Page 45 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
We head straight for the curving staircase to our left and up, to the hallway where Don’s bedroom is located. I notice that we're all fairly good at keeping quiet, a throwback to dark childhoods and blending into shadows. It's a hard-won skill, but it comes in handy as we slip down the hall and pause in front of room 219. Don’s room. The room he invited his friends to, to have a taste of southside whore. My mouth fills with bile, and my eyes close. My whole life, I feel like I've been running from men and their greedy hands, their hungry cocks.
And to escape them? To punish the ones that'd already done me wrong? I sprinted into the arms of the enemy. We'll see how this works out, won't we?
Donald Asher, the rich dickhead I dated because, for some stupid, silly reason, I thought he would be better. Hah. Anyway, his door is locked. I guess monsters always know where to look for their brethren in the dark.
Kneeling down in front of Don’s door, Callum pulls a lock picking kit from his bag, and I get the idea that he's the master of breaking and entering amongst the Havoc Boys.
In two flicks of a fucking lamb's tail, the lock is disengaging with a click, and the door is swinging inward.
My pulse is racing so fast I have to seriously consider if I might pass out.
“We got this,” Aaron whispers as he moves around me, that distinctive rose and sandalwood smell of his wafting in the cool air. Like some sort of SWAT unit, all the boys but Oscar move into the room on tiptoes.
“This should be interesting,” Oscar murmurs, gray eyes glimmering in a stray shaft of moonlight, his mouth in some semblance of a smile, albeit one that stings like acid. The lenses of his glasses—I notice he’s wearing a completely new pair tonight—catch the light as he glances briefly over at me, tucks his iPad against his side, and then holds a single hand out to indicate that I should enter the room.
With a deep breath, I do.
As soon as I enter that room and smell that awful cologne, memories come flooding back, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming.
Donald is lying peacefully in his bed, his snoring eliminated by some special surgery that his father's company funded the research for and now sells to the public for exorbitant prices. Oscar carefully closes and locks the door behind us, giving Victor the nod he's been waiting for.
“Wake him up,” Vic commands, and Hael flashes a sharp, cocky grin through the bottom hole of his ski mask.
“My pleasure,” he purrs, putting his hands around Don's neck. The asshole's brown eyes fly open, and his lips part to scream. But whatever Hael is doing is keeping him quiet. “Struggle too hard, and I'll snap your neck.”
“And keep your mouth shut,” Aaron adds, stepping naturally into his own role. Vic remains cold and emotionless, the untouchable leader of the bunch. His ebon eyes slide to mine.
“Let the boy talk, and if he screams, you know what to do.”
“Got it.” Hael loosens his grip ever so slightly, and Donald begins to choke dramatically, causing Callum to chuckle.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Don demands, the whites of his eyes a dead giveaway to his fear. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised to find he'd pissed himself the way Kyler did. When he finishes scanning our group however, something changes. Rage twists his relatively handsome expression into something truly ugly. “What is this, some sort of shakedown? If you all leave my room right now, I'll consider dropping the breaking and entering and assault charges you're facing.”
This time, it's Vic who laughs. The sound is low and dark, truly terrifying.
“You think you have room to negotiate here?” he asks, and the sound of his voice strikes fear into my heart. Regardless of that fiery kiss on the rooftop, I'm terrified of Victor Channing. “Truss him up like a pig and take him out to the roof.”
“You wouldn't fucking dare,” Donald snarls, but Oscar is already reaching for the coil of purple rope Cal’s got slung over his shoulder. When the rich asshole goes to shout, Aaron clamps a hand over his mouth and leans in.
“Last chance before we choke you to death.”
“I'd do it, too,” Hael says, all smooth and cocky. He's like … the jock-y football player from a good school, but reversed. Same shit-eating grins, over-confidence, and healthy swagger, but wrapped in tattoos and pain instead of money and a letterman jacket. “And I'd enjoy it. Nothing I love more than showing a rich asshole that he doesn't own the world.”
Aaron releases Don's mouth, and Oscar makes quick work of tying him up. Next thing I know, the other guys are dragging Don through the window.
