Page 37 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
He laughs at me then, and I find that I really am a slave to my anger. When Vic stands up, I throw myself forward without thinking, slamming into him. He doesn’t budge. It’s like ramming my shoulder into a brick wall.
A hot, muscular, scary sort of brick wall.
Victor grabs me by the arms and pushes me back, slamming me into the trunk of the tree the way he did his father last week. He doesn’t hurt me the way I know he could, but the force is enough to knock the air from my lungs.
So now I’m panting, shaking, standing there and looking into eyes so black they may as well be endless pools to drown myself in.
“Keep a hold of that anger and use it elsewhere. We’ll find you an outlet.” Victor doesn’t release me, his fingers tightening ever so slightly, his ripe mouth turned down in a frown. “When we asked you to be a Havoc Girl, Bernadette, it meant you became one of us. There is no expiration date on this deal.”
“And if I try to leave someday?” I hear myself ask, not quite believing there ever will be a someday. No matter what Vic says, I feel like my life does have an expiration date. I might not like it, but that’s just the way this harsh, ugly world works.
“Bernadette, don’t try me,” Victor says, and then he releases me, stalking over to pick up my still burning cigarette from the dry grass. He swipes out some stray embers with his boot and tucks the smoke between his lips. “How long have you been standing there?” he asks, and I lift my head to find all four remaining Havoc Boys standing near the driveway.
“Long enough,” Oscar says, gray eyes sliding over to mine briefly. The way he smiles, that expression could very well haunt my nightmares. Instead, I turn my now burning face down to look at the ring on my finger. I’ve been taking it off at home because if Mom sees it, she’ll have a total meltdown. She never did like the idea of me having a boyfriend. And she really wouldn’t like the idea of me having a piece of jewelry that’s nicer that hers.
I squint at the ring as Hael’s irritating, cocky laughter rings out.
“If throwing a girl against a tree is your version of foreplay, no wonder Bernadette isn’t interested in you,” he says as a shadow passes over me, and I lift my face to find Vic staring at me again.
“It’s real,” he tells me, reaching out to take my hand and study it for a moment. “All of it.” His fingers burn where they touch me, searing straight into my soul. Our eyes meet, and I find it ridiculously hard to breathe. “Worth about … thirty grand, if I remember correctly.” My eyes widen, but I don’t say anything as he withdraws his hand and turns to face the others.
“We’ve got a problem,” he announces as Aaron glowers and Callum tucks himself into a chair, knees up, dumping an entire bag of snacks on the ground in front of him. He picks up a bag of chips and goes to town, eyes flashing from inside that hood of his. He gives me a wink and a smile, which I ignore. My brain is running on overdrive right now. Vic has a thirty-thousand-dollar ring that he’s never sold? I stare at it again, and I can’t quite make myself believe that there’s some sentimental attachment to the damn thing. I mean, he did say it was his grandmother’s, but I have a hard time believing that someone like Victor Channing gives a crap about his dead granny.
So what then?
Does he realize that I could run down to any pawn shop in town, sell the stupid thing, and take off with my little sister in tow? Sure, thirty grand wouldn’t last forever, but it’d last long enough for me to get us away from here, buy a cheap car and start driving.
We could make a new life in another state, start her at a new school, and the Thing would never find us. Sure, his family has resources, but how hard would they really look?
“Yeah, and what’s the problem?” Hael asks, slumping into a broken lounger and making its rusted frame creak with his muscular weight. He’s every girl’s bad boy wet dream, with his mischievous brown eyes, bloodred hair, and tattoos. He’s even got the face of a demon on his chest with the words Hot Rod on either side. In short, he’s the bad boy equivalent of a jock-y douche. And yet … I can almost see the appeal.
“Vaughn pulled me into his office on Monday,” Vic begins, and my ears perk up. We all know that part of the story, of course, but the why has been saved until later. Until now. I move over next to Callum’s chair as he lifts up another snack bag.
