F*ckboy Psychos

by Stunich, C. M.

  “What do you want, Suburbs?” I ask, and the forced smile on her pretty round face falls right off. “Time is money, and I’ve got plans tonight.”

  First, I’ll meet with Alexei. Next, I’ll head to the track. Bohnes might not have been there last night, but I’m sure he’ll show up tonight. If Widow challenges him, I want to be there to see it.

  “Is it possible for us to talk in private?” she asks, her gaze scanning the street like she’s nervous about something. I mean, pretty little thing like her? I would be, too. She has a right to be afraid. “We could take a short drive?”

  “You that keen to get your cunt on those pretty leather seats, eh?” I ask, gesturing with my head in the direction of the Devil. It’s just me and my metal baby now. Nisha and Bastian both jetted off after our appointment to take care of their own shit.

  Emma Jean blushes and tucks some of her short blond hair behind one ear.

  “You probably want to hear what I have to say,” she starts, and then, with a deep, bolstering breath, she pulls her phone from the pocket of that same denim jacket she was wearing last time she came to Prescott to annoy me. She taps around on her screen for a moment before turning the phone in my direction.

  It’s a bit hard to see, as dark as the picture is, but my blood goes cold anyway.

  I snatch the phone from her hand, and she shifts back slightly, as if she’s afraid of me. She should be anyway. Should’ve been afraid of me all along.

  The picture on her phone, while hard to see, is very clearly me and Aspen on the roof of his Mustang in the rain. I lift my gaze up to Emma Jean, finding her with a mulish expression locked in place.

  “I’m not here to blackmail you with it,” she says, and I laugh, the sound throaty and thick with confidence. I chuck the phone back in her direction and she scrambles to catch it before it falls to the pavement and breaks.

  “Wouldn’t work anyway. You think I give a shit if people know I fucked the mayor’s son? So what? I’m a red-blooded woman with needs, Emma Jean. You ever get dicked good like that? It’s worth putting up with men on rare occasions.” I cross my arms over my chest, as if I truly mean what I’m saying.

  What happens if this picture gets out? Aspen seemed to imply that I’d be in danger, that my family and friends might be in danger. Do I believe what he said, about him killing everyone I love? Actually, I don’t. He was threatening me to keep me away from him. But why? What the hell is going on in the city of Springfield?

  “I’m not,” Emma Jean repeats, sounding frustrated. She reaches a hand up to scratch at her head. “I’m here because I need more information about Ash and Aspen Kelly.”

  That gives me pause.

  “Ash and Aspen?” I ask, and Emma Jean nods, locking her honey-brown eyes with mine.

  “Let’s trade intel, Scarlett. That’s what I’ll pay for your time. I’ll tell you what I know, and you do the same.”

  Shit. She’s got me by the short and curlies, don’t she?

  “Fine,” I say, checking the time on my phone yet again. “But I’ve got somewhere to be at five. Hop in.”

  I climb into the driver’s seat and Emma Jean scrambles around to the passenger side.

  I back out of the driveway, layin’ rubber on the pavement, and then off we go.

  Halloween is next week. As such, it gets dark early around here now. By six, it’s practically pitch-black out. Orange, red, and yellow leaves cover the streets, making the pavement slick enough that we slide on the turns, and Emma Jean turns even paler than she already is.

  “Alright, talk,” I say, driving the route I like to use when I’m worried that somebody might be following me. Just in case. “Tell me about Ash and Aspen.”

  One good thing about Emma: she doesn’t waste time. She gets straight to the heart of the matter which I appreciate.

  “I believe that one of the brothers—I’m not sure which—assisted in the murder of Larron Van Gordon, Mayor Kelly’s opponent in the last election.”

  That gives me pause. I tighten my hands around the wheel and wet my lips. Not just disappeared, murdered.

  “Why do you think that?” I press, wondering if this has something to do with my warnings from Aspen, if this is why he said we could only hook up once. Maybe it even has something to do with him marrying Lemon?

