My eyes flick back to Hael’s brown ones, surrounded by black makeup. Does he know she’s watching us right now? I slide my fingers up the back of his neck, tickling his black-dyed red hair with my nails.
“Do you think Brittany likes my costume?” I inquire, nodding with my chin in her direction. Hael pauses, frowns, and glances over his shoulder, face tightening as he spots his ex on the fringes of the crowd. She’s dressed up like Ariana Grande with a high pony and a cat-eared headband.
“Fuck my life,” he grumbles as he turns back to me, keeping his hands firmly on the curves of my waist. “I don’t give a shit what she thinks.”
“You must’ve liked her at some point, to date her for so long,” I press, my lips near Hael’s chest. I wonder if he can even hear me above the wild thrum of the music. He keeps me close and finishes up the song, but when I try to pull away, he holds me there.
“You get it though, right?” he asks, looking at me with his head cocked slightly to one side. “Dating someone who’s not like you at all, just to see if there’s something you’re missing? I mean, you dated that douche Donald Asher.”
My lips purse, but I have no comeback for that.
When I look for Brittany again, I see that she’s disappeared into the party. Hael doesn’t follow after her like I thought he might. Instead, he parks himself on a crumbling high-backed chair, kicking one leg over the arm and snatching up an abandoned bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t seem concerned that he’s drinking out of some random’s bottle as he tilts it back.
I separate myself from the crowd, trying to have a good time but finding it impossible to shed that sharp-edged tension I’ve been nursing since moment one. Something bad is going to happen tonight, I think as I find a spot to rest next to Oscar.
He’s standing near the curved edge of the staircase, watching the action from afar.
“This house is practically a playground,” he says, glancing over at me. It’s eerie, seeing him with all that makeup and no glasses. “Drugs, drinking, smoking, dancing, fucking.” He emphasizes that last word, make no mistake about it.
“So?” I ask, my head buzzing with alcohol and the thick cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke.
“So, why are you over here with me?” Oscar asks, his bat leaning against the wall next to him. “You know I can’t stand you; go bother somebody else.”
My eyes narrow on him, but now that he’s said that, I’m not fucking moving.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask, watching an Oak Valley Prep asshole with his hands all over Wendy’s ass. Pathetic. My lip curls. These filthy rich boys think all the chicks at Prescott are playthings they can toy with, use, and then throw away like trash. An image of Donald rolling down the roof flashes in my mind, and I bite my lower lip.
“Trouble,” Oscar says, pushing away from the wall and taking his bat with him. He leaves me there to blend into the shadows, my ears straining for gossip. Since the boys are all dressed in matching costumes, it isn’t hard to pick them out of the crowd. As I do, I notice that Vic is watching me from across the room. I’m not sure I’ve ever left his sight.
“You heard what they did to Don, right?” this Oak Valley asshole asks, pausing at the table on my right to score some of the spiked punch with the plastic bones floating in it. I can tell he’s from the prep school because he’s wearing enough goddamn cologne that I can smell it through all the sweat and smoke. That, and I recognize the shoes he’s wearing. My stepdad has a pair, and I know they cost mad money. Mom wouldn’t stop talking about how she got them for free from a friend’s husband because they didn’t fit, and the guy couldn’t be fucked returning them.
“I mean, he got the crap beat out of him, didn’t he? I thought it was just a B&E sort of thing?” the other guy—who probably thinks he’s clever, wearing a breathalyzer costume with a hole on the crotch that says Place Mouth Here—replies.
“That’s the story, but it was fucking Havoc, man. They carved the word Rapist into his forehead. The wound was, like, deep enough that it dug into his skull. Don’s gonna be in and out of laser treatments for years to get that shit removed.” There’s a long pause there where everything goes silent around me, my heart beating frantically in my chest. “They cut his balls off, too, man. They castrated him.”
My throat goes completely dry and my eyes get wide.
“You okay?” Aaron asks, appearing beside me. I glance his way, but there are no words. I’m not sure if the gossip I just heard is true or yet more Havoc rumor and speculation, but … Does the fact that I’m hoping it’s true make me a bad person?
