“If this really does work out, good for her, I guess,” Nisha says, but not like she really believes it. We both know that rich guys like Aspen Kelly don’t pick up Prescott trash to be their trophy wives. Something else is going on here. Aspen himself confirmed it. “My father has plans for sweet little Lucy Hall.”
“Sure,” I say with a caustic little laugh. Without meaning to, I look up to see Widow staring at me again. He lifts his burger to his lips and takes a bite, never pulling his gaze away from mine. My nipples harden, and my throat gets tight as need surges through me.
I curl my fingers against my thighs, digging my nails into my skin until pain washes over me. It doesn’t clear away my attraction toward Widow, but it helps. I’m able to look back at my friends.
I pretend that Widow doesn’t exist while I finish my meal.
But we both know that’s bullshit.
We might be ignoring each other outwardly, but I know where my thoughts are. When Widow gets up and goes into the men’s bathroom, I can’t help but wonder what he’s up to in there.
I look at him only once more on his way out, turning my head to glance over my shoulder. If his face is a little flushed, who else would notice? Think he was jacking off in there?
Because I do.
He shoves his way out the door and takes off with a squeal of tires on the wet pavement.
Scarlett
Saturday night at the track is relatively boring but for the idling Lamborghini Miura in the row of cars parked at the rear of the lot. Widow is absent, Bohnes is racing some idiot from Oak Valley Prep, and Aspen, of course, is not present.
While I might have trouble remembering faces, I never forget cars—especially not million-dollar vintage beauties like the Miura. This one belongs to that guy with the gloves, the one we robbed who, thankfully, didn’t shoot me in the head.
I exhale sharply, relaxing back on the hood of my Pantera while one of my girls carefully combs out my hair and works it into a fishtail braid for me. She goes entirely still at the sound, as if worried that she might’ve annoyed me.
I offer up a slick smile and a wink over my shoulder, and she blushes. Pretty sure she’s not even gay or bi. Girls just love me, what can I say?
“Someone get me a drink,” I say, waving my hand around dismissively. Jennifer, still eager to regain my favor, rushes to grab me a beer from a nearby cooler, passing it over so that I can examine the label. Some fancy shit brought by the Oak Valley people. Whatever.
I take a swig, my attention continuously shifting back to Alexei’s car as I try to figure out what he’s doing here. Clearly, he has a problem with dirty, filthy things, and that’s all any of us are around here. There’s mud and grit and people who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. I imagine that for someone like him, it’s worst nightmare type stuff.
I turn my attention back to Basti who’s animatedly discussing some drama that happened at the gay club where he dances while Nisha rolls her eyes, clearly bored by yet another overly drawn-out story. Meanwhile, the action on the track is more amusing than exciting as Bohnes toys with the four rich assholes—three guys, one girl—who have more money than brains. Once again, it becomes obvious that either you drive the car … or it drives you.
One of the idiots has already given up, pulling over to the side of the track in some sort of childlike protest.
Bohnes is going to score big money off of these morons. That makes me smile. That is, until my mind goes back to Lemon and Aspen. I’m terrified that my friend is wrapping herself up in something that she won’t be able to get out of. More than that, I’m concerned for myself. Because I now not only want to kill Ash Kelly, but Aspen Kelly as well.
How dare he fuck me while engaged to my friend. How dare he lie to me about it. How dare he make me want him even though I’m disgusted with myself for having those thoughts.
I can’t stop thinking about the way he came while fucking me atop his Mustang, how the sound of the word Ash falling from my lips like a burnt ember made him shudder and spasm in egregious ecstasy.
The fact that this guy, Alexei, who last came here with Aspen, is just sitting in his car with his headlights on is driving me nuts. Unreasonable rage fills me, and I chuck my beer bottle onto the ground, ignoring Jennifer as she scrambles to pick it up. I don’t allow littering at my track—not even from myself.
Basti stops talking as I move across the lot in a black halter jumpsuit and bright red open-toe heels. I bend low beside Alexei’s window and rap on it with my knuckles.
