Page 49 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
For right now though, I'm not thinking about birth control. Nah, instead it’s violence that’s in the forefront of my mind. But I already beat up a pregnant chick today. Restraint is key.
“What did you just say?” Hael asks, his face going ashen as Brittany makes her way over to us, dressed in an oversized cable-knit sweater and leggings with UGGs. She’s got her basic bitch uniform down pat, pumpkin spice latte included. I can see the letters PSL scrawled on the side of the cup.
“Havoc,” Brittany says again, lifting her chin in defiance. “I'm calling Havoc.”
“You don't even go to Prescott,” Hael chokes out, but he knows as well as I do that that was never part of the bargain. Call out the word, state your needs, pay the price. That's it. “Holy motherfucker son of a bitch,” he groans, letting his head fall back and sliding both hands over his face.
“I need you, Hael,” Brittany says, leveling a death glare on me, like it's my fault she got pregnant with some random guy's kid. Looking at her, I can see that we've devolved into something primal here. She wants this man standing between us, but even though I'm loath to admit it, the thought of her taking him from me fills me with a white-hot fury. “This baby needs you.” She puts her hand over her belly, finally turning her attention away from me and over to her ex. “That's why I'm calling Havoc. I want you to be in my life, in this baby's life. I want you to be a father.”
Hael drops his hands at his sides and gives her a long, suffering look. His expression is strained, almost dejected. He wants this about as much as I do.
“That's what you called Havoc for?” he asks, studying her in a way that says he looks back on their relationship with about as much fondness as I look back on Donald. What a mistake he was, a nightmare of national proportions. Clearly, anyone can see what a divisive little psycho he is. “To ask me to be a father?” Hael laughs, the sound dry and disconnected. “You understand that's a lifelong commitment. You'll never be able to pay our price.”
“Look, I'm going to be honest with you, okay,” Brittany says, casting me a look that says I'm not welcome to be a part of this conversation. “But I want to talk alone. Can we take a drive maybe?” She takes another step forward, reaching out to put her hand on Hael's muscular arm. I step between them, cutting her off from touching him and staking my claim in a man that I'm still royally pissed off at. But I can't help it. This is getting primal: two bitches fighting over a bastard. And I'm not about to lose. If Brittany wants to see claws, I'll show her mine. Guarantee mine are sharper, longer, and tipped in venom.
“You're not taking a drive alone with my man,” I say, and there it is, just sitting out there for the entire world to hear. I don't give a shit if I sound ratchet as hell either. It is what it is. I might've been born into wealth, but I grew up in poverty. South Prescott is in my blood, and I'm a stronger person for it. What does bourgeois Brittany and her upper middle-class bullshit have on me? I'll tell you what: fucking nothing. “And he isn't carrying your baby.”
“You'd know that how?” Brittany asks, clutching her drink close to her chest. “He fucked me enough times that it's a possibility.” Without thinking, I step forward and hit the bottom of her cup, upending the coffee all over her pale red sweater. She gasps and steps back, shaking out the fabric to keep it away from her skin.
“I know that he always used a condom with you. I know that I don't like you. And I know that Hael belongs to me now. That's what matters.”
“Holy shit,” Hael whistles from behind me, but he doesn’t step in or stop me from doing my thing. He doesn’t contradict me either, despite the fact that we’ve never once had a conversation about our relationship or lack thereof.
Something happened to me on Halloween night though. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel like I’m being pulled apart by the wicked fingers of the universe, and only I can figure out how to put myself back together.
“Bernadette,” Oscar says, appearing at my side like a summoned ghost. He freaks me the fuck out, this motherfucker. Like, how does he materialize out of nowhere like that? I haven't gotten the chance to ask him. “You know we treat potential clients with respect,” he says, giving me a look before glancing back at a fuming Brittany. “I hear you've called Havoc. What is it that you want?”