“Did you guys cut off Don’s balls?” I ask as Aaron approaches me, and his face pales. Even beneath the layer of makeup he’s wearing, I can see it. It’s true. It’s fucking true. “Jesus Christ.”
“You didn’t think we’d let him off easy, did you? Bernadette, I tried to warn you. We’re messed-up. Havoc is fucking messed-up. You just—” He pauses, clenching his teeth to stop the flow of words, like he’s just realized he’s about to reveal something important to me.
“I just what?” I ask, turning and getting in his face. “I just never saw it? You guys were fucked to me, but … you could’ve done worse. Why didn’t you?” Aaron scowls at me and tries to turn away, but I’m not letting him go. I’m onto something here, I know it. “Aaron, talk to me, goddamn it. What did Kali have on you? Why didn’t you guys fuck me up like you did Don?”
“Bernadette,” Aaron starts, turning back to look at me, the skeleton makeup on his face turning his visage into a grim one. But then he pauses and looks up, eyes darkening. I follow his gaze and see that the crowd’s parted to reveal a group of people standing near the front doors.
They’re all wearing grinning clown masks, bandages on their right shoulders darkened with faux blood. I do a quick headcount and come up with almost two dozen people standing there. It’s impossible to tell if they’re male or female, with their masks and dark clothes.
“Jesus,” Aaron grinds out as I feel my pulse start to pick up.
Shit.
This is what I was waiting for.
Havoc never gets a day off.
“Are those bandages supposed to be in support of Mitch or something?” I whisper as this EDM/dubstep rap comes on, blaring through the speakers as Vic moves forward to greet the new crew. Aaron clenches his jaw and looks down at me, like he’s considering spiriting me out the back door or something.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Vic asks, his voice booming out across the crowd. “Party crashers?”
“Havoc’s rule at Prescott High is done,” the leader of the gang says, his voice manipulated by a voice changer. “It’s over, Victor.”
“Is it?” Vic asks as several dozen people in the crowd remove plastic skeleton masks from inside their jackets, sweaters, and costumes, sliding them over their faces in solidarity. “If you want to rule that school, or this town, you’ll have to fight for it.”
“Gladly,” the leader says, and then he pulls out a weapon from inside his jacket. People start to scream and scatter as Aaron grabs my hand.
“I’m getting you the hell out of here,” he says, just before the first shot goes off, exploding one of the paper lanterns near the ceiling. Clown Dude—who I’m just sort of guessing is Mitch—has missed his shot. Instead of blowing Victor’s head off, he’s just been hit in the shoulder with Callum’s nail-ridden bat.
A fight breaks out as the two sides rush each other, like soldiers going into war. Several more gunshots go off as the Havoc crew meets up with the newcomers.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I grind out as Aaron tries to pull me toward the clown-covered archway that leads into the funhouse area. “I’m a part of Havoc, too.” I try to tear my grip from his, but his hands are like steel. I’m not going anywhere.
The music continues to blare as the room empties out, the floors already spattered with blood as the two groups beat each other to pulps. A few of the clown-masked assholes are heading
our way, but Aaron doesn’t wait for them, yanking me into the funhouse.
The fog machines in here are insane. Paired with the red strobe lights and the myriad mirrors, it’s impossible to see. But Aaron manages to drag me through anyway, putting some distance between us and the party. At first, I struggle, but pitting myself against one of Havoc’s best fighters isn’t going to win us any wars. So I follow after him, convinced that as soon as we get outside, I can break away from him and make my way around to the front.
Instead, we end up stumbling into a round room filled with cackling animatronic clowns. Plastic caution tape lines the walls, and as Aaron goes to try the door, he finds it locked from the outside. So much for those guys Vic sent around to watch the back. They must be getting their asses kicked right now.
“Goddamn it,” Aaron growls out, using his bat to try to dislodge the heavy wood door. But it won’t budge, and we’re running out of time. Six of the clown-masked idiots stumble into the room, surrounding us. Aaron doesn’t hesitate to hand me his bat, whipping a gun out from inside his trench coat. “Don’t try me tonight, or I’ll splatter your brains all over the walls.”
