“Do you think it’d be okay if I came and talked to you sometime?” I ask, tilting my head to one side, hoping I look young and desperate enough for her to take pity on me. “I know we don’t know each other, but … I don’t have anyone I can trust.” I blink my green eyes and keep my face as neutral as I can.
“Are you in danger, Bernadette?” Sara asks me, stepping out onto the small front stoop of her home and looking up and down the street, like she can sense the Havoc Boys waiting around the corner for me.
“Yes,” I tell her, because that’s the truth. I am in danger. From her partner. From the Charter Crew. From my own strange, black, fractured little heart. “Would it be okay if I came over here sometime? I mean, if you can’t talk to a cop, who can you talk to?” I almost gag on the words, but I feel like I just pulled that off. Sara’s face softens and she nods, smiling at me in what I can only assume is a sincere way.
“Why don’t I give you my phone number? Text me, and we’ll set up a time to chat. Whatever it is that’s going on, Bernadette, it isn’t too late. It’s never too late. We can always fix what’s broken.” I almost laugh at that, but the sound would be so caustic, it’d burn Sara’s pretty face off. Is she kidding me? When glass shatters, it cannot be fixed. You can collect the pieces, but your hands will bleed after. There is no putting those little shards back together. They will forever remain dangerous fragments of a thing that used to be.
“Thank you,” I tell her instead, handing over my phone so she can input her number. I wonder if I’m being too awkward or weird, but maybe that’s what helps my case? Gives my lies a sense of believability. “I’ll be in touch. I really appreciate this.”
“If you ever need anything—beyond just a chat over coffee—call me. Don’t leave yourself in a dangerous situation because you’re scared to ask for help.” Sara looks down at me on the second step of her porch, her savior complex shining so bright that I want to look away. Instead, I stare at her until there are white splotches in my vision.
“I appreciate it,” I say after a moment, turning and heading back down the pathway. The grass has been cut back on either side, but there are no other plants of which to speak, adding to the strange fifties catalog-style Americana bullshit with the freakishly green lawns and shiny cars in the driveways.
It’s a relief to climb onto the back of Vic’s Harley and wrap my arms around him.
“Don’t ever stop me from riding with you,” I murmur against the sun-warmed leather of his jacket. I might be showing my cards a bit, but I can’t help myself. Victor isn’t allowed to cut me off from his influence. Not anymore.
“Even when Hael finishes your car?” he asks, a bit of a laugh hiding in the smooth fluidity of his voice.
“Even then,” I confirm. “Don’t cut us off from each other to punish me, Victor.”
He stays still for a moment before kicking the engine to life.
“Never,” he agrees, the wicked purr in his voice telling me that it’s just clicked for him. He’s figured it out, and I am fucked.
We take off down the road and into an entirely different sort of business transaction.
“What the hell is this place?” I ask as Vic parks his bike in the dirt outside of what looks like, quite literally, a haunted house. “This is your idea of a wedding venue?” Victor climbs off the bike, lighting up a cigarette as the Bronco and the Camaro pull up alongside us. I’m getting mad déjà vu from when we visited Billie’s trailer to find a dress for the brunch thing at the country club.
“You don’t like it?” Victor asks, studying the admittedly beautiful foliage. This place is the opposite of Sara’s neighborhood. The house is falling apart—not all shiny and perfect like hers—but the land is alive. There are mature trees with lineages far deeper and more beautiful than my own. And the ancient rhododendron near the porch? It’s such a far cry from South Prescott with its tract housing and shitty duplexes, all that cement and chain-link and urban decay.
“Whose place is this anyway?” I ask as the other boys climb out to join us. I’m surprised they’re all here, seeing as Vic is possessive as hell over this whole wedding idea. “Enjoy your time as a free woman because I’m counting down the nights until I fuck that wedding dress off of you.” I’m still not entirely sure what Victor expects after the wedding, but … glancing Aaron’s direction, I know that I’m not ready to give him up, not with all the time lost between us.
He doesn’t look like he wants to give me up either. His gaze is angry, and his fingers are squeezing into fists and then relaxing, a sign of the tension riding hard and heavy inside of him.
