More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
It’s damn near impossible to dig a grave without fucking up your nails.
Fuckboy - noun - an asshole who’s good for sex and little else Chiefly ‘Prescott High’ slang: a semi-possessive term that denotes that said boy belongs to a girl as an exclusive paramour or consort with no expectation of a future romantic relationship
His eyes are this glorious amber color that pairs well with his hair. It’s this tousled mix of purple, turquoise, and black, a blend of jewel-tones that make his unusual eye color pop even more.
If he hadn’t stolen my parking space, dismissed me in front of my crew, and put a knife to my throat, I might actually have a crush on him. I know as well as any other girl here that there’s a certain aura of poison in the air around Prescott, a haze, if you will. It taints us all toxic and makes us do horrible things.
It makes me steal cars and get crushed on by psychos. Because, undoubtedly, both Widow and Bohnes are psychotic. Thankfully, so am I.
If I want to get away from him, I’ll have to play dirty. I could stab him right now, make him bleed thick syrupy crimson strands across the forest floor. But I don’t want to do that. He’d probably stop fucking me if I did that.
“Don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of your virgin blood on my dick,” he murmurs, fucking me hard and fast with his hand as I swallow past the tightness in my throat and try to remember how to breathe. “I’m the only man that’s ever touched this. Don’t think I’m unaware.”
“You’re not ready, but I want to eat you, Scarlett. I want to bite you. I want to devour you.”
I’ve never had a guy give me a pervert’s severed fingers before. It’s my new benchmark for total romance.
But this is better. We’re perfectly compatible, me and Scarlett. Physically. Sexually. Emotionally. We both run in the same circles, we play the same games, we dabble in the dark. She’s my perfect woman, everything I’ve ever wanted. I intend to keep her for myself.
“You’ll be at the track tonight?” I ask, looking into the mirror as I wait for her. My eyes are ringed in dark shadow, making me look disturbed. It’s a favor, really, to the rest of society. Of course I’m disturbed, can’t they see it? It’s their fault anyway.
I allow it this time, wanting to earn more of her goodwill, wanting her to know that I’ll be a good monster for her, a pretty monster, a fuckboy monster. Hers and hers alone. I’ll do whatever she wants me to do, just so long as I can have her. And I don’t just mean sexually. I want everything. Her body. Her soul. Her bloody, beating heart.
“We’re toxic together, you know that, right? We could never have a normal relationship with the way we both are.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. Normal is filth. Normal is complacency. Normal is accepting that this hideous world is right, and you are wrong. I don’t accept that. Not at all.”
“You stalking me, it’s fucked-up. It’s disturbed, Bohnes. You are disturbed.”
For the briefest of instances, my mind turns to the weird rich guy with the gloves, Alexei, but I quickly forget about him when Bohnes settles his huge, hot hands on my waist, encouraging me to rock against him, my bare tits in his face.
This is why I need to be careful with Bohnes. If he keeps offering me up severed fingers, I might start falling for him.
I don’t give a fuck what the Prescott boys do after I leave, but for the girls, I’ve got my eyes on Shirley’s cousin—a tough chick named Stacey Langford.
“Bye,” I breathe. It’s the only thing I can think to say. I want her so badly right now that my body and heart are rebelling against my brain. No, Bohnes. She needs to know that she can trust you, that this is about more than sex and business. This is love, dark and sweet and tender. Eventually, she’ll see it. Eventually, she’ll see that she needn’t fear romance and intimacy.
Ash Kelly, he’s gone. And in his place … there’s Aspen. Just Aspen. My question to you is this: can you keep a secret? My life, your life—the lives of my fuckboys—they all depend on it. Keep your mouth shut, friend. In my neighborhood, snitches get stitches. Goodnight, and see you next time you’re in South Prescott. Love, Scarlett Motherfucking Force.