  “Wouldn’t be the first time one of his sons helped him commit a crime.” Emma curls her hands around the edge of the seat, digging in for dear life as I pick up some extra speed and debate whether or not to commit us to a jump or a spin or some other stunt that might make Emma Jean Thompson scream. “Could you go a little slower? I get motion sickness—”

  “What other crimes?” I demand, but she shakes her head at me.

  “Your turn. Have you ever met Ash Kelly?” she asks me, but I just chuckle.

  “Quid pro quo, Clarice,” I tease, and then snort, lifting one hand off the wheel to wave at her. Emma Jean makes a small squeaking sound, lunging over to press my hand back to the wheel.

  “Please keep them at ten and two,” she chokes out, and I can’t help it. I howl with laughter.

  “Okay, you’re funny,” I say, purposefully pointing at her while I drive with one hand. “I thought at first that I didn’t like you, but I’ve changed my mind. Anyway, no, I haven’t met Ash Kelly. I’d love to see a picture of him, if you have it.”

  “There are no pictures of him,” Emma Jean explains, looking at the neck strap hooked to my seat. The seatbelts on my side of the car are modified for racing, including a neck strap that keeps racers from meeting unfortunate accidents on the track. One time, about three years ago, a freshman girl smashed her car into the half-wall by the cage and snapped her neck, died instantly. Her father was there at the time, showing her the ropes of the track he used to race, so we escaped the picket line nonsense, but it was tragic nonetheless. “None at all. I can’t find a single photo of the man anywhere. He’s practically a ghost. The brothers were both born in Japan. They spent time in various boarding schools throughout Asia and Europe before moving to the States.”

  That would explain the kiss of a British accent that comes and goes, I realize, glad that I decided to take this chance on Miss Emma Jean. This is proving far more fruitful than I expected. In the back of my mind, I can’t stop thinking about that glossy pamphlet and what it means for my neighborhood, my crew, my family and friends. But this is important, too.

  Maybe—probably—all of these things are related anyway.

  “Because of all that, I’m having trouble tracking down witnesses or records on either of them. As such, I’ve been tailing Aspen Kelly as of late. That’s how I got the pictures.”

  Bohnes was watching us, too, that night. Either Emma grabbed her photo quick and took off or else he knew she was there and let her take that picture. Hmm. But would he really do that? Only in exchange for something good.

  “You think Mayor Kelly had his son kill his political opponent? Why not just hire a goon to get it done? That’s what those rich types usually do anyway.”

  “Maybe. But this wouldn’t be the first violent incident involving Ash Kelly. I managed to track down one of his ex-girlfriends. He got her pregnant and then beat her until she suffered a miscarriage.”

  Yikes. I find it suddenly hard to swallow.

  “Well, I heard from Alexei Grove that nobody in the upper echelons of Springfield knows Ash Kelly personally either. They don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “Did Aspen say anything about his brother?” Emma presses, wearing her ‘investigative journalist’ hat as she cups a hand over her mouth to hold back her nausea. I slow down, but not for her sake. No, I just don’t want her to vom all the fuck over my ride. “Anything at all, even if it seems insignificant.”

  No way I’m going to tell this chick about Evelyn’s murder. Puts me and my crew at risk, and it’ll hinder my chances at finding and killing Ash Kelly. That is, if he’s even still in town, if he hasn’t hopped that plane to Tokyo and taken off.
/>   I could tell Emma that, at least. Maybe she’d know if he really got on the plane or not?

  “His brother told me he was leaving the country,” I explain, and Emma Jean perks up, leaning in closer to me, eyes shining.

  “When? Where?” she breathes, and I raise both brows.

  “Uh, last night. Last night is when Aspen told me that, at his engagement party. Said his brother was bookin’ it to Tokyo this weekend.”

  Emma shakes her head, sitting back and poking at her lips with the corner of her phone.

  “If he’d left already, I would know it.” She looks back at me. “At least, if he took his family’s private jet. If he were flying commercial …” She trails off, turns her phone on, and starts a voice recording. “Look into flight manifests for Eugene and Portland airports.” Emma ends the recording, still staring out the windshield in thought before she looks at me again. “How did you get an invite to that party? Just out of curiosity.”