“My grandmother’s house,” Victor says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at me. Well, I’m not sure that I’d really call whatever that expression is, a smile. More like a fucking anti-smile. Yep, that’s what it is: an anti-smile.
“Such a shame,” Oscar sighs, leaving his iPad on the front seat of the Camaro as he looks up at the house. He rode with Hael while Callum tagged along with Aaron. “A Gothic Revival with an original kitchen and original bathrooms. It might’ve been worth a fortune, were your mother any less of a sadistic cunt.”
Victor pounds up the front steps as I eye them warily, wondering if they’re even going to hold his weight.
“If you don’t like this, Bernie, just speak up and we’ll find somewhere else,” Aaron says, smiling at me in that way of his, like his mouth is made of sunshine. It’s a different sort than it used to be. Freshman year, I might’ve said his smile was as open and bright as a summer afternoon at the lake. Now, he’s like the dusky, filtered light that percolates through tree limbs and decorates the shadowed forest floor with stars.
“First though …” Cal starts, slipping up beside me. His blue eyes meet mine, and I find an invitation there, one that I didn’t quite expect. I know he’s been waiting for me to decide, but I’m pretty sure I already have. Actually, no, that’s a copout. I’ve always known what I’ve wanted, and it wasn’t just the V in Havoc; it was every letter in their wicked, little alphabet.
But how I go about making that happen, I don’t know.
Victor is possessive. Aaron wants to skin him alive. Hael is … wrapped up in Brittany’s bullshit.
I exhale.
“First though?” I echo, and he grins, pushing his hood back, so I can see his face. His pink lips echo whatever dark thoughts are drifting through that head of his.
“Come see what we’ve brought you,” he says happily, his voice a velvety purr that has texture to it, like it’s more than sound. When Callum Park talks, I sometimes think I can feel it, kissing across my flesh and crawling inside of me.
I glance over at Hael, but he just smiles. He’s here, but he’s also … not. Yes, we had that talk—and that fuck—on the hood of his car, but where are we really? Waiting for a fetus’ DNA test and stuck in limbo.
“This should be good,” Hael crows, throwing his head back anyway and howling with laughter. He shoves his sunglasses up and into his hair, ruffling that red faux hawk of his as he opens the front door of the crumbling manor and then pauses, like he’s reconsidering. “Right,” he purrs, crinkling his eyes up as he smirks, “you don’t like the chivalrous shit.”
“Come the fuck off it,” Aaron snaps at him, elbowing Hael out of the way when he laughs and lets go of the door, leaving it to swing in our faces. Aaron stops it with his palm and lets Callum lead the way into the darkness, following after Vic and Oscar. Hael takes up the rear.
We head straight for the stairs and up. All the while, I’m wondering if we’re going to fall through to our deaths.
The place is hauntingly beautiful on the inside, but very clearly beyond saving. This isn’t a place you move into with hopes, dreams, a shoestring budget, and YouTube videos on how to DIY shit. No, no, this place is a shell, with holes in the ceiling and floors, sunlight trickling down and highlighting drifting brown leaves. Technically, it’s still autumn, but winter is right around the corner.
It’s cold in the c
reepy, old place, even in my leather jacket. I’m thinking about that, about my leather jacket, as the boys guide me down the hall and … into a room where an older gentleman is bound to a chair.
Oh.
Crap.
“Who is this?” I ask as the boys fan out around their prisoner, like demonic gods attending a dark ritual. But I already know who it is. I just want to hear them say it.
“This,” Vic tells me, putting his hands on the man’s shoulders and giving him a little shake. “Is Todd Kushner.” Victor gives me another anti-smile and then stands up straight, letting his hands fall to his sides. “He’s got earbuds in,” he explains, gesturing at the blindfolded man with the too-perfect skin. That was one of the things that always weirded me out about Todd, how smooth and babylike his skin was. Maybe that’s what he was really doing, drinking the youth of his victims.
However it happens, his youth doesn’t suit him at all.
“Earbuds blasting music, Vic should say. I Prevail, most specifically,” Callum corrects, mentioning one of my favorite bands. Whenever I hear the song “Gasoline”, I think of the Havoc Boys. It suits them, the mood of that one.