He very slowly turns his head to peer out the glass and then curls his lips at me—probably for touching his car with my poverty-stricken hand. I raise a brow as he lets out a deep sigh, removing his hands with their brown suede gloves from the wheel and then rolling the window down.
“Please step back at least three feet,” he informs me and, even though I’d rather be contrary and like, hock a loogie on him, I do as he asks. Because something just occurred to me and now that it’s eating away at my brain, I can’t shake it.
Alexei came to the track with Aspen. He’s a rich guy, isn’t he? So shouldn’t he have been invited to Lemon and Aspen’s engagement party next Friday? If so, does he need a date?
Because I need to talk to Lemon, and she’s blocked me on virtually everything at this point. Nisha, too. Basti is still in contact with her, but if I start communicating with her through him, she’ll cut him off, too, and I don’t want that.
There’s something fishy going on here, and I don’t like it.
The number one trick in an abusive asshole’s bag is this: isolate the victim from family and friends, block all other meaningful connections in their lives. That shit ain’t right. I don’t trust Aspen—even less so now that I fucked his skeevy ass—and I need to see Lem in person. Just one, last time.
If I got played by this rich boy douche, then Lemon’s an easy target, like shootin’ fish in a barrel. Likely, even if I see her in person, she won’t listen to me. But I can’t not try, can I?
“What do you want?” Alexei asks finally, when I just stand there like a crazy person, twisted up in my own thoughts. He studies me with those sea glass colored eyes, his mouth turned down in a severe frown, nostrils flared. He’s clearly uncomfortable with me standing here, even if I’m nowhere near to touching him or his car.
“What are you doing here?” I query, curious to see if he’ll actually give me an honest answer or not. Alexei glances in the direction of the track then shifts his gaze over to the road that leads to the parking lot.
“I was hoping to run into Aspen. He hasn’t been answering my calls.”
My blood spikes with adrenaline, and I wet my lips. The very sight of that causes Alexei to shrink back from me. But now that I’ve seen him in action, I’m not fooled. He’d be one tough mother to deal with in a fight, I’ll give him that.
“Are you and Aspen close?” I continue, hoping like hell that he’ll keep spilling valuable information. But no. Nothing’s that easy.
“Why do you care?” he asks, but not impolitely. It seems to be a legitimate question.
I put my hands on my hips and draw in a deep breath, tasting the fumes from the track, the earthy notes of the mud, and this almost clinical but oddly alluring scent from Alexei’s car. He smells like ivory soap and vanilla, and I’m living for it.
I lick the edge of my lip a second time, absurdly fascinated with the way Alexei’s skin ripples with revulsion. He’s hot as shit, I won’t lie. His face looks like it was carved from alabaster, his profile regal, nose straight and proud, and that mouth. I wonder what it would look like spread wide and suckin’ on my cunt?
Would it disgust him? I bet just the idea of it would make him shudder.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t ya?” I quip, and he recoils yet again before reaching out to roll up his window.
“You’re insufferably rude,” is the response I get, but I’m not ready for this interaction to be over, so I slam my hand down on t
he edge of the window and his green eyes widen in silent fury. Alexei snatches what looks to be a small sewing kit from the passenger seat.
A sewing kit? The fuck is he planning on doing with that?
“Remove your hand from my car or I’ll be forced to escalate the situation.”
“Talk to me for a minute or I’ll be forced to spit on your windshield. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”
“You wouldn’t enjoy a needle shoved into the metacarpal ligaments of your hand, would you?”
Oh. I like that retort.
“Nice use of anatomical lingo. Did you think I’d be too stupid to understand it? Or that it would intimidate me?” I lean down, folding my arms on the edge of his door, and his pale face gets even paler. Not as pale as Bohnes, I guess, but with Kellin, it’s like he was born that white, you know? Alexei looks like he might have a bit of color normally but chooses to avoid any instance of sunlight touching his skin. “I just want to talk, just for a minute.”
