Havoc at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  I exhale and release my grip on the clump of grass.

  “Some bullshit upper crust, society type garbage,” Hael snorts as Vic takes a drag on the joint and passes it over to Aaron. “Doesn't make much sense to me.”

  “Heh. You are not fucking invited, asshole.” Victor turns to look at me, his eyes half-lidded from the weed, his beer half-empty, and a fresh cigarette in his hand. “You'd ruin any chance of me getting ahold of my inheritance.” He stares at me some more, and I can feel it, this tension between us, hot and sticky, and desperate to be snapped. At least when he orders me into his bed tonight, I'll want to be there. “It's a luncheon with my egg donor and her bitch friends.” Vic reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box, tossing it onto the grass beside me. My brows go up as I grab it and crack the lid.

  “What the fuck is this?” I ask, staring at the diamond engagement ring.

  “Your wedding ring,” he says, and like, all of that anger comes roaring back again. Sex is one thing, but I did not agree to this shit. My eyes narrow, but Vic just keeps staring at me like he doesn't notice. “You'll come to the luncheon as my fiancée, please my mom, and marry me, so we can collect my inheritance.”

  “You've got to be freaking kidding me,” I snort, but he frowns.

  “Not even close. You're not going to pitch a fit about this, are you? Because it's blood in, blood out in Havoc. Do you have a problem being my wife?”

  “I …” I start to answer honestly, but I don't want Victor to know how much this bothers me. The sex is one thing, but marriage? I don't want to be legally bound to this prick-hole. “Yeah, whatever. Do I get any of the money?” I look him straight in the face, and he raises a brow, like I've surprised him.

  “We'll split the cut, sure, we always do. We're fucking family.” Victor throws his feet up onto the small green plastic table in front of his chair and smirks at me. “Welcome to the family, Bernadette.”

  The boys order pizza and then gather in the living room to smoke more pot and watch South Park. The house is a lot better on the inside than the outside. I expected burn marks on the tables from meth spoons, holes in the walls from angry punches, and the stink of garbage. But it's not like that at all. Instead, there's a candle burning on the table, no sign of trash or dirty clothes on the floor, and humble but serviceable furniture.

  Hael pulls me onto his lap, and I find that we have a completely different chemistry than I do with Vic. With Vic, it's like … a hot summer day when you're soaked in sweat and all you want is water and cool, silken sheets. That's Victor. Hael is … like a fireworks explosion waiting to happen. Dangerous, unpredictable, but damn pretty to look at.

  He massages my hip with his hand while I try to watch the show. But I can't. I can't think about anything other than that tattooed hand of his smoothing across my flesh.

  I'm not sure, exactly, what we're supposed to be doing here, but if smoking weed and watching TV fulfills my Havoc requirements, then fine.

  “Maybe I'll take you in the bathroom real quick?” Hael whispers, his mouth teasing the shell of my ear. “See if that sharp mouth of yours is as good at sucking cock as it is at being snarky.”

  “I get her first,” Vic says, with this unshakable calm but overwhelming certainty. He doesn't have to raise his voice or look at Hael to get his point across. He's the goddamn boss.

  Hael makes a frustrated sound under his breath and pushes me off his lap onto the couch cushion. I sink into it, the scent of pot and beer permeating the fabric.

  “We need to go look at dresses,” Oscar reminds the group, pushing his glasses up with a middle finger. He smirks at me, his eyes taking me in in a way that's both appreciative and analytical. “What are you? A size eight?” My brows go up, but I don't answer. It's clear he's not done. “Thirty-eight, G cup.”

  My smile is wicked sharp.

  “Wrong, actually. I'm a thirty-eight triple D.”

  Oscar lets out a smooth, dark sort of laugh and then shakes his head.

  “No, you're not. You're much larger than a triple D. Have you ever had a proper fitting?”

  “Do you get custom made leather shoes from a fucking cobbler? Or hand tailored suits from a master craftsman? No, asshole, I've never had a proper fitting. My bras are from Walmart, and this is the biggest size they have.”

  I stand up, ready to fight. It's just what I do; it's in my nature.