  I figure a misplaced truth will suffice as my answer.

  “He’s engaged to my ex-bestie, Lucy Hall.” I’m not giving anything away here that Emma Jean won’t already know.

  “She invited you?” she presses, but I just shrug absently. “Does she know you’re fucking her fiancé?”

  I grit my teeth at that. Not my finest moment. But I … I let myself believe those wild eyes of his, let myself fall into his bullshit willingly.

  “I am not dating Lucy Hall; I promise you that.”

  Ugh. I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I? A horrible, awful piece of shit.

  “I have no idea,” I admit, pursing my lips into a thin line. It’s getting close to the time I need to leave to meet Alexei, so back in the direction of the house we go. “It was only a one-time thing anyway, and I don’t think that Lemon would care, even if she did know. She’s that delusional.”

  “I’m worried about your friend.” Emma Jean sighs and reaches up to scratch at her hair again. I don’t think she even has an itch; it’s just a nervous habit.

  “Me, too, Miss Emma Jean. Me, fucking, too.”

  I take her back to the house and park in the garage, closing the door behind us.

  “Alright, girl, you’ve caught my interest.” I hand her my phone without looking at her. “Put your number in there, and we can find another time to talk.”

  “Thank you,” she says, clutching my phone to her chest like it’s precious. “You won’t regret this, Scarlett. Not at all. I’ll make it worth your while. If we work together, we can get to the bottom of this. Maybe we can even get your friend, Lucy Hall, away from that horrible family.” She adds her number to my phone and passes it back. I don’t offer her my number. Not yet. She can wait for me to call or text her.

  “Do you know about the redevelopment plans for Springfield?” I ask in the sudden silence, turning to look at her. Emma purses her thin, pink lips, and then offers up a nod.

  “I do. I know a lot. More than you’d think. With your connections and mine, we could uncover every nefarious thing that’s going on in this city. Think about it, okay?” She opens the door and climbs out, and I follow her.

  The garage connects to the house through a door in the living room. I start for it with Emma just behind me and then pause.

  Nobody should be home right now and yet … there’s just this feeling you get when somebody is in a house with you, this prickle on the back of the neck.

  I put my arm out to block Emma Jean from taking another step. Lifting a single finger to my lips, I remove my knife from my pocket and flick the blade out. I should’ve taken the Glock with me, damn it.

  Kicking off my heels, I creep up the few steps toward the door, wetting my lips before I reach for the knob. Wouldn’t want to actually stab my mom or sister or something. Pretty damn sure that it isn’t them or anyone else in my social circle inside though. There’s a certain sense of menace in the air that has me on edge.

  Nefarious intentions, I can smell them. Growing up in the southside, there are two choices: learn to sniff out trouble or have trouble sniff out you.

  If I came here to hurt someone, where would I hide?

  I gesture for Emma to move further back into the garage, and then I kick the door in.

  A man immediately lunges forward, temporarily disoriented by the fact that there’s nobody standing there. He’s dressed all in black, and I can tell right away that he isn’t anyone that I recognize.

  Emma screams and clamps a hand over her mouth as I throw myself forward, blade out, and bury it right in the guy’s stomach. He grunts, shoving me back hard enough that I hit the wall with a sharp exhale of breath. He throws a punch at me that I avoid by dropping low, knocking my body into his legs so that he stumbles a bit, off-balance just long enough that I can get to my feet.

  The man reaches for a gun on his belt, but I’m already on him again, swinging the knife at his chest. The blade buries itself in his body, and he snarls, reaching up to grab at my arms. We struggle for control of the knife as Emma Jean sprints up the steps and into the house. She heads straight for the kitchen as the guy and I grapple with one another, blood slicking our hands.

  I can’t let him get that gun.

  No way am I getting shot in my own home, not today, my friend.

  He throws me off and I slam into the side table next to the couch, snatching up my grandma’s favorite lamp and throwing it at the guy. It shatters against his raised forearms as he moves to block it. Shit, Gram’s gonna be furious about that.