“One minute,” he says, swallowing hard and snatching his phone in a gloved hand. He legitimately sets a timer on it and then opens the sewing kit, removing a silver thimble with a long, sharp nail that seems to defeat the entire purpose of what a thimble is supposed to be.
There’s a small amount of cork beneath the nail, and I watch in fascination as Alexei inserts a needle into it before turning to look at me with a distinct challenge in his gaze.
“If you don’t remove your arms from my door before that timer ends, I will shove this needle into the nearest available body part—whether it’s your hand, your shoulder, your face. It doesn’t matter to me.”
I nod my head in understanding.
“Smart trick, the needle thing. I bet with that thimble you could shove it all the way in, and it’d go real, real deep.” I emphasize this last word in a purr and, I’m sure I’m not imagining this, he shifts slightly in his seat. I look down to see if I can’t catch a glimpse of his trousers, but he drops his left hand there to hide any possible evidence. “From the looks of it, the tip of the nail portion must come off like a cap or something. What’s in there?”
“Poison.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
Holy fuck.
“Okay, let me make this quick.” I glance over at the timer on his phone to see that I’ve already wasted half of my precious minute. “Are you attending Aspen Kelly’s engagement party on Friday?”
There’s a slight hesitation on Alexei’s part before he answers. While I’m waiting—and time is ticking away second by the second—I can’t help but admire the perfection of his slightly curled dirty blond hair or the way it frames his elegant face.
Aspen is a rich boy sure, but he’s got this strange, unfiltered darkness to him, this fractured, unstable quality that turned me on so hard the other night. But he’s missing whatever it is that Alexei has, some sort of innate self-confidence that somehow doesn’t border on arrogance.
He’s beautiful and rich and educated, and he knows it. He isn’t ashamed of it. Somehow, it feels like all of that is balanced with his OCD or germaphobe issues or whatever clinical name there might be for the way he acts. Doesn’t bother me. Actually, it fascinates me.
There’s this wicked part of me that wants to yank this door open and straddle his lap, grind my wet cunt all over his body, lick the side of his neck, put my tits in his face. He’d squirm and fight me at first, but I bet in the end, he’d like it.
He’d like me making him dirty that way.
I blink past my sick fantasies—yeah, I’m mental, I get it—as Alexei sighs and finally deigns to answer.
“My father and I both have received invitations, if that’s what you’re asking. As to whether or not I’ll attend, I can’t say. I have no desire to.”
The timer ticks down its last seconds and, unwilling to deal with the needle poked through the cork of the thimble, I remove my arms and back up a step. He immediately moves to roll his window up, but since it’s an old car, it’s manual. It takes a second, despite his frantic pumping.
“Race me,” I blurt out, before the window is fully raised up. Bohnes’ car has just trundled up the hill after a few loud victory laps, and there’s nobody else on the roster tonight. “I want to attend that party and the only way I can think to go is as your date.”
Alexei Grove just fucking stares at me, like I’ve begged him to stick his dick in my tight, little cunt. He seems both repulsed and fascinated by the offer. Not my dirty sex thoughts but, like, what I’ve actually just said aloud.
“What are you looking to gain by attending?” he asks, tilting his head at me. “If Aspen promised you something, don’t believe it. He lies. He fucks as many girls as he can get his hands on. Pleading to his better side will fall on deaf ears as he has none at all that I’ve ever seen. His brother—”
I grit my teeth.
Alexei notices the expression and narrows his eyes slightly.
“I don’t care about Aspen Kelly,” I say. Lie. “What I’m interested in is his fiancée who just so happens to be one of my best friends from preschool. We go way back.” I pause briefly, crossing my arms and wondering if Alexei won’t see right through my next question. “What about his brother?”
“Does it matter? It was an off-handed comment anyway. I’ve never met him.” Alexei gestures loosely with a gloved hand. His right one, he keeps still, resting on the gear shift, the needle gleaming in the fluorescent spotlights. “But I suppose I could be convinced to race. Do you still have the money that you stole from me?” His tone is dry, but the edge of his lip lifts up in a sneer as he recalls our first encounter. Not that I know him any better now, but having observed his behavior and habits, I can see why Nisha licking her fingers and rifling through his cash mighta pissed him off.
