Mayhem at Prescott High

by Stunich, C. M.

  “The hands of the devil is right,” Oscar agrees and then he pushes me back and onto his bed. He parts my knees with his pretty hands and kneels between them, looking down at me with gray eyes and an expression that cuts. My chest rises and falls in rapid motions, sweat beading between my breasts. My arms are trapped underneath me, leaving me to wait for him to bestow his wicked mercy upon me.

  Oscar runs his HAVOC tatted fingers down my throat, and I groan, remembering the feel of my own hands on his inked neck. He was underneath me, cut off from oxygen, and I really thought he was giving it his all. What a stupid assumption to make. Sure, the hardest hearts are forged in fire, but the most wicked are the flames that smelt that metal.

  “You're not going anywhere, are you?” he asks me, absently stroking my throat with one hand and teasing his cock with the other. “No matter how hard Aaron and I try, we're undermined at every turn. Callum undermines us; Hael undermines us.” Oscar scowls violently and his fingers curve around my neck, pinning me to the bed. “Victor undermines us.” He presses down a little harder, and I gasp.

  Still, I'm not afraid.

  He’s trying his best to throw everything he has at me, get me to freak out, to run away.

  But I won’t.

  Oscar needs someone he can trust, someone he can unfurl in front of and not be afraid that they’ll run away. He truly thinks I’m going to abandon him; I’ll prove him wrong.

  “You.” Oscar spits this last word out on the end of another sneer. “You undermine me most of all. Why can't you see that this isn't the life you were supposed to lead? I am not the prince in your dreams.”

  “Do you remember the paper dress you made me in elementary school?” I whisper as Oscar squeezes just a little tighter, not even to cut off my words, but enough that my heart starts to pound in response. Run! my body screams, while my soul knows to stay put. “Or the apples you gave me every day in junior high?”

  “Quiet.” Oscar puts a little more pressure on my neck, yet he never cuts off my flow of oxygen. “Just be quiet, Bernadette. Let me mourn the person you could've been if you'd left us all behind. We were more than happy to be your dark angels. Why did you have to come back to us? Once you've given yourself to the devil, you can never have your soul back.”

  It's quite clear that he doesn't want me to say anything at all. Instead, I lay there with his lean body between my thighs, his dick precariously close to my wet heat.

  Oscar adjusts himself, pushing the tip of his cock against me. My eyes squeeze shut as he pushes his way in, inch by inch. The pressure on my throat never ceases; he keeps it firm and steady, pinning me to the bed.

  Once he's fully sheathed inside of me, he lets out a low groan, the very first human-like sound I've heard him make today. I open my eyes to see him above me, our bodies joined together, the tattoos on his lower belly peeking out at me. I want him naked; I want to see everything.

  I'm doubtful that's going to happen today.

  He wets his lips with his tongue and studies me carefully, relaxing his grip just enough on my throat so that I can talk.

  “Since elementary school,” he says, quoting my words back to me. “What?”

  “Oscar, stop,” I growl out, but then he squeezes my throat again, and I have to resist the urge to fight him. Instead, I do the opposite and relax my body completely. He lets up a bit. “Are you sure you can handle what it is that I want to say?”

  Instead of responding, Oscar leans forward, putting more pressure on my throat and driving even deeper into me. Guilty pleasure spirals through me, but all of this, its anathema to my very nature. I was designed to fight, morphed from a little girl into a monster by a cruel, dark world. Submission is not my forte, so I decide that's not what this is. It's a trust-building exercise. Because even if I'm tied up and underneath him, Oscar is the weaker of the two of us right now—emotionally speaking.

  His cock fits perfectly inside of me, like we were made to fit together. I'd rather die than tell him that, but it's true. Oscar keeps me firmly pinned beneath him, moving in and out of me with slow, deliberate strokes.

  The look on his face though … I make no mistake that he's making love to me again.

  His expression is dark and twisted as he leans down and tastes the very edge of my lips.

  “Hmm,” he murmurs, licking the side of my face instead. “Maybe next time you consider following me, you'll ponder a bit on the consequences.”

