Flames sweep over the cabin and consume it, leaving nothing but ash in their wake.
Two years earlier …
Everything I own is lying in a heap in the backyard. I'm the only person home at the moment, standing with one hand on the edge of the sliding glass door, my eyes focused on the admittedly small mountain of clothing, books, and furniture tossed haphazardly on the gravel-covered area near the old shed.
“Boo.”
A voice surprises me from behind, and I jump, a strong arm banding around my waist and yanking me into a firm chest.
I know immediately who it is that's holding me there: Victor fucking Channing.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to whisper, fear a hot, wild thing inside my chest. But my body's a traitor because it's not just fear that I'm feeling, it's want. Need. An emotion I never thought I'd be able to associate with the Havoc Boys, not after what they did to me during pageant week.
Not when they ruined homecoming.
Not when they make me question every step I take.
They've turned Prescott High into a nightmare for me.
“We've decided to have a bonfire,” Vic says, his mouth too close to my ear. I stay stone-still, terrified of whatever it is he's got planned. That's when I see Aaron come around the corner of the house, a red gasoline can in one hand. He doesn't look at me as he moves up to the pile and drenches it in flammable liquid.
They're going to burn my stuff.
I can only pray they're not going to burn me, too.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, but I've asked that question a hundred times, and I've never gotten an answer. Victor just laughs softly and releases me. I stumble away from him as Oscar, Callum, and Hael join Aaron in the yard.
It's Vic, though, who pulls a lighter from his pocket and approaches the pile.
I don't have a lot in life, barely anything, and what I do have, I've worked hard for. I can see my new heels for the winter formal in that pile, the ones I worked two shitty jobs for. They're propped up next to a shoebox full of old pictures, pictures of a dad I didn’t get to keep, of me and Pen as babies, of a life that didn't suck quite so bad as this one does.
The leader of the Havoc Boys doesn't skip a beat when he leans over and sets my entire life on fire, the flames catching and licking across the pile in seconds. I just slide to the floor and sit there on my knees watching, waiting, wondering.
Why? Why me?
All I ever wanted was to be one of them.
All I ever wanted was to belong.
But that need, that desire, like so many others, is and will always be a worthless pipe dream; the taste of it is bitter ash on my tongue.
I must fall asleep in the van because I don't remember much between climbing into the car and waking up in Aaron's bed. His familiar smell surrounds me, like rose and sandalwood, and I have to fight back the wave of strong memories.
I lost my virginity in this bed.
Aaron said he loved me in this bed.
I frown and shove the covers off, climbing out of the bed and swiping my hands over my face. My phone is lying on the nightstand, the screen still off, whatever angry words my mother might want to say hidden within.
I leave it there as I stand up and grab my backpack from the floor near the door, pulling out my change of clothes before I creep down the hall to check on Heather. She's passed out, curled up on an air mattress that just barely fits between Kara's and Ashley's beds.
A sigh of relief escapes me as I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and watch the three of them sleeping. The first real smile I've given in weeks takes over my mouth, and I feel this unsettling sense of contentment.
I could live a life like this, getting up early in a house that's free of hate, showering, making breakfast for the girls … But I don't let myself hope for it. Hopes, wants, dreams, they can all be destroyed in the span of a single exhale. A ragged inhale. A surprised gasp.
Shaking my head, I push away from the wall and head for the bathroom. It must be early because I don't hear anyone else moving around in the house. Good. I smell like a campfire, and as much as I'm glad that Principal Vaughn got his last night, I also don't need a scented reminder of what happened.
The bathroom is free, thankfully, so I step in and lock it, stripping down and climbing in the scalding warmth of the shower. As I let the heat wash over me, I pretend like I'm scrubbing away all the bad memories, like soap and water can really heal an injured soul.
The sound of the door opening snaps me out of my daze, and I freeze. Did someone pick the lock? Callum could pretty easily if he wanted. Hell, what am I saying? Any of the Havoc Boys could.
