Havoc at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “It would, yeah.” Victor reaches out with that big hand of his, smoothing some of my hair back. Just that little touch makes me want him, and I hate that. I hate that I feel like a drug addict with a habit when he’s around. “You’re my girl, remember?”

  “Since when?” Cal asks, appearing from the shadows of the spare bedroom. I’ve just barely peeked in there, but it’s got one queen bed and a set of bunk beds on the opposite wall. Back in the day, when Aaron’s parents lived here, it was his dad’s office. Now, it functions as Cal, Hael, and Oscar’s bedroom. Aaron obviously has his own room, and piece of shit Victor Channing gets the master all to himself. “You need to rein in that possessive streak of yours, boss.”

  Victor scowls at Callum, pushing up off the wall to give his much smaller teammate a look.

  “Did you finish the props for tonight?” Vic asks as I notice the item clutched in Cal’s hand. It’s a black baseball bat with nails strategically hammered through the end, leaving the points sticking out precariously.

  Callum grins and swings the weapon up to his shoulder, just barely missing stabbing himself with it.

  “All ready,” he says, and Vic nods. I don’t know what they’re all planning on as far as costumes go, and I haven’t asked. I figure I’ll see them later. For now, I use the lull in conversation to sneak down the stairs and finish up the girls’ makeup. Well, Kara and Ashley’s makeup anyway; Heather is once again going as Ryan Reynold’s version of Deadpool, complete with full mask.

  Once they’re ready, Aaron and I herd the girls into the van, and I’m surprised to see that Callum joins us, grinning and winking at me as he straps himself into the back row.

  “I’m your backup,” he explains, “just in case.”

  I nod, but to be honest, I’m glad he’s here. I have a feeling Callum could buy us whatever time we needed to get the girls out of a rough situation.

  And the universe knows we’ll probably be in at least one life or death scenario before the night is over …

  Looking at myself in the mirror with my blond hair in a high, bouncy ponytail and my makeup done up like some MAC counter girl is surreal. I look like a different person, like the reflection of myself I might’ve been with a different upbringing, a different life.

  The sort of life Brittany Burr and her friends have.

  I reach out and touch my fingertips to the mirror, studying the reflection of my cheap cheerleading uniform and the way it shows off the ink on my midriff. This should be an interesting evening, dressed up like some preppy Fuller High asshole for the darkest night of the year.

  Just a few more additions, and I’ll be ready. I drag my makeup kit closer—pretty much all of my product is stolen, so I have a decent collection—and grab some of the fake blood and Halloween effects we purchased at the Hellhole.

  Fifteen minutes later, and I’m done dirtying up my look.

  I give myself a wry grin in the mirror and rise to my feet, flipping my hair and then rolling my eyes at my own reflection. Downstairs, I can hear the heavy bass of some hip-hip song from the early 2000s. My nose wrinkles as I open Aaron’s door and realize the beat is Ridin’ by Chamillionaire and Krayzie Bone.

  When I get to the top of the staircase and look down, my heart freezes in my chest, and a cold, fearful chill chases down my spine.

  All five Havoc Boys are waiting in the living room, dressed in identical Halloween costumes.

  Their faces are fully painted, to the point that it’s hard to tell them apart from up here. Five gritty skeleton visages stare back at me, black around the eyes, teeth painted over lips. They all have their hair slicked back and sprayed black with one of those colored hairsprays that only lasts the night. And they’re all decked out in matching black trench coats with black hoodies and black shirts underneath, black slacks, badass boots.

  For a brief moment there, I feel like a helpless heroine in some scary teen Halloween slasher flick.

  Shit.

  I force my basic instincts to take a back seat. Sure, Havoc is dangerous, but … maybe not to me? At least not right now. Good thing the girls are holed up in their room watching Halloweentown with the babysitter. This would scare the crap out of them.

  “Are you guys supposed to be Tate Langdon from American Horror Story?” I ask, swallowing hard as I hit the bottom step and find myself at the center of Havoc’s attention. “Or Zombie Boy? The show makers based that look off of him, you know.”

  “We know,” Oscar says, and my eyes flick back to find his gray gaze. For once, he’s not wearing his glasses. I’m assuming contacts? But holy fuck, having his focus bared on me like that, without the lenses to protect me, it’s intimidating.