  I grit my teeth, but it's impossible to stay mad as he strokes the small ember in my belly into a raging inferno. In and out, methodical and wicked and timed just right to inflict maximum damage.

  Oscar pauses briefly to reach up and unbutton his shirt. He leaves it on, the tie hanging between the parted edges, but at least I can see the endless swirl of color that blankets his muscular form. He has the most tattoos out of all the boys; it must've taken a lot of effort to get them all so quickly.

  For someone who seemingly hates to be touched, I'm surprised that he's pierced and tatted the way he is. Even now, with his cock between my thighs, he's barely touching me. Which wasn't the case on the couch, was it?

  His lower stomach muscles contract and release as he works himself in and out of me, holding me captive with his hand on my throat, my heart metaphorically trapped inside an iron grip. All he has to do is squeeze a bit harder and I'll bleed forever.

  “Oscar,” I manage to choke out, his thumb sliding up the side of my neck, stroking me back to silence. My eyes are half-lidded, my nipples peaked to diamond points, my skin speckled with sweat. I rock my hips up and forward, meeting one of Oscar's thrusts.

  Like a fragile piece of glass, he shatters and starts to move faster, fucking me into the mattress with a greedy frenzy that says that maybe he isn't human. He is, however, a goddamn beast. My lips part and my head tilts back in his pillows, my pelvis working to meet his, our bodies slamming together hard and fast and wild. There's so much wetness between them; the movements are nice and slick.

  I still can't talk, and his hand is still wrapped around my throat when he comes, doubling over with a guttural groan and several hard thrusts that I lift my hips to meet. He spills himself inside of me, body bent over, dark hair hanging over his sweaty forehead. He takes several minutes to catch his breath and then pulls out of me.

  As soon as he releases my throat, I suck in two beautiful lungfuls of oxygen, panting to catch my breath and slow my pulse.

  That's when I notice that he's gathering his shirt from the floor and putting it back on.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, terrified that he's panicking on me again. I try to sit up, but it's hard as shit on that soft-ass bed with my arms bound behind my back. “You can't leave me again, Oscar.”

  “I need to deal with Coraleigh before I deal with …” He gestures at me with his tattooed hand before reaching up to adjust his tie. “Whatever this is. Be a good girl and wait here for me?” Oscar fixes his pants and then heads for his bedroom door, pausing to glance back at me. “If Rebecca comes knocking, tell her I'm in the bathroom; she doesn't need to know that I ever left.”

  He opens the door as I scream his name.

  “Don't you fucking dare, Oscar Montauk!” I shout, but it's too late. He steps outside and closes the door behind him. I hear the very distinct sound of a key being applied to the lock. The deadbolt slides into place, and I let out a frustrated scream.

  This is not happening again.

  I'm going to fucking murder him in his sleep.

  What a piece of shit.

  What a royal motherfucking, cocksucking nightmare of a man.

  I kick at his footboard with both feet before rolling onto my belly and struggling to sit up. My stomach muscles are screaming by the time I get into a sitting position, both of my feet firmly on the floor. My fingers feel for the rope, but Oscar really is a master of ropes. When I stand up and use his full-length mirror to peek at my back, I see an intricately woven pattern of pink silk ropes, like a sculpture made of rope and sk
in.

  My breath catches, but then I remember that the asshole just left me sans orgasm and tied up in his bedroom. There must be a trick to all this, because he wouldn't leave me vulnerable like this. If someone from the Charter Crew were to show up …

  I sit back down on the bed and then fall into the pillows, staring up at the popcorn ceiling above my head. My entire body feels electrified and alive, desperate for touch. I end up closing my eyes and imagining that Oscar comes back, that he strips down and climbs above me. Rubbing my thighs together, I work up a sweet friction that has my body throbbing and pulsing with pleasure.

  Biting my lower lip, I squeeze and rub my legs until I feel the very edges of an orgasm teasing me. It's not enough though, no matter how hard I try, and I kick the footboard in frustration again. After a while, I end up falling asleep.

  When I wake up, my arms are untied and Callum is lying on his side and staring at me, hood pulled up, hands in a prayer position beneath his cheek.