Peeling back the curtain, I find Aaron yawning, his dick in his hand as he takes a piss.
“What are you doing in here?” I snap, and he jumps, missing his target, so to speak, and cursing violently under his breath. “Did you pick the lock?”
“No, fuck, no,” he grumbles, adjusting his aim as I stand there glaring, my anxious heartbeat shifting into a different rhythm, one that doesn't exactly add up to a guy taking a piss in front of me. But even though I'm naked and Aaron somehow breezed through the locked door, I'm not afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt me, I think automatically, but then my cynical mind starts to laugh when I remember.
Right.
He already did.
But … for what reason?
“I barely managed to keep the girls from ending up in foster care.”
“I'm waiting,” I say as he shakes off his cock and tucks it away, zipping his pants up and snatching a container of antiseptic wipes to clean up the mess. Wow. A seventeen-year-old guy covered in tattoos scrubbing up stray droplets of pee to keep a toilet clean? Unheard of. He even puts the toilet seat down when he's done, and I can't help but be thoroughly impressed.
“The lock on this door is broken. I've been meaning to fix it, but … life.” Aaron glances over at me, some of his wavy chestnut hair falling into his eyes. He flicks it away with inked fingers. “And I'm sorry. It's early, I'm tired. The girls take forever in the shower in the mornings, so we've worked out a system where I can sneak in and pee if I have to.” He scrubs a hand over his face.
“Don't you have a downstairs bathroom?” I ask, and he gives me this look with those green-gold eyes of his.
“It's occupied,” he says, narrowing his gaze even further. “We hide the weed in there.”
“The weed?” I ask, imagining, like, a small baggy full of the green stuff.
“Yeah,” Aaron says, sounding tired. “We have some people that grow for us, and then they pass it over for drying. I don't want the girls to know what we do, so we hide it in there and keep the door locked.”
“Oh.” My fingers stay curled around the edge of the shower curtain. “That makes sense in a strange, Havoc sort of way …”
“It pays the bills,” Aaron says, watching me carefully as water drips down my face and sluices between my gently parted lips. “I don't exactly have dental or health insurance for the girls.”
“You don't have to justify yourself to me,” I say when I realize that he's getting defensive. That'd be Aaron for you. I think he always got off on being the nice guy. Now he can never be the nice guy again. It pisses him off, I think.
My gaze scans his body automatically, taking note of how much he's changed since we were together. His muscles are hard, covered in ink. His sweatpants hang too low, showing off that enticing 'V' on his hips that he never had before. While his personality may have downgraded, his body sure has upgraded.
I lift my eyes to his.
“I want to know everything that happened with Kali,” I tell him, and his jaw tightens. “I deserve that much at least, don't you think?”
“I …” Aaron trails off, and he doesn't look so badass for a moment there, but like the boy who held my hand in a rainy graveyard. “Yeah, you do.” He turns toward the door, and something catches in my throat. I think it's the need to call out to him, to ask him to come b
ack, to look him in the eye and see if he still cares about me.
“For the record, I could never go to Nantucket,” I say, and he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “My grandma can't take Heather in; they're not related. Nona's my dad's mother, remember? And I can't leave Heather with the Thing. You know what happened to Penelope.”
I can see Aaron's breath slow before he finally turns the knob.
“I'll make pancakes,” he says, and then he slips out and leaves me alone to slide down the shower wall.
For the first time in almost two years, I cry.
And it feels fucking great.
Dressed in cut-off shorts, and a dark pink halter that mimics the color of my hair, I head downstairs and find all five guys in the kitchen, sitting on counters, slouching against walls, all of them with breakfast plates in their hands.
I walk in barefoot and all eyes fall on me, making me shiver. It makes me feel both powerful and terrified at the same time; I can't explain it.
“You look so pretty today!” Kara exclaims which stops me dead in my tracks. I'm not wearing a lick of makeup, and my hair is wet and slightly disheveled. I glance over at her beaming face, but now all three girls are staring at me, and I realize the weight of their stares is a hundred times more powerful than those of the guys.