“Really?” one of our attackers asks, and since her voice isn’t being manipulated by a voice changer, I know right away that it’s Billie I’m talking to. “Because we’re here to meet you on your terms this time.” One of the guys pulls out a pistol of his own and levels it on me. “You’re going to choke on blood for what you did to my brother.”
Aaron doesn’t bother to respond to her threat. Instead, he just pulls the trigger and sends the guy stumbling back into the wall. He’s shot him right in the shoulder, in the red spot where he’d applied the fake blood to his faux wound. Guess it’s a real one now, huh? A nice match for Mitch.
But Clown-Guy isn’t the only person in that room with a gun, and as Aaron moves his own weapon to take another shot, one is coming right at my chest. Without thinking, my ex steps right in front of me, taking the bullet meant for me.
It’s all happening so fast, and it’s so damn hard to see in here that I can’t tell where Aaron’s been hit. The thing is, he doesn’t even drop. Instead, he lifts his own weapon up and fires again, shattering one of the mirrors. Everyone in the room scatters, including us, ducking behind the wood frames of the mirrors to hide.
Pretty sure I’m just saying holy fuck over and over again. My fingers search for blood as I probe Aaron’s chest, and he slumps to the floor. He’s shaking, but I don’t see any red as I unzip his hoodie and find that he’s actually wearing fucking Kevlar underneath. That is, I don’t see any red until I grab his arm. Looks like in all the hubbub, he was shot twice, once in the chest and once in the left bicep.
“You guys don’t fuck around, do you?” I whisper, quivering as Aaron forces a tight smile to his face.
“Not particularly,” he says, pushing me aside and trying to sit up. Blood leaks from his left arm, smearing my fingers with crimson when I reach out to take a look. “No time.” Aaron pulls away from me, stumbling a bit as he tries to stand. I don’t know a lot about guns or Kevlar or any of that shit, but I do know that getting hit in a ‘bulletproof’ vest still hurts like a bitch and leaves one hell of a bruise.
I have a brief moment there where I wonder if all the guys are wearing Kevlar, and why I’m not. But there’s not exactly a lull in the conversation for me to ask about that. Instead, two of the clown-masked dickheads break through the fog as Aaron lifts up his bat and takes a swing. I move back, out of range of the weapon, ready to jump in if I need to. This is fucking insane, I think, remembering how I agonized all summer about my choice to approach Havoc.
And this is where it’s gotten me.
“Hey, bitch,” Billie says, appearing behind me and lifting her mask up her face. She’s got that knife of hers back in hand. My lips purse, but I’m not afraid of her. I’ve kicked her ass before, and I’ll do it again. “Mitch thinks I should leave you alone, but I’m tired of seeing you strut around Prescott like you own the place.”
“I do own it,” I say, my voice cool and even, the air pulsing with music, fog drifting around my ankles. “Because I hold Havoc’s leash.” I shrug my shoulders, giving off the air of nonchalance, even if my heart is thundering, and I want nothing more than to glance back and check on Aaron. But no. I have to prove that I’m in control here. Fighting is one-part physical prowess and two-parts bravado. “If you hurt me, they’ll kill you. You know that, right?”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Billie says as a crash sounds from behind me, and I finally lose my own inner-fight and glance back to see Aaron struggling on the ground with a guy whose arms are the size of tree trunks. Danny Ensbrook, Kyler’s brother. Speaking of …
My head whips around just in time to intercept Billie as she comes for me, swinging that knife of hers in an arc. It isn’t hard for me to grab her wrist and drag her in close. It’s much harder to use a blade in close contact like this. As soon as I’ve got Billie in range, I lift my knee up and slam it into her crotch as hard as I can. Not as effective as kneeing a dude in the balls, but it still hurts like hell. My next move cracks Billie across the wrist, knocking her blade loose and sending it sliding across the floor and into the fog.
Teeth gritted in anger, she comes at me like a whirlwind, fists flying, throwing herself at me with reckless abandon. And this is one of the reasons why she’s so easy to beat. Not only is she thin and slight of frame, but she just goes into rages and stops thinking. I let her throw her entire weight into me and then duck low, slamming my shoulder into her stomach and tossing her over my back.