  “Hey there sleepyhead,” he murmurs in his husky voice. “How are you feeling?”

  I sit up, realizing that my arms are now untied, my naked body covered with a fuzzy black blanket.

  “What time is it?” I ask, and Cal pauses to pull his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie.

  “Almost ten at night,” he says, and I feel panic spike through me. Heather! “Don't worry: Aaron was waiting when the bus dropped your sister off after school. We've got her.” I exhale sharply, guilt washing over me. Joining Havoc meant keeping Heather safe, but if my head is so far up my ass in pursuit of the Havoc Boys, then I'm not doing my job as a big sister. I make a sound of frustration, gritting my teeth against the overwhelming rage I feel toward Oscar Montauk. “And I don't think he intended to leave you for so long, if that helps any.”

  “Only a little bit,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face before realizing that I'm sitting stark naked in Oscar's bedroom while Callum watches me in the dark with his too-blue eyes. It seems imperative that I gather my clothes now. “Where is he?”

  I stand up, acting like I don't feel Cal's eyes on my ass. It's only been a handful of days since our first time; I'm still putting all my emotions in order. At least now that we've fucked, he's unlikely to die now? Right?

  That's how these sorts of stories work. I mean, real life makes literally zero narrative sense, but I can always hope that whatever wicked god or goddess is watching over us understands how much we mean to each other. Pluck one blossom from our tree, and we'll wilt, leaving nothing but death and thorns in our wake.

  “We ran into a bit of trouble,” Callum explains as I gather my clothes, putting my bra and tank top on first. It's a bit provocative, to wiggle into those tight leather pants I love so much. “The Charter Crew is pushing back hard in retaliation for that drive-by. Likely, we'll be in a full-blown war by the time the winter formal rolls around.” I can hear Cal yawning, so I take advantage of the moment to whip my pants on as fast as I can.

  Of course, then I turn around and there he is, pressed close against me.

  “Is Oscar okay?” I choke out, because even if I want to cut his balls off with Hael's hunting knife, it's my job to make him bleed and nobody else's. Maybe Vic's, I guess, but only for Havoc business stuff.

  Callum nods, reaching up to brush some hair behind my ear. His touch makes me shiver, reigniting the awful ache in my lower belly.

  “He's a little bruised up, but he'll survive. Hael should be here to pick us up in a few; we'll rendezvous at the garage.” Callum picks up my jacket and helps me into it, stopping just once to kiss me on the side of the neck. “I see bruises,” he whispers, and I shiver again. “If he hurts you, I'll kill him.”

  “It's okay,” I reply, feeling mollified for the time being. It's nice to know that Cal is on my side. A horn sounds from outside, and Cal grins.

  “Better get going, eh Bernie?” He puts his hand on the small of my back and opens the door, leading me around the side of the garage and through a gate that leads to the street. Hael is waiting, music trickling into the car as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel and waits for Cal and me to climb in.

  “Skipped school for a little bondage, huh?” Hael asks, chuckling like the asshole he is. I don't know how he knows what we did, but oh well. There are no secrets in Havoc, right? I flip Hael off and he hits the gas, sending us flying down the road. “Hope you got fucked nice and good because it looks like we're gonna have a fight on our hands tonight.”

  “Good,” I say, letting my anger at Oscar ride fast and hard through me. “Because I could use letting out a little steam.”

  The other boys are waiting at the garage when we pull up, but they're not the only ones. There are dozens of masked men and women that watch me with reverent eyes as I climb out of Hael's Camaro and head up the drive to where Victor's waiting.

  He's smoking a cigarette, his stance casual. But his eyes, they fucking burn.

  “Where you been all day, Bernadette?” he asks, because he's a total asshole and already knows. I flip him off, too, and he gives a tight smile in response. “Your boy here got jumped on his way back from visiting Coraleigh.”

  I look down at Oscar, his face bruised, lip split. His glasses are missing, so I'm guessing they got smashed up and he's wearing contacts now. He looks up at me with an expression that's impossible to read.