Men have selfish motivation, want, and desire tainting their vision; little girls have dreams, ambition, and honesty turning theirs crystal clear.
My cheeks flush and the terror fades away.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear and grabbing a plate. To look at us all, you wouldn't know we humiliated a grown man, beat him up, and set his house on fire last night. I guess that's the point though, isn't it? “What's the plan for today?”
“The girls have been invited to a birthday party,” Aaron says, using tongs to put hot bacon on the edge of my plate. “A princess-themed birthday party.” That's when I notice he's wearing a crown on the top of his head. Looks weird as hell, considering the tattoos and all. I almost smile. Almost, but not quite.
“That sounds like fun,” I say, hugging Heather from behind, her smell calming my nerves. She always smells like soap and the cucumber-melon body spray she borrows from my side of the bathroom vanity. “Are you going to dress up?”
“I'm too old for princesses,” she says, wiggling out of my grip. “I'm going as Deadpool.”
“Like … Ryan Reynolds, superhero Deadpool?” I ask, raising a brow as Heather turns a challenging look on me. “I'm not mocking, I'm just asking.”
“Aaron has a mask I can borrow,” she says, and I shrug. Whatever. It's only two weeks until Halloween, so if she wants to dress up early that's fine with me. “Can you do my hair though? You can just cut it all off with scissors …”
I give her a look and flip her ponytail with my fingers.
“I'll put it in a bun, and we can discuss cutting it off later—at a salon.” If I had the money for a salon. I grit my teeth slightly, glancing down at the engagement ring on my finger. When Heather noticed it, I told her it was just costume jewelry for Halloween. But knowing its worth, it's so damn tempting … “If you're done eating, go upstairs and take a shower. You stink.”
She doesn't really, but she could use a shower anyway. Heather frowns at me and sighs but does as I asked. Kara and Ashley follow up behind her and disappear into their room to pick out dresses, leaving me to sit on one of the three stools.
“Here,” Vic says after a moment, moving over to the peninsula where the cooktop is and pausing beside Aaron. He tosses an envelope down in front of me, and I stare at it for an inordinate amount of time before I take it and open it up.
“This is like two grand in cash,” I say, glancing back up and finding that endless void that is Victor Channing staring back at me.
“Your cut of the money we stole from Donald's safe, after expenses. We keep an account for Havoc related shit.”
“Like gasoline?” I ask, and Vic's lush mouth curves into a dangerous smile.
“Like gasoline.”
He leaves the kitchen and some of the tension in the room goes with him.
“The girls are going to a party, so what's our plan for the day?” I ask, lifting my gaze from my plate to the four boys in the room with me. Hael won't look at me for whatever reason, but Oscar at least glances my way, looking bored out of his mind.
“Aaron and Hael will be trimming and prepping the marijuana in the bathroom for sale while Callum has a day off, Vic does whatever the hell he wants, and I work on your wedding plans.”
The color drains from my face, and I stifle a groan.
Right.
Wedding plans.
Fantastic.
“What's our budget?” I ask dryly, expecting him to laugh in my face. “Aren't we just going down to the courthouse?”
Instead, Oscar smirks.
“Twenty grand, and no. You and Victor will be married in a proper ceremony. Care to join me in making plans?” he asks, and my mouth falls open. “It's not a lot, in theory, but we can make a classic, elegant ceremony happen.”
“Twenty grand?” I repeat, feeling my hand sweat where it's wrapped around the fork. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he says, and that one word, coming out of that sharp mouth of his, is bound to give me nightmares.
The majority of the morning I'm left to hang out with the girls, helping them pick out costumes for the party and arranging their hair into fancy coifs with the help of YouTube tutorials. Aaron comes by at one point and hovers in the doorway, but I guess there's still too much weirdness between us for him to want to join in.
Once he leaves with the girls, I wander downstairs and sit across from Oscar on one of the couches, my still silent phone in my hand. I figure I better turn it on before Mom tells the Thing I've disappeared with his daughter, and I end up with a SWAT team hunting my ass down.