  “Kick his ass, Bernie,” Callum murmurs, pushing his hood back and revealing a sea of golden blond hair, streaked with honey and amber. He's honestly way too pretty to be a gangbanger. “He fucking insulted you. Beat him up.”

  “Yes, by all means, Bernadette, beat me up.” Oscar puts his tablet aside and stands up, smirking at me. He clearly doesn't see me as a threat. I glance over at the couch where Vic's sitting, but he's watching impassively, like he doesn't care much either way.

  Fine then.

  I'd like to punch Oscar anyway, just to prove I can.

  I'm not the same girl they picked on all those years ago.

  Exhaling, I study Oscar's tall, lithe form. He's got a thin build, but he's bulked it up with serious muscle. I can see that, even through the white button-down he's wearing. He's at least taken his jacket off, and rolled up his sleeves, so I can see some of his tattoos.

  “Can you take a punch?” I ask, raising a brow. “Because this is gonna hurt.”

  “Try me.” Oscar just stands there, this infuriating column of grace and poise. I watch him for a moment, scoff, and then start to turn away like I've given up before launching myself at his midsection and knocking him back into the chair. He's so surprised that he lets me get that far, but I don't land the punch. He stops it just a fraction of an inch from his glasses, squeezing my hand in his fist.

  “Guys have been going after my glasses since I was eight years old. You should've picked a different place to punch.”

  “Like your balls?” I ask, and then I slam my knee down and into his crotch. Oscar's face tightens up, but that's the only emotion he shows as the other boys adjust themselves and lean in for the show. Money exchanges hands.

  Apparently, this is a bet now.

  “Twenty on me!” I shout, and then Oscar is throwing me to the floor and pinning me there. I let him get that far, aiming for his balls again. I'm sorry, but when you're small and vulnerable, you'll hit whatever you can get. I've heard guys mumble dumb shit about how it's dishonorable or uncool or what-the-fuck-ever, but the point is, if someone's hurting me, I figure I have carte blanche to do whatever I need to stop them.

  “Deal.” Vic's cool calm voice cuts through the rage and goes straight to my brain. But then Oscar blocks my kick with his own leg, putting himself off-balance in the process. We roll, and I end up on top, throwing a hard punch at his throat.

  He stops this one, too, but I get a lot closer. Adrenaline surges through me as he tries to buck me off. If he gets me under him again, I'll lose. Hands-down, I will lose. My fight or flight instincts kick in—but it's broken because I only ever fight, never flee—and I wrap my fingers around Oscar's throat. He's able to get a good grip on my wrists, but I have the advantage of gravity. That, and the advantage of being perpetually underestimated.

  I push down hard on his throat, and he fights back with everything he has, trying to knock me off his chest. But while I'm strong, I'm also much smaller than him, and fairly light. He's bucking, but I'm not going anywhere. It's easy for me to just ride this out. He can't use my own weight against me.

  After about thirty seconds, I feel hands on my arms, and Hael and Callum are hauling me back while Oscar rolls onto his side, coughing and choking and holding his throat. Aaron is looking at me like I'm a crazy person.

  “Holy sweet baby Jesus,” Hael purrs as I tear from their grips and pace the floor like a caged animal. “That turned me on so hard. You're not like the usual simpering brats we bring back here, are you?”

  “You made a deal, and you can't take it back,” I snarl, turning and looking at all f
ive guys in return. Oscar is staring at me with this strange mixture of fascination, frustration, and lust. He licks his lips as he forces himself into a sitting position, still coughing. “You thought you caged a kitty cat? You got a fucking cougar. Watch my claws when you take me to bed.” I start toward the front door, because if I don't walk or run this anger off, it'll get the best of me, and then I pause, glancing back and meeting Vic's bemused gaze. “And you guys owe me a hundred bucks.”

  Callum’s laughter follows me all the way down the block.

  About an hour later, I head back and find Aaron waiting for me on the front porch. He doesn't look very happy to see me, covered in ink and bullshit. I'm not sure I've ever hated anyone quite the same way I hate him. And trust me: I hate a lot of people. I hate more people than I like, that's for damn sure.

