Mayhem at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “What about the gang that supplied them with the product in the first place?” Aaron asks, but Oscar is already standing up and shaking his head. He is, once again, wearing a suit and tie. It's like he doesn't know how to relax for more than five freaking minutes at a time.

  “What gang do you know that takes on charity cases?” he asks, glancing over at me in just such a way that I know the look itself is meant to be an insult. I decide to ignore him this once, placing a single grape in my mouth and sucking on a tattooed finger for just a moment. My lipstick—we're on a roll here and this one is called Jilted—smears across my skin and Oscar watches it like he's mesmerized. As soon as he realizes he's doing it, he turns away. “Not likely. Someone is padding their pockets.”

  “That doesn't make any fucking sense,” Victor snaps, clearly frustrated with the situation. “The Charter Crew is nothing. They don't even deserve a name. May as well keep calling them the Charter/Ensbrook brothers.”

  “Someone wants them to pick on us,” Oscar muses, like he's thought about this before but found it too ludicrous to mention … until now. He glances up, gray eyes flashing, and stares Vic down. “What about your mother?”

  The energy in the room shifts completely, and Vic's beautiful mouth turns down in a frown.

  “It makes sense. Ophelia participates in this little … shindig.” Oscar waves a tattooed finger around in a circle as he stalks across the room and grabs his iPad. He flips the lid open, unlocks it, and starts to do … whatever it is that he does. “She makes easy cash by hooking the Vincents up with buyers for the girls and then feeds some of that cash into the Charter Crew.” Oscar snaps his fingers like he's onto something. “Mitch would just lap up an opportunity like this.”

  Victor leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and waiting for Oscar to finish his mini-rant. Our boss—holy crap, my husband—seems skeptical, but open to this theory.

  “I mean, I wouldn't put it past Mommy Dearest to try and fuck me in whatever ways she can, but this is a little far-fetched, don't you think? Bernie's list, the Kushners, the Vincents, Kali. It's all tied together?”

  Oscar bites his thumb nail, his gray eyes slits behind the shine of his glasses.

  “I'm missing something,” he says, sounding frustrated, like this isn't something that happens to him often.

  Funny that, considering he royally fucked my feelings after we had sex. But whatever. I spin a slow circle on the stool and then pause. My eyes flick to Aaron. He's heard about David already, of course, but it's not an easy thing to bring up. He … waited for me. That's pretty romantic, don't you think? Anyway …

  “David Benedict,” I say, exhaling sharply.

  The Havoc Boys all stop what they're doing to stare at me.

  “Your Brittany Burr?” Oscar queries, obviously trying to be an asshole, even during a critical discussion of Havoc business. I fucking can't stand him sometimes. “What about him?”

  “He goes to Oak Valley Prep,” I say, standing up from the stool. A strange feeling cuts through me as the puzzle pieces in my mind start to slide together. “Do we know the name of Kali's Oak Valley Prep hookup?” I glance over at Oscar, and he nods, checking the screen of his iPad.

  “Yes, of course. Mack Holdman.” Oscar looks back up at me in triumph, but when he finds me grinning, the expression fades away as quick as it came. “What? Are you aware of something that I'm not?”

  “David Benedict is bisexual, and he's been fucking Mack on and off since freshman year.” My grin gets a little wider. “Yeah, I actually did have a bit of a conversation with David before I slept with him. You're welcome.”

  “Jesus,” Aaron murmurs, his arm brushing up against mine. I swear, I can feel jealousy reverberating through him. “Even if that's true, what does that have to do with anything?” I glance over at Aaron, recalling the look on Kali's face when she saw us snuggled up close in the hallway together. Jealousy, pure and simple. She has always wanted what I have. For what reason, I can't say. My life hasn't exactly been a bed of roses. Not sure I'd wish my existence on my worst enemy.

  Oh wait, never mind. I most definitely would.

  “Kali was at the same party I was, the night I slept with David.” I swear, Aaron cringes when I say that and then scowls. “She saw me with him, probably saw us leave together. If I know her at all—and I know I do—then she'd probably try to figure out who he was and go after him.”

