’t accept that he lost,” Widow growls out, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Sweet baby Jesus, the man is hot. He reminds me of like, a werewolf or something. Untamed, bestial, alpha. I want him so bad in that moment that, when our eyes clash in a surge of heat, I know that I’m going to encourage him to challenge Bohnes … or ask Bohnes for his permission.

  He phrased it the way he did for a reason, didn’t he?

  “You won’t fuck Scarlett Force without my permission.”

  Shit, and do I ever want his permission to be with Widow.

  I want to fuck this man—desperately so.

  I turn to Aspen.

  Him? Not so much.

  “All I said was that I don’t give a shit what the rules are here; I make my own rules.” Aspen saunters close to me, and my nostrils flare at the copper scent of blood mixed with the sharp burn of his spicy cologne. The sleeve of his suit jacket is torn at the shoulder, hanging loose off his muscular body, but his shiny diamond cufflinks are still firmly in place at the ends of both sleeves. He leans in, putting his mouth near my ear, and giving me the chills—and not in a good way. In a spider crawling down my spine sort of a way. “I told him that if you wanted to fuck me on the hood of my Mustang again, I’d be down for it.”

  I glance away from him, toward the Mustang Fastback parked nearby, and my lips purse into a thin flat line.

  “You, me, in the car now.” I point at the Chevelle, so beyond pissed off that I can barely form a coherent sentence. “I’ll deal with him,” I say, pitching my voice loudly enough for Nisha and Bastian to hear. Part of me wonders if getting in a car with this man right now is a good idea, but then, he’s clearly gotten the shit kicked out of him, and what can he do, with all of these people as witnesses? “Come find me in fifteen minutes if I don’t call you or come back.”

  Nisha nods, but she doesn’t look any happier about my leaving with Aspen this time than she did the last.

  Aspen smirks again, swiping at his face with his jacket sleeve, and then he follows me over to the Bohnes’ car and climbs in.

  “Why are you here?” I demand as soon as his door is shut. I drive us slowly back down the road, intending on hitting up the same campground spot as last time. Only, for a very different reason. This isn’t about sex in the rain; this is about cutting ties.

  Permanently.

  “To see you, of course,” he replies smoothly, his voice crisp and cultured but missing that hint of a British accent that he has sometimes.

  “You told me not to talk to you anymore,” I continue, glancing briefly in his direction. He’s frowning and staring at the dash with his eyes narrowed to thin slits. “So why show up here? Especially after last night. Threatening to kill my family, by the way. That was genius. You’ve really gone and done it, Aspen: I’m not into you anymore. It’s over. Leave me the fuck alone. Even if Widow hadn’t kicked your ass on the track, I would never sleep with you again.”

  “Are you so sure about that?” he offers up, reaching out and putting a hand on my thigh. I slap it away, and he scowls at me so viciously that I actually almost turn the car around and head back to the track. “How dare you refuse me.”

  “How dare I, huh?” I ask with a sharp laugh, pulling up next to the picnic table. I get out of the
car immediately, unable to stand sitting in there with Aspen Kelly for another second. Actually, once I’m finished talking to the prick, I’m going to leave him here. He can either call someone to pick him up and give him the two-mile ride back to the track or else he can walk for all I give a shit.

  I turn to face him, my knife strapped to my thigh, my phone in the pencil skirt’s tight front pocket. Aspen climbs out, but slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

  “Explain, now. Why did you come here tonight?” Part of me wonders if that obsession I tasted on his lips wasn’t more toxic than I originally thought. He might’ve told me to leave him alone, but what if he isn’t ready to give me up? “You’re engaged to my best friend, Aspen. What we did was wrong on so many levels.”

  “But it felt good, didn’t it?” Aspen asks, raising his dark brows as he sweeps his gaze over mine. Clearly, he likes what he sees. It’s written all over his crotch and the way his fancy slacks are tented in the front. “Don’t pretend you don’t like me or that you didn’t come to my party last night on the off-chance that you might see me.”