  “Why are you wasting your time with us?” Aaron asks, sounding bored and tired. He smokes a cigarette with two fingers dipped entirely in ink. There are very few places on his body that are left bare, not even his cock. Trust me: I've seen it all. “You should've taken off when you had the chance, gone to live with that grandmother of yours.”

  “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” I challenge, clenching my hands into fists at my sides as he turns his green-gold gaze my direction. Liar. Cheater. Hypocrite. He's worse than all the others. At least they accept the fact that their feathers are black, that their realm is hell, that they spew fire and shit flames.

  Aaron still believes he craps rainbows and wears white wings.

  “Like that?” he asks, rising up from the plastic chair on the porch. “Hell no. I've wanted you since we were kids.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and offers me the pack with his other hand. I don't take it. I don't want to get closer to him than I have to.

  “You're a monster,” I tell him, and he shrugs his big shoulders, tucking the pack into the rear pocket of his dirty denim jeans. They cup his ass too tight, emphasize the long beautiful lines of his legs.

  “Maybe. But you're an idiot. You had a chance to escape this place, and instead, you chose to dig in deep, just for a little taste of vengeance. It won't be as sweet as you think, cupcake. In fact …” Aaron saunters over to me and pauses, looking down at me with a dark frown, smelling like tobacco and secrets. “You'll find it leaves the taste of ash in your mouth; it's almost obscene.” He cups my jaw, and runs his thumb along my lower lip. “And you won't like it when Victor takes you to bed. He's a rough, angry sort of lover.” I turn my face away with a scowl. “I'm trying to convince him to give you to me, but he's determined to have you.”

  “I'd rather fuck him than you,” I say, still staring at the dirt because it's a million times better than looking at Aaron's face. When I turn back, I shoulder him out of the way and head inside.

  “You were almost late,” Vic says, crossing his huge arms over his chest. He doesn't smile. “You wouldn't have liked to see what would've happened if you were late.”

  “Let's just get this damn thing over with, shall we?” I quip, and Vic scoffs.

  “Suit yourself,” he says, and he heads outside. He's got a motorcycle waiting, some badass piece of machinery that's way outside the pay grade of someone who lives in a busted-ass house on the wrong side of town. “You'll ride bitch seat,” he tells me, gesturing to the rear seat as Hael squeezes his big body into the driver's side door of his classic car, that cherry red beauty that makes me wet just looking at it.

  “Fine.”

  Vic doesn't have helmets, but I'm beyond caring about little things like my personal safety at this moment. Instead, I hop on and curve my body against the strong, muscular expanse of his back. I'll admit, my head spins a little at his smell, this dark, musky sort of scent that sets all my senses on fire.

  But I don’t have to let him know that, now do I?

  The “dress shop” we head to isn't in a good part of town; it's not even in a bad part of town. In fact, it's in the worst part of town.

  My body is molded to Vic's big, strong back, the sun beating down on me, making me sweat.

  I tell myself that the heat in my core has nothing to do with his rock-hard body locked between my thighs, the fresh scent of male sweat and leather teasing my nose. Fuck. Fuck, this is torture.

  “What the hell is this?” I snap when the motorcycle comes to a skidding stop on the dead front lawn of some trash heap in South Prescott. There's a sea of rusted-out vehicles, a mobile home with rotten siding, and some bitchy dark-haired girl I'm pretty sure I beat the snot out of last year. What's her name, some guy's name turned girlish by adding an ie at the end. Billie?

  Vic chuckles, and the sound rumbles through me in the best possible way, taking over every part of my body and delving inside. Vic's laugh owns my blood, my bones. What the hell is gonna happen when we fuck for the first time?

  “What did you expect? Bloomingdale's?” He snorts as he climbs off the bike, and I follow after him.

  I’m not about to dignify that response with an answer, so I stay on his heels as Hael peels into the lot and damn near runs me over with that stupidly beautiful car of his. I go to slam my fist on the hood as we pass, and Vic grabs me by the wrist.

  His dark eyes are deadly serious when I look up into them.

  “Don’t ever touch Hael’s ride without his permission,” he warns, pulling me along after him as Billie rises to her feet and stretches, popping her ass out like a cat in heat.