  I keep my head high and scan the group. Vic is obvious, based on size alone, same with Callum. Biggest and smallest. It takes me a minute with Aaron and Hael, but only until Hael grins and the music switches over to Candy Shop by 50 Cent and Olivia. Guess we’re into the 2000s station for tonight.

  “We’re gonna fuck shit up,” Hael says, tapping the end of his black baseball bat against the wood floor next to his boots as he moves over to stand beside me. He points out the red line across my throat and wrists, and all the fake blood I added. “Clever,” he says, flicking the nametag on my uniform that reads Brittany. “Couldn’t resist going as a dead cheerleader, huh?”

  I give him a look and then bite down on the fake blood pouch between my teeth, letting red liquid dribble past my lips and stain the front of my uniform. Hael raises a painted brow at me.

  “We’re gonna fuck shit up,” I agree, and his grin doubles in size as he reaches out to take my arm. I see Vic’s eyes watching us, but he doesn’t say anything as Aaron opens the door and Callum bounces out into the dark, opening his arms wide and sending his trench coat fluttering in the cool, night breeze.

  “Gift for the newest member of Havoc,” he says, turning and holding his arm out to indicate the black stretch limo gleaming against the curb. My eyes widen as Hael pulls me through the grass toward it.

  “You got a limo?” I ask, a strange sense of déjà vu settling over me. Have I mentioned that the boys took me out to the middle of nowhere in a limo with Kali, tore my dress off and gave it to her to wear, and then kicked me out into the darkness to walk home in my underwear? Yeah, it was all sorts of messed-up.

  My pulse begins to thunder and sweat drips down the back of my neck.

  “We boosted a limo,” Hael says, still grinning. “I’d open the door for you, but I know you’re not into acts of chivalry or any of that shit.”

  “Fuck all the way off,” I murmur, tearing my arm from his grip as Cal opens the door for me anyway.

  “Your chariot awaits,” he says, excitement emanating from him and Hael. They want to start shit; they want violence. I … don’t know what I want. My hands slide along the leather as I scoot down to the end, and the boys join me, eerie in their matching costumes. The door slams shut, and Hael leans over me to slam his fist against the window.

  The limo pulls away from the curb as I raise an eyebrow.

  “Who the hell’s driving this thing?” I ask, and Vic offers up a tight smile.

  “A friend,” he says, and I know that he means a friend of Havoc’s. Interesting. Wonder if it’s the same guy that shot Mitch for us?

  My fingers dig at the edge of the leather seat as I try to control my emotions and Hael dicks around with his phone, connecting it to the Bluetooth stereo. The Violence by Asking Alexandria comes on and he taps his fingers against the knee of his black leather pants with his painted fingers. The boys have taken their makeup down their necks and over their hands, coloring every bit of visible skin with the same somber black and white skeleton design. They’ve even gone so far as to paint right over their tattoos.

  “Break out the booze,” Vic commands, and Oscar kicks open one of the cabinets on the wall across from me, withdrawing a sleek bottle with a red logo that reads Blavod on the side.

  “Black vodka,” Oscar explains as he gathers up
shot glasses from the same cabinet, pouring one for each of us and passing them around. There’s a large carton of cigarettes as well that he grabs, opening it and holding it out so we can all snatch a few. I run the black length of the cigarette under my nose and smell cloves.

  “Black vodka and clove cigarettes, now that’s Halloween,” Hael groans in pleasure as Callum breaks out several dark chocolate bars. We each take a square and then toast our shot glasses.

  “To All Hallows’ Eve,” Vic says as we clink our glasses, down our shots, and enjoy the decadence of the chocolate. He glances over at me and smirks, the expression devilish buried under all that makeup. “To dark pasts, bright futures, and the power of Havoc.”

  “To Havoc,” I say, and then I light up.

  Just because Stacey Langford is the queen bee of Prescott High, that doesn't mean she isn't dirt-ass poor like the rest of us. Tonight's Halloween party might be hosted by her, but it takes place in an abandoned old house at the edge of a cemetery. Total cliché, but apparently there's some abundance of radon in the ground beneath it or some shit, and the previous owner died of lung cancer. Nobody wants to live here now, but we're down to party in it.

