“I have to pee,” I whisper, pushing his arm off. When I glance back at his face, I can see that he's still asleep. And he's so much cuter this way, too, none of those asshole vibes radiating off of him.
The only usable bathroom in the house now is the one upstairs, so I slip into my panties and Vic's discarded shirt, and make a run for it. Of course, when I get there and slip into the bathroom, it's all fogged up with steam.
“Shit,” I curse just before Aaron peeks out the curtain and sees me standing there. He sighs.
“You can come in,” he says. “I won't look.”
The curtain's tugged into place as I bite my lip and decide I just can't hold it. Cursing, I sit on the toilet and try to pee without thinking about the thin sheet of plastic separating Aaron's warm, tattooed body from mine.
What the hell did I do last night? I wonder, thinking about Hael's hot hands, and the fury on his face when Vic kicked him out of the room. And Vic … Vic. Fucking Vic. I've never had sex like that before, so completely undone. We only managed to use a condom the first time. The rest … “Goddamn it.”
“Do you need the shower?” Aaron asks, sighing again.
Do I? Of course I do. I have Vic's cum between my legs, and I'm in desperate need. Those sheets in the master bedroom are going to be wrecked …
“That'd be nice, thanks,” I murmur, not expecting him to just climb out in front of me. My eyes slide over the hard, wet planes of Aaron's body as he wraps a towel around his hips and leaves the water running. He doesn't look at me as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. But I saw it. His dick was hard. And I can only assume it was because of me.
With a groan, I hop into the shower, scrub myself down, and climb out.
As soon as I’m dressed, I open the bathroom door to find Vic waiting for me, his forearms braced on either side of the doorjamb.
I freeze, but my heart doesn't get the memo. I can hear it pounding like a war drum.
“Bernadette,” he says carefully, running his tongue across his lower lip. His eyes actually look brown today, like some of the shadows have been stripped away. Make no mistake: when he smiles, angels cry. But he looks moderately less scary and that’s saying something.
“Are we doing … Havoc stuff today?” I ask, the words husky as I try not to stare at his bare chest or the bitemarks on his neck, the red welts from my nails on his arms and shoulders. I've thoroughly marked Victor Channing, and I haven't spent much time in front of the mirror today, but … I glance to the side and catch a quick glimpse of my face and neck. There are red hickeys on my throat, no doubt about that.
I glance back at Vic, and he shrugs, those muscular shoulders of his moving like well-oiled pistons.
“I think we've all earned a break,” he says, his eyes taking me in, absorbing me, wrecking me, ripping me to pieces without even trying. I'm completely numb without you. The last thing in the world I want to do is go home right now, but I don't want to be here either.
I need space from Vic.
“Okay.” It's the only world that'll come out. I've forgotten the English language.
“Bernadette,” he says in that way of his. “Are you trying to run away from me again?”
“I don't …” I pause when I see Hael leaning against the wall, watching us. His honey-brown eyes meet mine, and he cocks a little half-smirk that doesn't quite reach his gaze. “I need to figure out Halloween costumes—for Heather and for me. We're going to a stupid party, right?”
“As relevant as all of that information is,” Vic starts, his voice smooth and low, “it's not an answer to my question.”
“I don't need to run from you, Victor Channing,” I say, slipping under his arm and moving into the hallway. I pretend like I don't feel Hael's eyes on me either.
“You don't? Because you're acting like you can't get away fast enough.” He turns to look at me, spots Hael leaning against the wall, and frowns. “What?” he asks, careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Nothing. Brittany wants to meet me somewhere today to talk.” Hael rolls his eyes and pushes up off the wall. “But I wasn't sure, what with all those white trash weasels on our dicks, if I should go alone.”
“Take Bernadette with you,” Vic says, voice still solidly neutral. Guess we’re not going to talk about last night, and that’s fine with me. “She wants to get away from me; you want to piss Brittany off.” He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't matter, but it does. He said as much last night. “Callum can tag along, too. When you're done, pick the girls up from their birthday party, and take Heather and Bernadette home.”
