Page 15 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
A shudder comes over me at the thought of returning to my mother's house, of sleeping under the same roof as the Thing. I'm not sure that I can do it, muster up that level of courage just about now.
“Not really. More like, I can't feed the girls junk food for dinner, not after a day of eating chips and cake.” My mouth twitches into a bit of a smile as I remember playing with Penelope, running around the house dressed in Mom's fancy dresses and laughing, stuffing our faces with snacks. When Pamela came home and saw what we were doing, she cracked Pen across the cheek so hard that her face swelled up for almost two weeks. Mom told the school she'd been stung by a bee, that she was allergic. “We're going to the store for supplies.”
My smile disappears as quick as it came.
“Well,” Cal starts, giving that husky laugh of his as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket. “If you need something to do today, stop by the studio.” He lights up, the orange glow from the lighter pushing away the shadows in his face, warming up the darkness inside his hoodie. Beneath all the scars and the bullshit, Callum looks tired and stretched thin.
Nothing I'd ever thought I'd see from a Havoc Boy.
“Yeah?” I quip as the front door opens and we both glance back to see Oscar stepping outside, the gray glare of the sky cutting the lenses of his glasses in half. I can't see his eyes, and I don't like that. There's no telling what he might do if he isn't watched. And if he thinks I've forgotten what he said to me last night—You know I can’t stand you; go bother somebody else—then he's got another thing coming.
“I'm teaching a beginners' class, for adults,” Cal finishes, reaching up to push blond hair away from his forehead. He gives me a tight smile and a wink before taking off down the sidewalk, hauling his black duffel bag up his shoulder.
I wait until he disappears around the corner before I turn and head up the driveway, pausing as I see Oscar inside of Hael's Camaro instead of the minivan.
“Pretty sure Vic didn't stutter when he said the van,” I murmur, sick and tired of Oscar's crap. This morning, I am precisely out of fucks to give. I climb in as Oscar tilts the edge of his sharp mouth up into a smile, turning the key and warming the engine up to a gentle purr. When I'm sitting in here, I feel like I can figure out where Hael's coming from. I know who he is. Saucy little playboy with a heart of gold, a love for cars and kids, and … an ex who could be dangerous to us in so many ways.
I slide my hands over my face again as Oscar reverses down the driveway, pausing at the next stop sign to select a song from his phone. Homicide by Logic and Eminem starts to play, and I frown hard.
Maybe I only think I know Hael Harbin? Shit, maybe I don't know any of them?
I haven't forgotten what I overheard at the party.
The boys castrated Donald. They carved the word Rapist into his forehead.
What the actual fuck are they going to do to the Thing?
I also haven’t forgotten what I heard after the party.
“We have a video, of him with your sister.”
But I need time to process that, along with everything else. Some part of me wonders if I’m suffering from some sort of emotional shock.
“I want to talk about the next name on my list,” I start, and Oscar laughs. It isn't a pretty sound. No, actually, it sends chills down my spine. I flick my gaze his direction, trying to align the boy who made a paper princess dress for me in elementary school to the whip-smart gangbanger sitting beside me. There's no correlating the two.
“Of course you do, Bernadette. We can't let such an important matter slip through the cracks. Perhaps we should talk about you flashing me first?”
“Oh, you’re still on that?” I quip, feeling this warm, gooey sense of smug satisfaction steal through me. “And here I thought only the idea of Vic’s bare cock could get you going.”
“If it’s between him, and that terror you call a cunt, then I’ll choose him every time,” Oscar agrees, maliciously smirking at me. He’s acting like he doesn’t care, but it’s quite clear that he’s got my naked body on the brain. “Do you need me to set you up with a waxing appointment this weekend? Bushes like that haven’t been in since the seventies.”
“Don't start with me this morning,” I warn, giving him a sideways look and wishing like hell I'd brought a hoodie with me. It is cold as fuck this morning. Leaning forward, I turn the heater on and sit back as warm air drifts over my chilled skin. “I put my hands around your throat once; don't make me do it again.”
