Page 21 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
“Yeah, well, screw you.” I shove him back, letting my feet fall to the floor, but he doesn't let me go, grabbing my wrists and slamming them into the mirror behind my head. “I bet there isn't a single one of you who would've told me about that video.” I sneer at him and then, when I try to pry out of his grip and he doesn't let me go, I spit at his feet. “I had to hear about it from the Thing. Do you know what that was like? It was like being taunted by the devil himself. He took pleasure in telling me. You gave him that pleasure by keeping this from me.”
“Bernadette,” Callum growls, surprising me as he grabs me by my hair, keeping the fingers of his right hand around my wrist. “I spilled blood for you last night, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I’m not sure what it is you’re looking for, an escape route, or a reason to run, but you won’t find it here.”
“Let me go,” I grind out, but Cal ignores me, leaning in to put his lips near mine. My heart is pounding like crazy, but I’m not sure what to do. I want to leave here, but then where will I go? Liar. You don’t want to leave at all, do you?
And that’s the worst part of it all: I don’t.
I want to stay with the Havoc boys; I want to be a Havoc Girl.
I always have, since I was eight years old. They might not’ve called themselves Havoc back then, but they were still my boys.
When Cal turns and presses his mouth against mine, I see stars. The fingers of my right hand dig into his shirt and my body arches, like we’re dancing all over again. His arm, the one with the ballerina tattoo, wraps around my waist as he releases my other wrist. When he picks me up and slams me into the mirror again, I gasp against his lips, my legs curving around him, ankles locking.
Callum is soaked in sweat, his cheeks pink from whatever workout he must’ve gotten in before I got here. I wonder if I’m too much for him to hold up, with his injuries and all, but he doesn’t act like I weigh anything at all. His fingers slide from my hair to cup the side of my face, thumb dipping between my lips. This time, when he leans in toward me, he kisses the side of my neck instead of my mouth.
The sensation burns like fire through my veins, traveling to my fingers, my toes, making my cunt pulse and throb as he grinds his erection against my pelvis. It’s impossible to miss, behind those sweatpants of his. Callum waits for the beat of the song to pick up and then starts to move in rhythm to the music, stirring up this delicious friction between my thighs.
That’s when the power cuts again and the studio goes dark.
“Fuck.” It’s the only word he manages to get out before the rain starts to come down, battering the old skylight. The song ends and suddenly, it’s just way too fucking quiet in that studio. Part of me wonders if some of those pinging sounds I hear are Callum’s dreams, shattering to glass on the tin roof above our heads. “It’s always bad timing with us, isn’t it?” he asks, but I’m not entirely sure what he means, other than that I was just here, with the rain coming down in sheets.
Cal releases me, and I shove him back. He stumbles a bit, but only because he's letting me push him around.
His blue eyes watch me as I head for the door, shoving it open with both palms. I've left little spatters of blood in my wake, and my bare feet smear them as I continue down the hallway, not caring that I've left my shoes behind.
Regardless of where and how they got it, the Havoc Boys had that video.
They didn't tell me about it.
Worse, they let the Thing taint Aaron's house, ruin an already shitty Halloween, mock me.
They let him get a leg up, and I'm not sure if I can ever forgive them for that.
I’m soaking wet and my feet are killing me by the time I get back to Aaron's place, but I ran out of fucks to give a long time ago.
A rough hand grabs my wrist as I pass by an overgrown yard, and my fight-or-fight-harder instinct kicks in. I throw a hard punch with my left hand, but my attacker intercepts it, keeping me from killing him long enough for me to realize through my adrenaline-soaked haze that the person I'm fighting with is Victor Channing.
“Oh, great,” I snap, tearing my arm away from him and wishing it didn't feel like my skin was branded by his touch. “The absolute last person I want to see right now.” I look up into his ebon eyes and feel my rage begin to crack and burn around the edges of my vision. Vic is the leader. He's the one who's supposed to be in charge. Ultimately, this decision fell to him and he fucked it all up.