  Without thinking too hard about it, I throw the knife at him, and then charge. Using my full bodyweight, I slam into his stomach. He stumbles and falls back, bleeding profusely across the hardwood floor. How I’m going to get all of this cleaned up before my family gets home, I have no idea.

  The goon keeps going for his gun, but I grab onto his arm and bite him hard on the wrist, making him howl. Emma Jean appears from the kitchen with a new knife in hand, but then she just stands there, wide-eyed and shaking.

  “Stab him!” I scream at her, but she just panics and sort of thrusts the knife in my direction. I snatch it off the floor before my attacker can get ahold of it, and then, without really thinking things through, I slam the blade down into his chest.

  The man gasps and scratches at me, choking on blood. He coughs and spatters me with it as I shove up to my feet and scramble back from him, breathing hard. The guy twitches in a very disturbing sort of way before gasping and falling still.

  “Shit,” I grind out as Emma Jean clutches at her throat, trembling as she stares down at the dead body. I look from the bloody goon up to her face. Now I have a witness to deal with on top of everything else.

  She drops her hand down as she stares at me.

  “I’m so sorry, Scarlett,” she whispers, and I cock a brow at her.

  “Huh?” I say, still panting, soaked in blood, with a dead body on my grandmother’s living room floor. “You’re sorry for what, Emma Jean?”

  “This man,” she says, looking down at him with her soft brown eyes widened to saucers. “He’s been following me for a while. I … I thought I’d shaken him off. I …”

  I just stare at her.

  “He’s been following you?” I ask quietly, struggling to breathe through the rush of adrenaline, through my anger, through all of the confusing emotions tearing through me. I just killed some random dude in my own house. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. “And you brought him here?”

  “The mayor sent him to watch me,” she says, gaze darting to the front door. “But I didn’t think—”

  “Fuck, Emma Jean!” I yell at her, scrubbing a hand down my face and finding my palm wet with blood. “This is why I don’t get involved with people like you!” She cringes away from me, but at the very least, she’s both erased some of my worries and introduced brand-new ones.

  This man isn’t someone the police will be looking for; I don’t think Emma Jean will rat me out.

  On the other hand, this is a goon sent by the fucking may
or!

  With a groan, I whip my phone out of my pocket, hand shaking as I grit my teeth and stare down at Bohnes’ number in my contacts. My Dark Love Bohnes. I’d forgotten that he changed his name to that.

  I can’t get my crew involved in more of this mayoral shit. No way. It’s far too dangerous. The guy just sent a hitman to kill a reporter and, presumably, me? I’m not sure, but either way, I can’t call any of my girls.

  At the same time, I already owe Bohnes a lot. Too much. This would be the fifth body I’ve asked him to bury. The last one might’ve been my girl and not somebody I killed, but still. Can I really indebt myself to that man any further?

  “Start cleaning this mess up,” I snap, giving Emma a look. “There are garbage bags, rubber gloves, paper towels, and bleach under the sink in the kitchen. I’m going to go shower and change then I’ll come help.”

  She just swallows hard and shifts her attention to the body.

  “Or we could call the police,” I start, and her eyes go wide.

  “No!” She looks at me with sheer terror on her pretty face. “The Springfield Chief of police is in bed with Mayor Kelly. We can’t do that. We can’t let him know that we killed his man.”

  “Then go get the gloves now,” I grind out, storming into the downstairs bathroom and stripping off my bloody clothes.

  What a goddamn mess.

  What a goddamn, motherfucking, cocksucking mess.

  Bohnes

  It’s not like I spend every waking minute stalking Scarlett Force. On the contrary, I’m busy with my own jobs most days. On this day however, I decide to drive by her house, just to check on her, and find her pulling out of the driveway in a hurry.

  “What are you up to, Scarlett Force?” I murmur, curled over my steering wheel and peering at her through the Chevelle’s windshield. There’s a white Prius parked on the curb that belongs to that busybody reporter, Emma Jean Thompson. I don’t like seeing her there. Most especially, I don’t like the idea of Scarlett leaving the woman in her house unattended.