  “Well, hello there, Victor Channing,” she purrs, sauntering over to him and flipping her dark hair, so that I can see the teal color underneath. Her brown eyes slide from him to me, and she frowns. “What can I help you with?”

  “We need a dress for my fiancée,” he says, just like that, matter-of-fact and without a single shred of emotion. The stare he levels on Billie is intense, so much so that I almost take a step back. Almost. But then, I’m not scared of the Havoc Boys, not anymore.

  “Your fiancée?” she asks, blinking stupidly at first me, then him. “Seriously?”

  “Did I fucking stutter?” Vic says, his voice sharp enough to cut. Billie takes a step back as the other boys come up the rickety stairs behind us. “Let us in.”

  Billie turns and scrambles to unlock the door, holding it wide and waiting until all six of us have moved inside before she shuts and locks it. She glares at me as she passes, and I flip her off, tattooed hand held high. Vic stiffens, but I guess he accepts that I can handle my business and doesn’t intervene.

  “Right this way,” she says, leading me through what’s actually a surprisingly nice interior and into a side room that’s filled with clothing in garment bags, metal racks with hanging poles on all four walls. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

  “We’ll take a look and let you know,” Vic says, moving confidently into the room. Somewhere further back in the house, a baby cries, and Billie hesitates.

  “That means leave, and we’ll pay you on the way out,” Callum says, towering over her in his hoodie and shorts. Billie’s face registers a true moment of fear before she scampers off. Pretty sure her kid is like, a year and a half old. She had him sophomore year with some guy who’s in prison now.

  At least I managed to avoid that particular fate.

  My eyes slide to Aaron’s, and he looks away, green eyes dark, like maybe he had the same thought I did. We were never careful, hardly used birth control. It’s a miracle I didn’t end up like Billie Charter.

  She shuts the door behind us as Oscar starts flipping through dresses.

  “Boss,” he says, after systematically discarding a good two dozen dresses before he pulls one off the rack. The other guys make themselves comfortable, like they could care less what I wear, but are determined to be here regardless.

  That’s Havoc for you, blood in, blood out.

  Oscar unzips the plastic, flashing a white dress with long sleeves, but a low-cut back. I’ve got ink all down my arms, a little on my breasts and neck, but none on my back just yet. He knows my body too well; it’s almost scary. Tha
t is, if I were capable of being afraid of anything anymore.

  “This'll do,” Vic confirms, taking the dress from Oscar's inked hand and studying it carefully. “My mother's a sucker for money, and this screams loaded.” He tosses it at me and nods with his chin. “Put it on.”

  There's a challenge in Vic's dark eyes that I meet head-on. He thinks I'm going to shy away from something as stupid as this?

  I've been stripped bare in my heart and soul, had my emotions torn off and tossed aside. He thinks I give a shit about being naked?

  “This dress is ugly as hell,” I say, and several of the boys chuckle.

  “Yeah, well, my mother is the queen of the designer label. Never said she had any fashion sense. She buys whatever's the most expensive, doesn't care what it looks like.”

  “It's your funeral,” I mimic, staring at him with a blank expression as I shrug my leather jacket off. It falls to the floor in a heap, and I exhale. Here goes nothing.

  My fingers curl under the hem of my shirt, and I tear it over my head. That dress won't work with a bra, so I reach back and unclasp the hook, letting the cups fall forward and slide to the floor.

  “Jesus,” Vic grumbles, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Oscar takes notes on his iPad before glancing up at me like he's bored, like he couldn’t care less that my bare tits are hanging out.

  “Like what you see?” I ask sneakily, but Oscar just gives me this tight, little smile that infuriates me to no end.

  “I prefer my women with bigger breasts,” he replies smoothly, and I grit my teeth, reaching down to flick open the button on my jeans.

  “I prefer my men to be able to hold their own in a fight,” I fire back, and Oscar's brows go up as Hael howls with laughter. Vic grins, and I turn away, noticing that Aaron's watching me with a severe frown. Callum, meanwhile, just smiles, almost sweetly.

  With a quiet breath, I kick my boots off and shove my jeans down my hips, leaving my panties in place. Nobody complains as I unzip the dress and wiggle into it.