Victor heads down the steps without looking at me, and I can't decide if I just stood my ground or made a crucial mistake.
“You okay?” Hael asks, studying me. I'm dressed in dark jeans and a top that plunges just a little too far between my supposedly G-size breasts. “About last night …”
“I'm fine,” I blurt, interrupting him. I’m not ready to deal with last night just yet. “How's Brittany?” I don't mean the words to come out quite that snippy, but there it is. Guess I’m not a huge Brittany fan after all.
Vic would've noticed my tone, not sure that Hael does.
“Oh, same, same, always with the goddamn drama. She fabricates it to keep herself busy.” He comes over to stand beside me, and I can feel it, that crackle in the air between us that makes my palms sweat. “You sure you're okay?” he repeats, and I raise an eyebrow.
“Maybe you're the one who's not okay? Getting kicked out in the middle of sex …” Hael grits his teeth and shakes his arms out like he's shedding his frustrations from last night. I swear, I thought the two of them were going to spatter those walls with blood.
“Victor's intense,” Hael says, shrugging again, his brown eyes trained on my face. “Just sayin’. If you need to chat about it …”
“You're not about to be my coffee buddy,” I reply, taking a step back to put some space between us. “That's not really where our relationship's headed.”
“Where is it headed then?” Hael asks with a laugh. He puts a hand on the wall and leans in toward me. “Don't pretend you don't fucking like me.”
“I like fucking you,” I admit, tucking my fingers into my pockets. “I just don't want to sit and have a heart-to-heart with you.”
Hael laughs again and shakes his head, running his hand over his bloodred faux hawk.
“Sure, sure.” He gestures in the direction of the stairs with his chin. “Let's get out of here before Vic changes his mind. Hey Cal!” Hael starts down the steps and hops off the bottom one. “You down for a coffee break?”
I come down the stairs and pause, noticing Callum stretching in the sunshine that's streaming through the sliding glass doors. Just beyond the glass, I can see Vic and Aaron smoking on the back patio. They’re both tense, shoulders taut. I can’t wait to get out of here.
“Were you doing yoga?” I ask, and Cal shrugs, grabbing a wet cloth off the table and swiping the sweat from his forehead.
“Yep,” he says, and then he gives me a mysterious little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “When you're smaller, like me,” he nods in the direction of me and Hael, indicating my slight frame compared to Hael's bulk, “you gottta stay limber. Makes beating the shit out of meatheads much, much easier.”
I raise an eyebrow as Callum yanks on his blue hoodie, grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table, and a Pepsi from the fridge.
“Ready,” he says, and off we go.
The coffee shop Hael takes us to is on the ‘good’ side of town, and I can see as we pull up to the curb that it's a Fuller High spot. They've practically pissed all over it. There are thank you letters and photos from all the sports teams, profusely thanking the shop for funding student athletics.
I'm not even out of the car yet, and I'm scoffing.
“If the coffee shop’s owners really wanted to help teens realize their potential, they'd give their money to Prescott,” I say as Hael turns off the engine.
; “Yeah, but then they wouldn't get to preen their feathers and praise themselves for being philanthropists while counting all that cold-hard cash the Fuller kids bring into the café.” Hael raises both brows and climbs out, drawing the attention of every snot-nosed, middle-class bourgeois asshole hanging out at the bistro tables on the sidewalk.
I follow along behind him, noting that the students at least pretend to avert their gazes. They're afraid of Havoc, same as everyone else. The only kids from Fuller willing to stand up to the Havoc Boys are the players of the varsity football team. Their turf wars last year were epic.
Hael swaggers up the curb and pauses to hold open the door to the shop for me, pretending to cringe slightly when I give him a look.
“Right, you don't like gentlemen,” he says, leaning forward and letting his hot breath tease the shell of my ear. “But don't worry: I'm more than happy for you to suck my dick on campus again.” I elbow past him with Callum following behind. He makes a straight beeline to the counter for coffee and pastries.