Billie hits the floor with a grunt, but as I’m turning to go for her, Kyler appears, his mask hanging around his neck. His yellow bruises flicker red in the dancing strobe lights as he sneers at me. There’s no hesitation when he comes at me, and I have to at least give him credit for trying to defend his girlfriend.
His much larger form slams into mine, but I’m used to this. I’ve been fighting off grown men for years.
I let his weight throw me to the ground, turning the move into a roll that puts some space between us as he stumbles and does his best to recover his feet. As Callum mentioned earlier, one of the pluses of being smaller is being faster. I’m up before Kyler is, throwing my elbow down on the back of his neck as hard as I can.
With a growl, he shoves his shoulder into my stomach, sending me stumbling back into another one of the funhouse mirrors. Glass shatters, littering the floor beneath my feet. Thank fuck I’m wearing these stupid white tennis shoes with the ribbons instead of heels or I’d be on my ass in no time.
Kyler throws a hard punch at my face, but I duck low and he ends up hitting the wood frame of the mirror, knocking it to the floor and sending the fog fluttering around us. I can see Aaron from here, fighting desperately to get to me, but he’s quite literally fending off three big dudes—including Danny Ensbrook—with another on the floor in front of him. Even with the face paint, I can see that he’s pale, that he’s hurting, and that he’s running out of energy.
We don’t have a lot of time here—especially if one of the Fuller High or Oak Valley idiots calls in the cops. Prescott kids know better, but those pretty, privileged assholes don’t know how we handle things in Southside Springfield.
I duck under Kyler’s next swing and dart past Billie as she comes at me, reaching up and grabbing onto the shoulders of one of Aaron’s attackers. As luck would have it, I dig my fingers into the wound on the guy’s shoulder and find my thumb bloodied as Mitch Charter screams in agony. Having his followers dress up with bandages on their shoulders was a smart idea, but he didn’t bother to hide the hideous Nazi tattoo on the back of his neck. Racist twat.
Mitch stumbles back and slams me into the wall, trying to dislodge me, but as usual, he’s underestimated my tenacity. My fight or fight harder instinct is going wild as I drop down and slide between his legs, twisting and falling onto my back so I can kick up and into his balls with my foot. There’s a lot of power
behind that move, and Mitch goes down screaming.
One of the other guys grabs me by the ponytail, dragging me across the floor as Aaron struggles to break through the crowd and come to me. But he’s severely outnumbered, injured, and shit out of luck.
“Calling out Havoc was the biggest mistake you ever made,” Kyler snarls as Billie helps Mitch to his feet, and the three of them gang up on me. I can take Billie. I can take Kyler. I think I can even take Mitch. But all of them at the same time? That’s a tall order. I’m a scrappy bitch, not some UFC champion.
“Bernadette!” I can hear Aaron calling to me through the pounding beat of the music, but I’m gritting my teeth too hard to respond. When I glance to my right, I can see him, on his knees, blood pooling on the floor. Danny and a few of the other clown-mask wearing guys are holding him down, forcing him to watch whatever the fuck Kyler, Mitch, and Billie have planned for me.
“Hold her down,” Billie commands as she straddles me, and I flail beneath her. Mitch is stepping on my left arm, crushing my wrist into the ground as Kyler keeps his tight grip on my hair. My scalp and arm are a mess of pain, but I’m not done fighting yet. I spit in Billie’s face as she accepts a pocketknife from Mitch.
She frowns at me and swipes her hand over those pretty features of hers, but she doesn’t move.
“Shouldn’t you be at home with your baby instead of out here causing trouble?” I snap. I’m not really into mom-shaming, but come on, Billie’s a shitty mom if she’d rather incite gang violence than spend Halloween with her kid.
“Don’t you even mention my goddamn kid,” she says, flicking open the knife and then grinning at me. “What should we cut off first? Your hair? Your nose? Or maybe your tits? Considering what your boys did to Donald, I think all three of those things would be more than fair.”
“What do you give a shit about Donald Asher?” I ask, but Billie just slams the tip of the knife into my arm, and a scream tears from my throat. Sharp, searing pain rackets up my arm and into my head, turning my skull into a mess of white-hot agony.
Havoc at Prescott High Page 34
