Page 46 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
“What the hell?” I murmur, grabbing Oscar's arm. The way he looks down at my hand on the fabric of his suit jacket, I get the idea that I better let go and quick. “This is like a fucking repeat of what you did to me.”
“No, not even close. Consider it … an ode.” Oscar climbs out, and I’m expected to follow behind. Hands shaking, I do, and find myself watching as Oscar ties a rope around Donald’s neck.
They’re going to hang him?! I wonder, heart racing so fast that I feel dizzy. Right here, like this? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past them to commit murder, but … this is insane.
“Donald Asher,” Vic says, squatting down beside him as the boy who thinks he owns the world gets a nice, sharp taste of brutal reality. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I can pay,” Don simpers, his voice a broken, weak thing, so unbelievably pathetic that my lip curls. I can’t believe I actually dated this guy. But I was so desperate to escape my life, to get as far away from Aaron as I could, that it seemed like a good idea at the time. “Whatever you want, just name the price.”
Victor laughs, and the sound is truly nightmarish, an ephemeral darkness that blots out the brilliant moon. He reaches out and strokes Don’s dark hair from his forehead, almost mockingly.
“You think we give a shit about money?” Vic asks, tilting his head to one side, studying his subject. “Do you think that’s what motivates us?”
“Everyone likes freedom,” Don whispers, shaking violently. I smell an acrid scent on the wind that takes me a minute to place: he really has pissed his pants. Not that I blame him. I mean, when the Havoc Boys dragged me from my bed in the middle of the night, I didn’t wet myself. But then, I guess I’m made of tougher stuff. “Money can buy you freedom. I’ve got cash, hidden in the safe. If you let me up, we’ll go get it together, and then you can—”
Victor grabs a handful of Don’s hair and yanks his head back as Aaron finishes tying off the noose.
“You’re insulting my intelligence, Don,” he says, looking him dead in the eye. “We’re not here for money. Whatever you could give us, it’d be a pittance to you. You wouldn’t suffer, and that’s the most important thing here.” Vic sighs, like he’s frustrated at having to explain himself to this pathetic cretin. Meanwhile, I’m fairly certain I’m simultaneously having a PTSD attack and also enjoying the show. A deep, sick sense of satisfaction curls through me, and that’s when I know I’m truly evil, as evil as all the rest of them, my perpetrators and the Havoc Boys combined.
They’ve twisted me, warped me, made me in their likeness.
I swallow hard, but I don’t look away or close my eyes.
“And do you really believe that we believe that you’d let us go? No, a monster like you knows that as soon as you have the upper hand, you take it.” Vic smiles, but it’s not a pretty expression. The way his mouth looks right now, I can hardly believe that just a short while ago, he was burning me with it, searing me with heat. “As soon as we left, you’d have a private army on our asses.” Vic pats him on the cheek and stands up. “Besides, you know too much already. Do you really think you’re walking away from this?”
“What the hell is this all about? I didn’t do anything,” Don whispers, wiggling like a caterpillar in his bindings, eyes flicking nervously toward the edge of the roof. At some point, we’re going to be heard out here, and the gig will be up. But I stand there, and I make myself trust in Havoc. They weave cruelty, pain, and revenge like fibers in the dark, soothing cloth of reality.
“You’ve never hurt anyone?” Aaron clarifies, the blind rage in his voice making me do a double take. Whereas Vic sounds calm, cool, collected, my ex is giving off the impression that he actually cares. I mean, if he did, he wouldn’t have dumped me and turned on me in an instant, right? “In your short, miserable life, you’ve been nothing but a goddamn angel? You are a demon, Don, and you’ll die like a dog.”
“Takes one to know one,” Don bites out with one, last burst of sass, and Vic chuckles.
“Undo the ropes,” he says, and Oscar nods, moving to untie the silken purple bindings on Don’s wrists and ankles. Donald calms down for a moment, but only until he realizes that when Vic said to untie the ropes, he didn’t mean all of them. “Did you know that our friend here is a master at these silk ropes? He can tie them without leaving a mark. And what’s funny is that once the hubbub dies down, nobody will remember the spoiled, rich prep school kid who hung himself from the tree outside his window.”