Me, I find myself staring across a crowded room at what can be the one and only Brittany.
She's sitting there with long, dark hair shimmering over her shoulders, skull patterned tights, and a plaid miniskirt.
I'm so beyond confused.
But I know it's her by the way Hael's staring, his eyes narrowed, mouth pursed into a thin line.
“She's more nuanced than I expected,” I admit, and Hael coughs out a harsh laugh.
“It's almost Halloween, Bernadette,” he says, and then he starts off across the café, pausing in front of her and not bothering to take a seat. I could make myself scarce, join Callum at the counter, but it's more fun if I follow.
“I'm here. What do you want?” Hael asks, and Brittany snaps the PopSocket on her phone in, looking past him and over to me.
“Who's this?” she asks, her voice a harsh clip as she looks me over with dark brown eyes, clearly not all that impressed. “Are you off to the Halloween party tonight, too, then?”
“Everyday is Halloween for me,” I retort, enjoying the way her face crinkles up. I used to want to be like her, this beautiful, untouchable goddess among teens. I think most little girls entertain that thought at some point or another, the wish to be popular, to fit in but still stand out.
Havoc broke me of that.
The world broke me of that.
“I'm not talking to you with your new plaything in tow,” Brittany spits back, and I have to curl my hands into fists to control my temper. Her use of the word of plaything better just be a coincidence. If I find out that Hael told her anything about my deal with Havoc …
He slams one of his tattooed hands palm-down on the table, his usually cocky expression dead-serious.
“Do not talk about or to Bernadette. You hear me? I'll fucking destroy everything you hold dear, starting with that perfect relationship you have to dear old daddy.” Brittany's beautiful face cracks into a million pieces at his statement, and her eyes flame as she flicks her gaze over to me again.
Hael notices the path Brittany’s attention takes and a cruel smirk curves across his lips. One of his inked hands slides around the curve of my waist to rest against my lower back, pulling me in so that his hot, hard body is pressed up against mine. With practiced ease, he cups my chin with the tattooed fingers of his other hand and lifts my face for a kiss.
His tongue practically sizzles as it slides between my lips, taking over the empty space that Vic left, making all those shiny new emotions inside of me sparkle like diamonds. Heat races through me, curling low in my belly, making my already sore insides throb and ache for more.
As quick as it happened, it’s over and Hael is stepping back. He grins as he releases me, but that, too, fades as he flicks a look back at Brittany and frowns.
“You have two minutes starting now. What do you want?”
Now that I’m satisfied that Brittany—who the hell knows what her last name is—looks properly homicidal, I decide to give Hael some space. Because you can’t fucking stand watching her look at him, huh, Bernadette? I grit my teeth.
“Got you a coffee,” Cal says, and I turn around to find him pointing at the only free table in the entire place. There are three coffees waiting, three pastries. I decide I truly don't care enough about Brittany to stick around and listen to her BS on Hael. Instead, I join Callum at his table.
But on the inside … yeah, my stomach is churning, and my gaze keeps flicking back to them. I just feel anxious, and I can't figure out why. Maybe when Vic mentioned speaking the truth, he didn’t just mean to other people—he probably also meant to myself.
“Don't worry about them,” Cal says, splitting his croissant in half and looking over at me with bright, blue eyes. “Hael is done with Brittany for good.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask, and he shrugs. The tattoos on his right arm are so eye catching, I find myself staring at them instead of his face. He's got these black ribbons twisted around his muscles, the shine and linework on them so crisp that they look real. The ribbons lead to a broken girl lying in a heap in a spotlight. I can't see her face, but her blond hair cascades around it in a curtain, the detail so fine I feel like I could reach out and touch it.
“She cheated on him with one of the Fuller football boys. There's nobody Hael hates more.” Callum's voice is low and rough, but in a pleasant sort of way, this husky darkness that traces like velvet across my skin. Curiosity is going to get this kitty killed because I’m dying to know the real story behind Cal’s scars. “They've cheated on each other before, but this is like, last straw shit for him.”