“What is he doing here?” I ask as I circle around Todd, noting that he, too, has pissed his pants in fear. Isn’t that ironic, how some monsters get so scared when their time finally comes to play victim? I have a feeling that the Havoc Boys wouldn’t cower like this, pee themselves and whimper like kicked dogs.
Not a chance in hell.
“That’s up to you,” Vic tells me, watching as I complete my circle and pause next to Oscar. It’s not like I’ve forgotten what his boss told me. “If they get the chance, each and every one of them will try to take you from me … Even. Oscar.” Hmm.
He moves away from me, which in reality, gives me all the information I need.
I look at Oscar, and his glasses flash as he pushes them up his nose, flipping me off at the same time. If he didn’t care about me at all, he wouldn’t move away like that. It’s an emotional response that makes me wonder what I could do, if I pushed him hard enough.
My mind flashes to that moment in the hallway where I persisted on touching his tie, until he finally let me.
“We could tell Eric we’ve kidnapped his father,” Callum suggests, shrugging his shoulders as he slips his hands into the pockets of his black cargo shorts. “But we’re of the opinion that he doesn’t care whether his dad lives or dies. So, a better choice would be to use Todd to convince Eric to come here.”
I can only imagine the tortures they have in store for the Kushners.
I don’t have to explain what happened to me there; they know. I told them all, when I was thirteen. I told them everything.
“We thought you could help with the phone call, act like you’re a girl that Todd’s rounded up for Eric,” Aaron adds, and I cringe slightly. I wonder if I’m suffering from my PTSD shit again. I’ve never been diagnosed, but again, kooks and quacks aren’t really in the budget of someone whose little sister doesn’t have shoes without holes in them.
I should probably dig up some of that money and buy her some. That was old Bernadette who buried that money, a Bernadette who was a lot more afraid than she realized. Things are different now.
“So, we use my voice to lure the pervert to a haunted mansion on the edge of Oak Park?” I ask, shaking my head. “If he chooses to resist his perversions, he escapes free and clear. If he doesn’t, he suffers, something like that?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Hael says, snickering at me. “If he resists, we’ll just get him later. That’s pretty much it.”
I pause in front of Todd, and then reach out to remove his earbuds. I tuck them in my pocket and then slip the soggy wet gag down his chin, curling my lip and then wiping my hands on the front of the hideous white frock I’m wearing. It looks like something from Abercrombie and Fitch. I don’t quite feel like me without my regular clothes.
“Listen to me,” Todd starts, stuttering slightly as he moves his head around, like he can actually see anything through the black blindfold he’s wearing. “You need to repent. It isn’t too late. Jesus can always heal a sinner.”
Callum grabs Todd by the hair, yanking his head and pressing the edge of his knife—the same one I stabbed Kali with—against the front of his throat. Cal doesn’t even seem unhappy doing it. Actually, he smiles.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Todd pleads, but it’s clear from his tone of voice that he hasn’t fully grasped the sincerity of his peril. “If you bow to God, you will find salvation. If you bow to the devil, you will burn.”
A strange laugh escapes Victor as he comes around to stand beside me.
“I wouldn't bow to Satan anymore than I'd bow to God,” Vic says, slipping a fresh cigarette between his lips. I stare at him, and he lets his dark gaze slide to mine. We’re caught up in each other all of a sudden, and my head spins. He sounded way too hot when he said that, I think, tearing my gaze away to look at Todd. “Try a little harder than that, pervert. You think God wants a child-fucker in his kingdom anymore than he wants assholes like us?”
Victor approaches the chair where Todd’s sitting, Callum’s knife still pressed to his throat, and he leans down in front of him. Lucky for Todd, he can’t see the way Vic looks at him, like he’s so much trash that needs taking out.
“Listen to me, Todd. We don’t want to hurt you.” Lie. The feeling of it coats my skin like ash, and I shiver. I won’t survive it if Vic lies to me ever again, by omission or otherwise. I’ll have to tell him that. “But, what we do want is money.” I almost laugh at that, biting my lip to keep the sound back. Callum grins at me, adjusting the knife just enough that a small drop of blood slides down the front of Todd’s pale throat.