  “I came to that party looking for Ash,” I say, and Aspen goes completely still.

  “Did you now?” he queries, lifting his gaze from my tits to my face. I’m used to getting leered at by men—what woman isn’t?—but I’ve never cared. I’ve always ignored or punished that sort of attention. For the first time in my life, I’m grateful that my blouse is fairly conservative and covers most of my upper half. The skirt, while it might be tight, falls below my knees. I’m as covered as I ever am and yet, I feel more naked than I ever have under a pervert’s stare. “Well, he left for Tokyo today; you won’t be seeing him again.”

  “So you said last night, but I don’t know if I believe that. I think you’re trying to protect your brother.”

  Aspen laughs at that, taking a step closer to me. I refuse to step back, to give even an inch. If he comes any closer, I’ll stab him.

  “Protect my brother?” he asks, his voice low and slithering, like a snake wrapping its coils around my throat. “As if I would ever do such a thing.” He’s smiling at the ground now, and his eyes … they’re glossy and distant. That handsome face of his doesn’t seem so handsome now. Actually, he’s a bit terrifying. He looks back to me, and I realize then that I’m never going to escape this man.

  I tasted obsession on his lips? I thought it might be fun to sample it?

  He’s going to chase me, isn’t he? And maybe tonight he’s not a threat, but he will be. He’s going to come after me until he gets what he wants.

  “Scarlett Force,” he says, clucking his tongue as he looks me over. “Best pussy in Prescott. Nice to know that the rumor’s true.”

  Now that makes me laugh.

  If there is such a rumor, it’s total bullshit. I’ve only ever slept with two guys. Bohnes is too possessive to brag. Aspen … I thought he didn’t want Ash to find out about us?

  “Don’t come to the track again. Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.”

  Aspen takes another step forward, running his tongue across his lower lip.

  “I don’t think so, Scarlett. I think we shared something special that night. I think you like me, even if you don’t want to.”

  I’m already shaking my head, reaching down and hiking my skirt up just enough that I can slide my knife from the thigh strap. I hold it in a nice, tight five-fingered grip.

  “That’s enough, Aspen. It’s over. Mark my words: you come into the Prescott neighborhood again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last mistake that you ever make.”

  He drops his dark gaze down to the knife before taking a step back. For a second there, I think we might actually be done with this thing. Shoulda known better, right?

  Fucking rich boys.

  He reaches up like he’s going to adjust his torn and drooping suit jacket, and ends up pulling a gun on me. A Ruger, I think. The blood drains from my face as I look up and meet his eyes.

  “Take your clothes off, Scarlett. I won’t ask you twice. If you behave, and suck my dick nice and good, I’ll let you go. Otherwise, you’re a very easy person to make disappear. Nobody will miss you.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong,” I retort, trying to buy myself time as my brain runs through possible ways to get out of this. My gaze drifts to his hand, which is easily clutching the weapon, no sign of that injury I saw on his palm the other day. I lift my gaze back to his face. “Hey, I have a question for you?”

  “So long as you ask it while you’re stripping, go ahead.” He smiles at me, and my throat gets tight. Shit, fuck, bitch. This is not a good situation. I need to buy time until Nisha gets here.

  Then again … what if he shoots her and me?

  I can’t let that happen.

  Besides my grandma, I love Nisha, Bastian, and Lemon more than anyone else. At least as much as my sister and aunt, and definitely more than my mother. Sorry, but it’s true. I’m not saying I don’t love my mother at all, but I love my friends more. They’ve been here for me since preschool whereas my mom as been … flighty, at best.

  I reach up and start unbuttoning the sleeves of my blouse; there are four buttons at the end of each arm. I couldn’t possibly take it off without undoing those first.

  Think, Scar. Think, think, think.

  “What happened to your hand?” I ask, nodding my chin in his direction. My heart is beating so fast, adrenaline rushing through me. For a second there, I think he might actually let me keep the knife, but then he presses his finger against the trigger in a very apparent threat.