  We're just over an hour outside of town, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the dark. When Callum lets me out of the limo and I look up, all I can see are stars.

  “You can see them out here better than anywhere else,” he whispers against my ear. I shiver, but I pretend it’s because of the frosty autumn air and not his voice. Maybe we both know that's a lie?

  The limo stands out in the weed-ridden gravel where the rest of the partygoers' cars are parked, but it's definitely not the nicest car here. There are Lambos, Ferraris, and Maseratis, but then there are also Altimas, Mustangs, and Camrys next to the rusted-out shitboxes that belong to the kids at Prescott. Here and there I spot a vintage beauty that reminds of Hael's Camaro; it's sort of a thing at Prescott to fix up old cars.

  “Everyone's here,” I remark, studying the mixed bag of vehicles. “From Oak Valley Prep to Fuller High to good ol’ Prescott.”

  “Everyone’s here,” Aaron confirms, but he doesn't sound near as excited as Hael or Callum or even Vic. He doesn't want a confrontation tonight. Pretty sure he's the only member of Havoc that doesn't though.

  We head for the open front doors, the music booming out into the cold, dark night. Several students are gathered around outside, smoking joints or snorting coke. They watch us carefully, warily, like a pack of coyotes might study a pack of wolves. We're all predators, but they know if they make the wrong move, we'll tear them apart and spatter the frosty forest floor with their blood.

  Inside, the old mansion is a crumbling mess. Doors are missing, wallpaper is peeling, and the floor is made up of chipped and broken tiles. Stacey and her girls have worked their magic though, filling the place with Halloween décor that they probably stole from Hobby Lobby or some shit. There are tall vases filled with fake black roses, black and purple streamers, and some animatronic ghoulies that are probably worth a fortune. Yep, definitely looking at a lot of stolen loot in here.

  I blink through the green and white strobe lights, and the sea of low-lying fog from the half-dozen fog machines in the corners.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see all five boys waiting behind me in a loose ‘V’ formation with—aptly enough—Victor at the head. They’re all holding their black bats, trench coats fluttering in the breeze. Hael’s bat is dragging on the floor as he throws back another mouthful of vodka and passes the bottle to Aaron. His bat is strapped to his back as he smokes with one hand and drinks with the other. Callum has his slung over his shoulder while Oscar clutches the base of the bat in one hand and balances the end in his palm. Victor puts the end of his on the floor directly in front of him and folds both hands together on the base.

  The entire room takes a breath when we walk in, and even though it’s hard as hell to see in here, I know everybody’s looking.

  “You like what you see?” Stacey asks, appearing on my left side in a sleek white dress, pointed black fingernails, and a ghostly gray wig. Her face is painted into the perfect mix of macabre and elegant, but I have no idea what she's supposed to be. She is, however, wearing a very pretty and very expensive tiara on her head. The Langford girls have been busy lately, I see. It takes a lot of work to pinch something that nice. “We've thrown the party in Havoc's honor.”

  “Smart,” Vic says from behind me, his indomitable presence a sensation I can’t ignore. “You know how to pick the winning side, don't you, Stacey?”

  “Always,” she says, her black painted lips curving into a smirk. “Can we offer you something to drink? Eat? Smoke? Snort?”

  “Nah, we’re good,” Vic says, lifting up the black vodka bottle and taking a swig. He passes it to me, so I can do the same, and then puts one big, skeleton-patterned hand on my shoulder. His breath teases my ear as he leans in. “Stay close tonight, babe.”

  I shrug his hand off. I can take care of myself, but I’m also not stupid. My eyes scan the room for any signs of Mitch’s crew as I take a huge drink of the vodka. My head begins to swim with the kiss of alcohol as my gaze sweeps the grinding bodies of dancing students. The rest of the Havoc Boys clear paths through the crowd, looking for trouble.

  The costumes tonight run the gamut, from the usual—vampires, serial killers, slutty nurses—to the unusual, like the girl in the red wig who’s dressed up like Yona from a reverse harem anime I watched with Penelope once called Yona of the Dawn.