  “You're putting a lot on this theory; I don't like assumptions. You're just assuming that Kali would seek out David. Even then, so what? She's been leaving Prescott with Mack.” Oscar tucks his iPad under his arm and moves closer to me, so that we're only about eighteen inches apart. “Explain that.”

  “David doesn't drive himself anywhere. He gets rides with Mack. In that blacked-out Lexus LX?” I raise a brow. “Come on, think about it. David might be bi, but Mack isn't. He is most definitely gay.” I feel so goddamn smug when I lay out all my well-preserved Springfield gossip. Fuller High, Oak Valley Prep, and Prescott High are all inextricably intertwined in their social circles. I mean, not that anyone at either of the other high schools would ever admit it. But come on, out of all three schools, who do you think is the best in bed overall?

  Prescott High for the win, motherfucker.

  “And you assume he's gay, why?” Oscar asks, cocking his head to the side, like he's trying to figure me out but failing miserably. I'm loving the look.

  “Maybe he's actually a virgin but nobody knows the truth?” Hael queries, but I ignore him, focusing instead on Oscar's gray eyes. They narrow even further on me as my grin gets a little wider.

  “Well, he's the head of the Oak Valley Prep LGBT club.” I tick off the note on my left pointer finger, the A of my HAVOC tattoo nice and visible. “He's described himself to me in a drunken stupor more than once as that little gay twink who's afraid to talk to other boys.” Second finger ticked off. Oscar is clearly growing more annoyed with me by the second. “He wore a tank top once to a Prescott Party that said Local Gay Magical Girl on it. Do you want me to keep going or …?” I trail off with three fingers raised, and then drop the two on either side, flipping Oscar off as I pretend I just have a little itch on the bridge of my nose.

  I mean, he does that shit all the time to me, doesn't he? When he's 'fixing his glasses'? Load of horseshit.

  “So Mack is gay and occasionally fucks David. So what? Try harder, Bernadette.” Oscar takes another step toward me, and my heart begins to pound. All I can smell right now is cinnamon, sweet and spicy and so very Oscar. My body remembers his, and having him this close, I simply ache. Like the sea misses the shore.

  I almost touch him, but I'm not keen on having my hand slapped away just now. I'm enjoying intellectually crushing him with ratchet gossip instead.

  “So, why would Mack be picking Kali up from the school?” I repeat. “He's picking her up to be with David. I don't know what they're doing together—I can't imagine Mack would help his on-again, off-again lover pick up a Prescott girl for sex—but that could explain how the Charter Crew came to Ophelia's attention.”

  I cross my arms under my breasts, noticing that Oscar's gaze strays for just a brief moment. I'm wearing a tank that says Not Keen on Men which is ironic and hilarious because, obviously, I very much am. It used to be Penelope's shirt, which makes me really sad because I wonder if she wasn't struggling with her sexuality. She never wrote about it in the journal, but then, it's mostly just a running list of the Thing's transgressions.

  “That's a sound theory,” Vic muses, rubbing his chin yet again. I must've really got him thinking. He doesn't sound patronizing either, or like he's trying to make me happy because he wants me purring underneath him. “It'd make a lot of sense, you have to admit.”

  Oscar turns away from me all of a sudden, like he can't bear to be within arm's reach of me for a second longer.

  “What is Kali doing with David and Mack then, when they pick her up? We've trailed the LX on numerous occasions, but th
ey've never once gone to Tom's place. Why?” Oscar's voice is now a Lucullan hiss, nice and smooth but very clearly displeased.

  “Tacos are ready …” Hael suggests, trailing off as he sets the spatula aside. Callum moves forward and plops down at the edge of the counter, letting his scarred legs dangle over the edge.

  “Because Ophelia and Tom are stuck-up, licentious filth?” Vic suggests with a loose shrug of one shoulder. He rubs his left hand up and down the bulging biceps of his right arm, drawing my attention to his tattoos. He has so many, and they're all so intertwined, that they look like a mosaic from afar. Up close, there's a wolf's yellow eyes hidden in the darkness of a whimsical-looking wood, an African painted dog stalking prey, and a hyena with its teeth bared.

  Lots of wild beasts, all inked onto someone who I'd classify as a wild beast in his own right.

  “Where is it that they do go?” I ask, and Oscar sneers at me, flipping open his iPad case again to access the information.