  “Drop the knife,” Aspen commands, and I do. But I make sure to drop it close by so that I can retrieve it fairly easily. “And what about my hand?”

  “It’s healed,” I remark, finishing the buttons on one sleeve before reaching for the other. He looks like he might just shoot me now and rape my dying body. It’s a fate every Prescott girl fears, one that I’ve managed to avoid for the entirety of my life. I’ve made myself a monster so that I could fight back against other monsters, ones just like this.

  Instead, I willingly let one fuck me.

  Now, here I am, about to become another woman mowed down by an intimate partner.

  It’s too much.

  I can’t let this happen.

  “Healed?” Aspen asks, glancing down at his hands for a brief second before looking up at me. “Of course it’s healed. What sort of a stupid question is that?”

  “Your brother,” I continue, and when I see that the mention of Ash is agitating to him, I strip the shirt off completely and toss it aside, spinning my skirt around so that I can reach for the zipper. “What does he look like?”

  Aspen smiles at me, but it’s not a very nice smile. Oh no, not at all.

  I can see it then, in the way his finger tightens even further on the trigger. He really is planning on shooting me. This is actually happening. I won’t go down like this; I won’t.

  When I unzip my skirt, and bend down to step out of it, I get the idea that Aspen is getting ready to fire. Likely, at my thigh or belly. Instead of rising back to my feet, I throw myself into the dirt, snatching the knife up as he takes that first shot at me.

  Pretty sure I surprise him with that move because I’m able to slam my body into his and knock him onto his ass. For the second time that day, I’m on the ground struggling with a man with a gun, fighting for control of the weapon in my bikini top, undies, and heels.

  For as muscular and strong as Aspen felt when he was fucking me, it seems that it was all an illusion. That or … I can’t think of the other possibility, not right now. Not in the middle of this.

  I’m just as strong as he is. That, and I’m on top. He fires off another round and then another, wasting his bullets like the moron that he is. The first thing I do is take my knife and aim it at his wrist, throwing a hard slash that cuts right through the tendons there that control a person’s grip.

  As soon as I do that, Aspen loses the gun. It falls to the gr
ound beside us, and he immediately switches his focus to my eyes, shoving his thumbs into my eye sockets. The pain is violent and immediate; he certainly isn’t holding back, even with the injury to his wrist. There’s blood everywhere, but this isn’t my first time at the rodeo.

  You know, since I just killed a guy earlier in the day.

  I swing the knife blindly at him, slashing … something. Aspen’s grip loosens instantly, and I blink through white stars as I look around for the gun. My bloody fingers fumble as I grab it, hefting it up so that I can point it at him.

  He snatches at it and, somehow, in the midst of our melee, the gun goes off. I’m sure that I didn’t pull the trigger, but there’s a bright spark, a rush of heat, and then blood, spattering across my skin as I blink through it.

  With the gun still held in both of my hands, I struggle to clear my vision only to see Aspen clutching at his upper arm. Blood is spurting out around his hand as he presses it hard to the wound. The bullet passed through his brachial artery. Fuck.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I murmur, staring in confusion at the weapon before tossing it aside; I stumble over to my shirt and grab it before I can question what it is that I’m doing. Saving him? Why? Because I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make the mayor’s son disappear as easily as some nameless thug? Because this is going to ruin my entire fucking life?

  Aspen’s car is at the track; everyone saw me leave with him; again, he’s the mayor’s son.

  “No, you can’t die,” I say, dropping to my knees and pressing the fabric of my shirt to his arm. He stares up at me with dark, empty eyes, like he’s already gone, like he’s already dead. There’s no recognition whatsoever in his gaze. “You can’t die and ruin my whole life,” I scream, shaking and fighting against the flow of blood.

  But I must’ve really got him good because he gurgles for just a few seconds and then goes still.

  I just sit there, covered in blood, half-naked for real this time, and stare.