  “You are going to regret leaving me there like that,” I tell him, putting my hands on my hips as Aaron makes his way over to stand beside Oscar's chair. He looks between the two of us with narrowed eyes. “Once is a mistake; twice is a pattern. You're a royal prick, you know that?”

  Oscar reaches up and brushes some blood from his lip. He's not wearing his suit anymore either. This time, he's got on black sweats and a hoodie. Without his polished, perfect uniform in place he looks like a different person.

  “I would've been back to fuck you again, but I was detained,” is all he says. “My meeting with Leigh took all of ten minutes. The walk to her office and back was thirty.” Oscar stands up from the chair, looking down at me. “Beating the shit out of Kyler and Timmy Ensbrook took a half hour.” He lifts his head up to look past me, at the gathered Havoc Crew in the front yard of the old garage. “Organizing this took up the rest of my day.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” I murmur, but Oscar just moves past me to stand next to Vic. His lack of attention is so goddamn annoying. I realize that it's probably a tactic to get me to pay attention to him, but I don't care. I'm still pissed. “But I know when it's time for business, and when it's time to cut your boyfriend's balls off. So, what's up?”

  “Mitch is rallying his troops,” Aaron says, lighting up a cigarette and offering it over to me.

  “Because of the drive-by?” I clarify. It was only a week ago, but it feels like a lifetime. We've been back and forth with Mitch and his people ever since. I can feel Billie's eyes following me down the halls, just waiting for another opportunity to strike from the shadows.

  “For sewing Kali's mouth shut,” Aaron explains, and my attention whips over to him.

  “What?” I ask, blinking through my temporary shock. “The hell are you talking about?” I take a drag on the cigarette as I stare back at him, exhaling smoke through my nostrils. “Like, literally?”

  “Snitches get stitches,” Aaron says mildly, handing me his phone. There's a picture of Kali Rose-Kennedy with her pink lipstick smeared, blood running down her chin to stain her halter top. Her lips have quite literally been sewn together. “Word spreads quick at Prescott.”

  “Did you guys do this?” I ask, and Victor laughs, turning around to face me as Cal takes a seat on the pavement, flicking the wheel of his lighter on and off as he watches more students pull onto the road and get out of their cars.

  “Unfortunately not,” Vic says, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, it's a brilliant idea. The little rat deserves all of that and more, but it was the Langford girls who put one over on her. Stacy really doesn't like narks.” He turns away aga
in, studying his people like a warlord plotting strategy.

  “Sara Young used her as bait,” I say, because I'm not sure how much of what I told Oscar has made its way around the group. “She purposely let what Kali told her slip. I'd thought she was the lawful good type, but it appears she's willing to play dirty to get what she wants.”

  “She's been sniffing around the cemetery, too,” Aaron adds, and I glance back at him, passing the cigarette over. “Our boys trailed her up there this afternoon. She walked around and took a ton of pictures, including one of Penelope's shattered angel statue.” My blood chills as I see four metaphorical walls closing in on us. “She didn't notice Neil's grave site though; there've been a half-dozen new bodies buried there since we paid the place a visit.”

  “We're going to have to kill her,” Oscar says, accepting a fresh cigarette when Vic offers one and lighting up. I just stare at him because I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him smoke, drink, or light up a bowl. Jesus.

  “No, we're not,” I say as Hael comes swaggering up the drive to stand beside us. He looks at me because everyone else is and lifts a questioning brow. “We're not going to kill Sara Young. That'd be pretty hard to get away with, don't you think?”

  “There are ways to make it happen,” Oscar explains, still smoking. I notice that his knuckles are bloody and raw from his fight earlier. My first instinct is to bring his hands to my lips and kiss away the crimson. I scowl instead.

  “Well, I have a better idea.” I take a deep breath, formulating an idea in my mind. “But clearly, there are other things brewing in the city tonight. What's up?”

  “Mitch is trashing all our favorite hangouts, trying to bait us out of the woodwork,” Victor explains casually, still watching the crowd. “He wants to take us on tonight which, normally, I'd be more than happy to do. But with the police already watching the school, we can't take any chances. Killing several dozen Prescott High students is not an option.”