Page 20 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
With a quiet breath, I kick my boots off and shove my jeans down my hips, leaving my panties in place. Nobody complains as I unzip the dress and wiggle into it.
“Allow me,” Vic says, moving over and putting his huge, inked hands on my waist. A fire rips through me, and I close my eyes. It feels good when he touches me, too good. I don't like it. Makes me nervous, all that fire and tension.
He zips me up and then steps back as I turn around to face him.
The white dress hugs my curves and reveals just enough skin to be sexy without showing off too much of my ink.
The expression on Victor's face says it all: he likes this dress. A lot.
“Shit, that's hot,” he murmurs, rubbing at his chin again. Seems to be a tell of his for when he's deep in thought. In that case, I don't have to worry about seeing too much of it, huh? “But is it too hot? My mom is a serious bitch. She might feel intimidated if you look too pretty.”
A frown turns down the corners of my lips.
“You're shitting me, right? Your mom gets jealous of your girlfriends?”
“Never had a girlfriend. And you,” he touches his fingers to the side of my face, “you are not my girlfriend: you're my fiancée. Oscar, let's find something more … matronly.”
“What a shame,” Hael murmurs, his big body leaned up against the door, like some sort of royal guard. “I like the white one.” His brown eyes track over me, making me shiver; I can feel the heat in them from here.
“We'll get two,” Vic agrees, jaw working as he watches me. “Billie and her brothers owe me money anyhow.”
Oscar selects another dress, something that reminds me of an outfit my great-grandmother might’ve worn to church on Sunday when the family was still rich. Did I mention she was ninety-nine years old when she passed? And buried in a dress similar to this, kid you not.
As I'm shedding the white dress for the weird muumuu thing, a man passes by the exterior window and pauses to look in at me as I clamp my arms over my chest in an attempt to cover my breasts.
“Oh, hell no,” Hael says as he pushes up off the door and goes for the window with Callum in tow.
Hael shoves the window open and hops out as the man starts to run. The two Havoc boys take off after him as I gape in surprise.
“What the fuck is going on?” I choke out as Aaron steps up to stand beside me.
“That's Kyler Ensbrook. We have unresolved shit with him and his brother.” Aaron pauses dramatically and then swings his green-gold eyes down to my face, like there's something here left unsaid but he's not going to be the one to say it.
“That, sure,” Vic starts as he glances back at me. “But mostly it's because nobody looks at our fucking girl without consequence.” Vic steps over to the window and hops out.
“This is nuts,” I grumble as I slip the hideous frock on, and then shove my feet in my boots. Nobody stops me as I go for the window and climb out, following the flattened trail of grass toward the woods. I've just barely crossed into the shadowed darkness when I find Kyler Ensbrook on the ground with blood streaming down the sides of his face.
“I'm going to kill you both!” he screams as Hael and Callum circle him like sharks, and Vic watches, back against the trunk of a tree, tatted arms crossed over his chest. He barely glances my way when I stumble into the clearing.
“Apologize to Bernadette,” Vic commands, and I shiver. That's a voice made to control armies, to start riots, to incite violence. Vic could rule the world, if you know, he wasn't just some poor gang-banging asshole from the wrong side of town.
“Eat shit, Vic. Your girl has ugly tits anyway.”
Vic's face hardens in a way that's terrifying, this darkness closing in that swallows him whole.
“Break his face and teach him a lesson.” Victor pushes up from the tree and turns to head back toward the house.
He’s not being hyperbolic here: he’s dead serious.
My eyes flick over to the guy on the ground, hands curled over his head, a wet spot forming on his crotch. He’s pissed himself. He’s quite literally pissed himself.
Fuck.
If I don’t do something, Hael and Callum really will—and it’s gonna be bad. Trust me: I’ve seen them at their worst. I know what they can do. I know what they’re capable of. It’s why I hired them, isn’t it?
There’s no time to think, so I don’t bother standing there and waiting around for the boys to crush Kyler’s skull in. Instead, I race forward and kick him as hard as I can in the shoulder. An agonizing scream tears from his throat, but he won’t die from a bruise or a dislocated shoulder.