I focus on my coffee and let my eyes wander the crowd, taking in the designer labels, the fancy diamond tennis bracelets, and the think-their-shit-don't stink VSCO girls with their stupid ass Save the Turtles metal water bottles, hair scrunchies, and vacuous facial expressions. If you don't know what a VSCO girl is, Google it. Maybe you'll be as disturbed as I am, having to look at them with their fair-trade coffees in their biodegradable cups. Guess they can save the world with paper straws while still driving gas-guzzling cars, using makeup tested on animals, and calling me an asshole for smoking. Good on them.
“How did he even meet Brittany?” I ask, running my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. “I thought Fuller and Prescott were rival enemies to the bitter end.”
“On the spring break trip last year,” Callum says, eyes darting around the room, taking note of anyone who looks like they might have balls or ovaries big enough to pick a fight with us. We are very clearly the outliers here, dirty Prescott High trash daring to mix with the Fuller elite. They think of themselves as savage royals, but they're nothing but petty cowards and liars. “Prescott High stays on one side of the lake, Fuller on the other. I guess Hael and Brittany got drunk and stumbled on one another.” Cal shrugs his shoulders again, dismantling his entire croissant before he eats it.
I take a sip of my coffee, and I'm pleased to discover that it tastes like dirty dishwater. On the other side of the tracks, in this crappy hole-in-the-wall that uses Styrofoam cups (sorry turtles, I want to save the environment, too, but sometimes socio-economic problems get in the way), that has coffee a hundred times better than this hipster hellhole.
“Brittany's using him to get back at her father,” Callum continues, realizing that Hael's not likely to want his food, seeing as he's white-knuckled, face pale, jaw clenched and shaking over there. Fortunately, Cal takes care of this for him, once again dismantling the croissant before eating it.
“Who's her father?” I ask, and Cal pauses, looking up at me in surprise.
“The chief of police,” he says, and I cock a brow, my hand squeezing so hard on my coffee cup that it dents and hot coffee pours out the top, scalding me. I curse and dab at it with a napkin, thinking about the Springfield police and the depth of their corruption.
“Fantastic.”
Callum and I sit in companionable silence for a while, until the front doors open, and three huge d
udes walk in. They're all as big as Vic, and it's clear from moment one that they're looking for trouble.
The guy in front is a bit smaller than the other two, so I figure he's probably the quarterback of the Fuller High football team. Who else could these jerkoffs possibly be? I mean, they’re the total clichéd package—complete with letterman jackets.
“Oh, hey there Prima,” QB-dude says, sauntering over in our direction. He hasn't noticed Hael and Brittany on the other side of the coffee shop. Nah, he's just homing in on the first target he came across. But Prima? What the fuck is that nickname about? “What the hell are you doing on our side of the city, huh?”
Callum takes another sip of his coffee, and I can't help but notice how much smaller he is than even the leader of these thugs. Not good. I'm willing to step in and fight, too, but it's gonna be a tough one.
“Did you hear my question, you trailer park fag—”
Callum's up in an instant and tossing his steaming hot coffee into the guy's face. The scream QB lets out is legendary, stumbling back into his buddies and scratching at his face with his nails. In an equally smooth follow-up, Cal steps forward and throws a perfect right-hook into the guy's face.
The crowd in the café erupts into booing, tossing insults our way and encouraging their own guys to kick some ass. Hael appears from behind the other two football douchebags, on par with their weight class, and sucker punches first one and then the other, knocking them forward and stirring up the chaos. He opens the door to the café and gestures for us to join him.
Snatching both my coffee and Hael's, I get the hell out of there before the rest of the team shows up and we end up outnumbered in enemy territory.
Cal climbs into the backseat of the Camaro while I take the front seat, and Hael slides in, gritting his teeth, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he starts the engine and peels away from the curb.
“You okay?” I ask, because he seems nonplussed while Callum is calm as a cucumber.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 26