  “The Oak Park Shopping Village. The mall near Fuller High. A Mexican restaurant.” Oscar pauses and looks up at me, cocking a perfect black brow. I wonder if he dyes his eyebrows, too? I mean, if his roots are blond … “Shall I continue? There's nothing on here that isn't inane. None of it is significant.”

  “Did our guys stay long enough to see if David was with Kali and Mack when they got out of the car? Where did Mack drop Kali off afterward?” I ask, but then Heather and Kara come racing down the stairs with Ashley behind them. Alyssa comes last, looking reserved—understandably so.

  I hope that the Peters—whoever they are—take good care of her. I hope beyond all reason that her mother doesn't know where she is, that she's looking frantically for her daughter. I hope that because I know that my mother wouldn't care. I know that Pamela, if put into a properly dire financial situation, would've sold me and Pen and Heather off like it was nothing.

  “Is it time to eat now?” Heather asks, still wearing her black shorts, blue tankini top, and flipflops. It's far too stormy to hit the beach today, but the kids seem even happier with the heated indoor pool. Before we leave on Sunday, I'm going to push all of Marcus' exotic plants into the water and watch them sink.

  “It's time,” Hael confirms as Oscar snaps his iPad lid closed. The way he looks at me, though, he knows we're onto something here. “Shall we eat in the formal dining room?” Hael oozes with a roll of his eyes.

  “Turkey tacos for Thanksgiving is so weird,” Kara giggles, clamping her hands over her mouth. Aaron smiles softly down at her, putting his hand on the top of her chestnut hair for a moment. It's curly, like his, and she even has the same color eyes. He'd be a good dad. Eventually. Like, far off in some distant future that I may or may not make it to see.

  No. You will. Bernie, you can fucking do this.

  Finish the list.

  Kick the Charter Crew's ass.

  Get Victor's inheritance.

  There's a checklist of things laid out in front of me, and I know that, in theory, Havoc always has business to attend to. There is no phew, we're all done, let's rest mentality with this group. But we always manage to find time to watch South Park and smoke, eat pizza and fuck. Shit, we even took the girls trick or treating.

  Everything is going to be okay.

  “Heather, can you get the platter with all the veggies?” I ask. “I'll grab some sodas.”

  “Kara, take a small stack of those plates with you. Ashley, you and Alyssa can be responsible for the sour cream and salsa.” Aaron commands the children with an effortless ease, tossing me a smile as he hefts the majority of the plates into his arms (obviously, the Vincents wouldn't be caught dead with paper plates in their formerly immaculate home).

  Everything is going to be o-fucking-kay.

  I repeat that to myself, and for a minute there, I actually believe it.

  You know, I just sort of forgot to add the fucking cops to my imaginary checklist.

  Because nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, am I right?

  On Saturday, I find Hael in the Vincents' garage, examining their Ferrari 488 Spider. He sighs when I come in, gesturing at the sportscar with one, inked hand.

  “Can you believe I have to tear this car apart? Such a shame.” He taps the hood with his palm, and I get chills, remembering our quickie on the hood of his Camaro. “Of course, I prefer my baby any day, but this is pretty slick.” He puts a hand over his heart as I move up to stand beside him, crossing my arms.

  “I hear this thing delivers a full seven-ten horsepower all the way to eight-thousand rpm. Shit, rumor has it that the Spider can go from zero-to-a-hundred-and-twenty-four mph in just seven-point-eight seconds.” I nod my chin, like I know what I'm talking about, and Hael turns to me with a cocked brow, a fresh cigarette halfway to his lips. “I say we dig deep into the throttle and find a set of switchbacks because the stiffer suspension and stickier Michelins make for a more capable chassis.”

  “Okay, you almost had me at the horsepower thing, but I'm calling bullshit.” I grin as Hael lights up, takes a drag, and offers me the cigarette. “Where did you read all that, little bird?”

  “Uh, Kelly Blue Book?” I offer up and Hael throws his head back in laughter.

  “You tricksy little minx,” he growls when he drops his chin back down, so he can look me over from head to toe. I'm wearing a robe, but underneath, I've got on my swimsuit, the one Victor says he doesn't like but that he ravaged me in the last two nights. It's hot pink and skimpy as hell, with a skull and crossbones over the left breast. The bottoms are little booty-shorts, and I'd be lying if I said my cheeks didn't hang out a bit.