I actually don’t have the money that I stole from him. I distributed it equally between myself and my crew. What I do have is the money I got from Aspen during our first race.
As I said, I don’t think I can use it without a guilty conscience. Rather, I can’t use it on myself. Once enough time has passed that it won’t be absurdly suspicious, I’ll give at least half to Evelyn’s family.
For now, I can use the rest to help get my revenge.
Besides, it’s not like I plan on losing.
Especially not to some rich boy.
Although the day Widow crashed the track, it was close. Not only that, but Aspen … I can’t think about him right now, not as anything but a distant obstacle to be overcome. That’s it. And when—because it’s not an if—I see him at that engagement party, I’m going to do exactly as he asked and treat him as shitty as he treated me.
“I do.” I nod my head as Nisha makes her way over to me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. No worries here though. Pretty sure I’m done with rich boys forever. I won’t fuck this one.
“What are you up to?” she asks, peering at me like I should get my head examined.
“Alexei here is agreeing to race me. He wins, he gets ten grand. I win, he’ll take me to Lemon’s engagement party as his date.” I hold up a single finger. “Also, I want to know the answer.”
“The answer?” he queries, scowling even more now than he was before. “What answer?”
“On whether you’re a virgin or not. Just for curiosity’s sake.” I signal the grand marshal with a wave of my hand.
“Absolutely not,” Alexei sputters, as if I’ve lost my mind. Bohnes makes his way over to us, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather pants. He’s got a sucker in his mouth—I think it’s a weed lollipop that one of the Oak Valley kids added to sweeten the pot—and as he moves up beside me, he crushes it between his teeth.
The ensuing crunching sound reminds me of my tibia shattering in the accident. I mean, I couldn’t hear it over everything else, but if you’ve ever broken a bone, you’ll understand. It’s almost like the act of the bone breaking turns into a sound that only you can hear inside your head.
Or maybe that’s j
ust me.
“Absolutely not, what?” Bohnes breathes, leaning down to look into the car. Alexei pulls his head back, scrunching up his face with disgust. Maybe he can, like most people, sense that Kellin Bohnes is crazy. “You aren’t going to screw this one, are you?” he asks, turning to me, and I open my eyes just a little wider in warning.
If he spills the truth about me and Aspen, I will cut his balls off. Literally. I would literally do that if I got angry enough. I’ve done it once before actually. One of my girls was raped by her neighbor. She asked me not to kill him, but to teach him a lesson.
So I did.
I did it without anesthetic while he was tied to a chair and screaming. It’s the least of what he actually deserved.
Anyway, I digress.
“As if I would ever,” Alexei hisses out, and I narrow my eyes in annoyance. He’d only be so lucky to have a taste of this cunt. I tell him so.
“Listen here, rich boy, if I put this pussy on your face, you wouldn’t know what to do with it. You’d probably cream your fancy trousers and then pass out.”
Bohnes howls with laughter at that, head thrown back, the lights turning his white hair and pale skin into something ethereal, ghostly. Alexei shudders. He isn’t the only person. Only Nisha remains stoic and disinterested.
She isn’t afraid of Bohnes. In a fight, I think Bohnes would win, but only by a little.
“Ten thousand in cash tonight if I win,” Alexei repeats, and I can see by the way he stares down at his steering wheel that he really needs that money. Weird. He’s driving a car worth millions. He’s rich as fuck. Why would he care about a measly ten grand? Hmm. I smell a story here. “I will take you to the party and provide you with a proper dress and shoes.” Alexei looks down to where my heels are sunk about a half-inch into the mud, and I grin at him.
“Deal.” I grab the clipboard from the grand marshal’s hands—it’s my girl, Tuesday, on duty tonight—and scribble down our conditions, adding my signature with a special flourish before I hand it out to Alexei.
F*ckboy Psychos Page 29