  “Eclectic crowd tonight,” I say, taking another drink of the vodka and passing it back to Vic. Without waiting for a response, I move into the thick of the crowd, the heat and the music enveloping me, drawing me in. The fog swirls around my ankles as I pause, examining the various rooms that lead branch off from the expansive foyer. It looks like the goddamn Casper house.

  “They have a funhouse in here,” Cal says, appearing out of the smoke, the black hood of his sweatshirt thrown up over his hair. “Mirrors and clown shit. Good place for an ambush. Pretty sure they stole all the stuff from the old party store warehouse. But it’s also the only exit on the ground floor besides the front doors. Everything else is boarded-up or blocked.”

  “I don’t like that,” Vic says, a muscle in his jaw working as he sighs. “Keep it clear and get some guys outside to watch it.” His body is tense as his ebon eyes scan the room. Not seeing Mitch or Kali or the rest of those assholes could be taken as some sort of concession, like maybe they’ve actually decided to back down, but I’m not sure that I believe it. I don’t think shooting Mitch is going to convince them to stop; I think it’s pissed them off royally. But then, that’s just my opinion. Havoc’s been at this a lot longer than I have.

  I lick my painted lips and think about my list. No. 2. the best friend.

  Kali is up to something; I can feel it.

  “Anything else of note?” Vic asks, and Callum shakes his head. “Good. Stay sharp, but have a little fun, okay?”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Cal says, reaching out and taking the vodka. He finishes the bottle off and tosses it aside, letting it shatter against the wall. He’s not the only one throwing glass bottles; everybody’s doing it. Intoxicated laughter poisons the air as he grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd.

  Vic looks decidedly pissed-off about it, but he doesn’t interfere.

  “Every drug under the sun is available in here, and you’re more interested in dancing with me?” I ask as Cal wraps an arm around my waist and walks us back into the thick of the crowd. His smile is decidedly more wicked with those skeleton teeth painted across them, effectively doubling the size of his mouth.

  “You’re a special sort of drug, too, Bernadette,” he tells me, leaning forward to put his mouth near my ear. “I keep wondering if I should’ve kissed you in the dance studio.” My skin prickles with goose bumps, but I don’t respond, letting Cal guide our bodies in a synchronous rhythm with the throbbing beat of the music. I don’t even recog
nize the song we’re dancing to, but it doesn’t matter. Callum knows what he’s doing, and he takes me with him, manipulating my body the same way he did in the studio. “If I had, what would you have done?”

  “Guess you’ll have to run that experiment to find out?” I challenge, cocking a brow as my heart pounds. I’m not really sure what I’m doing here. What Vic means when he calls me his girl. What Aaron wants when he tells me he still loves me. What Callum intends by dancing with me in front of a mixed crowd from all three schools. Or what Hael thinks about when he’s looking at me with those honey-brown eyes of his. Oscar … clearly hates me, so there’s not much to dissect there.

  “Oh?” Cal asks, but then Hael is interrupting the entire party by climbing onto the dais where the DJ’s set up. He requests a song, and there’s a brief pause as the DJ scrambles to accommodate his request.

  “Who’s here to fuck shit up tonight?” he shouts, and the entire room goes nuts, lifting phones and bottles of liquor in solidarity. With a laugh, Hael lifts up a bottle of his own, swigs some liquid, and then raises a lighter in his right hand. He flicks the wheel and spits the alcohol out at the same time, creating a wave of flame that rushes over the heads of the crowd. Everybody just fucking loses it, and a mosh pit starts up in the middle of the room as Hael’s chosen song comes screaming out of the speakers. He’s a pretty big fan of metalcore music, so that’s what we get, this hardcore screaming that riles up the room into a frenzy.

  Hael hops down from the dais, chucking his bottle and making his way straight toward me and Cal.

  “May I?” he asks, gesturing at Cal to cut in.

  “I don’t know,” I quip back, still holding onto the front of Cal’s hoodie. “Will Brittany mind?”

  “Oh, get fucked, Blackbird,” Hael says, grabbing me and yanking me into his arms. It’s pretty hard to dance to this song, so we end up just getting close and grinding together, pelvis to pelvis. My arms go around Hael’s neck as I notice Brittany watching us from the edge of the room. Speak of the devil … I think as her eyes glitter with a jealousy so intense it steals my breath away.