  I stole this swimsuit from the Hellhole when I was sixteen, but I've never worn it. Until now.

  Somehow, I feel like Hael knows what's underneath my robe.

  He steps forward, reaching out for the tie around my waist and very carefully and meticulously untying it. As soon as the robe opens up, Hael sucks in a sharp breath and curses in a very violent and colorful sort of way.

  “Fuck a nun's dry cunt,” he murmurs, and I choke on a bit of laughter. “I know I saw this bikini yesterday, but holy damn, your sister was swimming with us, and I was trying not to look …” He trails off. He is most definitely looking at me right now. “Man, if Vic weren't in such a mood …” Hael reaches his palms inside the robe and puts them on the curve of my waist. The connection between us fires up like the motherfucking Fourth of July, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to bear it. “He's so insufferable now. I knew he would be, after the wedding.” Hael pauses, and his full mouth twitches with bemusement. “How'd you like that twist, having Aaron give you away? What a hoot and a holler. Victor really is the king of assholes.”

  “Do you think he meant what he said?” I ask, loving the way Hael absorbs every inch of me, cataloging my body for future jack-off material, no doubt. I want him to keep looking; I just wish I could look at him, too, naked and thrusting above me. I lick a bit of the sweet cherry gloss from my lips. “About me and him being exclusive after the wedding?”

  Hael shrugs his shoulders all of a sudden and steps back, acting like he cares as much about the blue sportscar as he does my breasts. And the lie detector test determined … that was a lie.

  “Hah.” He barks a laugh and reaches up to mess with his hair. “He meant it alright. Doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.” Hael winks as he circles the Ferrari. “Besides, you heard Callum and Aaron; I said my piece.” He grins, because in reality, he didn't really say much at all, did he? I keep wondering if I'm going to blink and Hael will suddenly be back to his old ways, cavorting around campus with occasional forays into Fuller High or Oak Valley prep pussy. He better not. “We all agreed that you'd be our girl, Bernie. I guess we each have to define what that means, what we want out of a relationship with each other.” Hael points between me and him as he bends down to examine the rims. He pulls his phone out, pops the stylus from the bottom, and starts scratching down notes.

  “Yeah?” I ask, following him aro
und the car as he makes his rounds, taking note of certain things and marking them down. He's barely looking at me now, acting like he doesn't give a shit that I'm in here. Lie. He knows damn well where I am, and he's avoiding me.

  Out of respect for Vic, no doubt.

  “I think Oscar would be satisfied at using you for target practice,” Hael suggests, rising to his feet. His red faux-hawk is styled to perfection in a crest along the top of his head, the sides shaved. There's a single tattoo on the side of his neck, a skull and crossbones that reminds me of the image on my bikini cup.

  I smile.

  “As long as the offer goes both ways, and I can shoot him in the balls, then I'm okay with that.” I exhale as Hael looks at me again, his honeyed eyes softening slightly before he looks away. “What about you?” I ask, trying to draw his attention back to me. I love the way I feel when he looks at me, like I could slide into his Camaro and take off down the highway with the windows rolled down and never look back.

  Freedom.

  That's Hael's particular taste, and I'm craving another bite.

  “What about me, what?” he asks, flashing a saucy smile. “What do I want from a Havoc girl?” He puts a hand on the hood and then hops up on it, sliding over and then slamming his boots onto the pavement in front of me. Hael parks his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in one hand. “You know what I want, Bernadette Blackbird. I've been sweet on you since we were homeless together.”

  “Don't you play with me, Hael Harbin,” I say, crossing my arms again and taking a small step back. He catches me by grabbing onto the ends of my robe ties and pulling me a bit closer. “You have a lot of things to answer for.”

  “Do I?” he echoes, and I give him a look.

  “Do you not remember stripping off my homecoming dress and giving it to that pond-scum, bottom-dweller Kali Rose-Kennedy?” I quip, popping out a hip and resting my hand on it. The motion only serves to open up my robe even further. “Or what about that time I walked in on you with one of the blond math teachers?”