“Money?” he asks, sounding hopeful. “I have money. In cash, too.” Callum pulls the knife back and then hits Todd upside the head with the handle, making his head flop forward with a groan.
“Shut your fucking face,” he whispers, and the sound makes me go cold inside. Holy crap.
Vic just stays right where he is, waiting patiently. Aaron and I exchange a look, and I can see in his expression that he wants to spirit me away from here, take me somewhere—anywhere—else. He doesn’t want me to see this and, since this is my request, I can walk away at any time.
I make zero moves to do so.
Todd filmed me in a bikini; he bought me for his son.
That, and I don’t know what he did to Penelope when I wasn’t around.
“Coraleigh Vincent,” Victor continues, standing up straight. Hael takes a seat on an ancient chair, its frame skeletal. All that’s left in the seat are rusted metal springs. “We know she brings you girls. That’s what we’re interested in. We don’t want a onetime payout; our game is longevity.”
Victor Channing is such a talented actor that I almost believe what he’s saying. I’d be shocked if Todd didn’t. After all, when has a vigilante gang ever come after a pedophile purely for the sake of justice?
No, it’s much more believable—and much more likely—that we’d be in it for money, as willing to trade girls into sex slavery as Coraleigh. If a woman who works for the department of human services can be that twisted, that cruel, then why not us?
“Yeah, yeah, I know Leigh,” Todd says, shaking so badly that he rattles a bit on the chair. “I can get you in touch with her for sure.” Victor and Hael exchange a look, and the former nods. Hael stands up from the chair and grabs a black latex glove from a box on the table, snapping it onto his left hand and then doing the same for his right. He picks up a cell phone from a rickety side table and holds it up to show that the screen is locked.
“What’s your pin code for your phone, Todd?” Vic asks as Oscar watches the scenario unfold with disinterest. Aaron is the only one who looks actively uncomfortable, but when his eyes glance Todd’s direction, they shimmer with the sort of darkness that nightmares are made out of. He hates Todd as much as the other Havoc Boys, he just doesn’t revel in the cha
se like they do. Maybe that’s the difference between monsters who are made … and monsters who are born? Vic is a born beast, for sure.
Todd hands out his code and Hael opens his phone up, searching the contacts for Coraleigh’s name. She comes right up, and Vic smiles.
“Perfect. Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”
I accept the phone as Victor explains his plan to Todd, scrolling past Coraleigh’s number to find Eric’s. If I analyze my feelings too deeply, I’ll chicken out here. Calling Eric, letting Todd tease him with the idea of me, and then using my voice to warm him up to the idea of coming here. It grosses me out.
It also excites me.
Who knew vengeance could be such a turn-on?
The trees in the front yard of the property are magnificent, old and untouched by the greediness of human hands. Most of them are evergreens, so they’re still pretty, even though it’s verging on the edge of winter. Here and there, a barren oak tree sits, a reminder that this property was once a part of the Springfield elite; they always marked their land with oaks as a status symbol.
Victor and me, we’re both old money turned dirt poor.
“Do you like this place?” Callum asks, pausing nearby, hunched over in his hoodie with his hands in his front pocket. His hood is down, which is surprising. It’s one of his shields, and he uses it well. “I mean, do you really want to get married here?” He pauses as I glance his way, studying his exposed calves and knees and all the silver scars crisscrossed over his skin. “I know Victor does, because it’s his grandma’s place and even if he’s too stubborn to admit it, he loved her more than anything.”
There’s a strong pause there, but I don’t bother to fill in the blanks aloud. I know what Cal is thinking: except for you. Except for Havoc, maybe.
“I like it here,” I admit, looking around the front yard at the collapsing gazebo, the patchy grass, the porch that has definitely seen better days. “It used to be something, but now it’s nothing. It’s a good reminder that life can turn in an instant.” I reach into the pocket of my leather jacket and extract a joint. Cal steps forward before I can ask and removes a lighter from his own pocket, lighting me up before I can even ask.
Chaos at Prescott High Page 27
