Page 135 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
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.