“Problem?” Oscar asks, looking up from his laptop. The shine of the screen catches on his glasses, blocking his eyes from view. I can't tell what he's thinking on a good day, but like this, he's impossible to read.
“I need to check my messages, but I'm dreading looking at them because I just know Pamela's gonna be pissed off, and I hate dealing with her.”
“Give me the phone,” Oscar says, gesturing toward the coffee table. I set it down and slide it across. He catches it before it falls off the other side and powers it on. Meanwhile, my stomach churns, and I lift one leg up on the couch, wrapping my arms around it and wishing the damn thing would start up faster so I could just get this over with.
He stares at the phone for a moment, and then starts tapping out a text message.
Not two minutes later, he's setting the phone down on the coffee table.
“Well?” I ask as Oscar refocuses his attention on the laptop. He barely pays me any attention, like maybe he never wanted me to join his boys' club after all?
“Your mother said to get your ass home before your stepfather does or else. There was nothing after the or else portion of the conversation.” He starts typing and doesn't bother looking at me. “I wonder if it’s too gauche to use black lilies for a wedding?” This last part is mumbled, mostly to himself as he taps inked fingers against the bottom of his chin. “I wonder if I care?”
“And?” I press, my hands shaking as I think about picking the phone up again. “How did you respond to that?”
More typing, and then a very distinct pause as Oscar finally glances up.
“I told her that a woman with so much to hide shouldn't be so quick to judge and that her husband wouldn't be home anytime soon because he's fucking his new partner.”
I blink a moment to clear the shock and then lunge forward to grab my phone.
Sure enough, that's what Oscar's responded with. The color drains from my face as I read and re-read both Mom's message and Oscar's reply.
Where the hell are you? I'm starting to worry! I have to pause for a moment there to roll my eyes. Worried? She's not wor
ried about me or Heather. We're nothing but accessories in her life, as useful or replaceable as a new necklace or a purse. Are you with that boy again? The one who hurt Neil? You're better than that, Bernadette. You are not a slut. Get your ass home before Dad does or else.
And then …
Heather's safe and attending a friend's birthday party. You, on the other hand, shouldn't be so quick to judge since your husband's fucking his hot, new partner. Doubtful he'll be home anytime soon. He's busy, after all. See you tomorrow.
I wait there for what feels like an hour, staring at the screen, expecting a reply, and getting nothing.
“She'll be too busy calling and bitching out your stepfather to respond,” Oscar says, keys clacking away.
“Is Neil really fucking his partner?” I ask and get the barest of smiles in response.
“No. She's far too classy to let a perverted, married pedophile touch her. In fact, we might use her in his downfall. But your mother doesn't know that.”
“They'll be screaming and fighting and then anger fucking all night,” I say with a grimace, leaving my phone on in case Heather needs to all me. “Thanks, that buys me another day.”
Oscar doesn't bother to respond again, so I get up and head to the kitchen for some snacks, hiding myself in Aaron's room for the rest of the day to binge The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina on Netflix.
For the first time in a while, I'm actually somewhat relaxed.
Weird, right? Considering I'm in my ex boyfriend's room in a house full of bad boys with no qualms about making others bleed.
Once it gets dark out, I make another expedition to the kitchen and find Callum coming in the front door, soaked in sweat and wearing sweatpants and a tank top. He’s carrying that damn bag of his, the one he always stuffs in his locker at the beginning of the school day. He smiles at me as he passes by.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask, tucking my fingers into the pockets of my shorts.
“My shattered hopes and dreams,” Callum quips, but he smiles as he says it, softening the blow of what I’m almost certain is the truth. He cocks his head to one side, blond hair sliding across his forehead. His arms are corded with hard muscle, and despite his smaller stature, I trust he’d be a match for Hael or maybe even Vic. Beads of sweat cling to his tattoos as he reaches up to push some hair from his face, blue eyes dark.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 23
