Page 84 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
“Who fixes these up then?” I ask, pointing at the other cars.
“I consult; we have people who do the grunt work,” Hael says, moving back over to the shell of a vehicle that's supposed to be mine. He taps the side again, caressing it with tattooed hands like an adoring lover. “But not on this one. I'm going to have everything I need towed to my place, so I can work on it on the regular.”
“But why?” I repeat, genuinely curious. I can't for the life of me understand why they'd do this for me, not without getting something in return. And trust me: I've been giving them the one thing I thought they truly wanted. Unfortunately, they're going to keep playing the mysterious card on me, and I'm not going to learn shit now am I?
“It doesn't matter why,” Vic says, going back to being an asshole. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bernadette?” He drags my full name across his tongue like it’s poison.
I ignore the entitled fucker.
“What about Aaron?” I ask, thinking of the girls. I’m not about to accept a car when his got freaking fire-bombed—and likely because of what I did to Kali’s face.
“We’ve already selected one for him,” Vic adds, pulling a pair of keys from his pocket and tossing them to Aaron. “Happy early birthday from the rest of us assholes.”
“Hint,” Callum starts, hopping down off the hood of the car he’s standing on and pointing down the row of vehicles. “It’s the Bronco.”
“It’s a ’96. Highly desirable. Already a classic. The value on these rises every year,” Hael explains, so euphoric sounding that if I didn’t know better, I’d think he were rubbing one out over there.
Aaron studies the white SUV with a slight smile.
“What about our other gift?” Aaron asks, looking from me to Vic and back again. “For Bernadette, I mean. Are we really doing that here?”
“Oh, we're doing it now,” Vic says, reaching into a bag on the ground beside him and pulling out a box of latex gloves and a tattoo machine before he turns his attention to me, lifting the items up for emphasis. “Get ready, Bernie, because you're about to get your Havoc tat.”
“Officially becoming one of us,” Callum adds, grinning as he stuffs almonds into his mouth and flashes a monster's smile. It's scary, how pretty he is but how dangerous. I never expected I'd see him kill a boy though, not now, not ever.
Much to my surprise, Victor ends up handing the tattoo machine over to Aaron, of all people. One of my brows goes up.
“Last person to join tattoos the newbie,” Vic says with a grin, tossing Aaron a pair of the black gloves. “Hope you've been practicing.” My eyes find the letters inked into Victor's knuckles, the lines blown-out and ragged. It adds to his attractiveness though, adding a hint of danger to an already sharp appearance. My attention slides to Oscar and Hael next. I'm not sure who the true second-in-command is, but one look at their knuckles and I can take a guess. Hael's work is fine-pointed and exact while Oscar's is more utilitarian. Oscar then, had to be second. I would recognize Vic's work anywhere.
I look up at Aaron as he fingers the silver machine in his hand, his gold-green eyes contemplative as he studies it with an expression somewhere between resignation and fear. When he looks back over at me, I can tell he's conflicted.
If he does this, it might be too late. I might never escape.
Little does he know: I don't want to.
“Are you sure?” Aaron asks, as if he or I have some choice in the matter. We look at each other, and it's as if the rest of the world falls away. The smell of grease from the open garage, Hael's coconut oil, Callum's cinnamon-sugar almonds. Oscar's intense scrutiny, Vic's unrelenting stare. Aaron takes another step toward me, putting the toes of our shoes together. “I mean, do you want me to do this for you?”
He takes my hand and rubs his thumb over my naked knuckles, igniting every nerve ending in my body.
There's a long pause before Oscar approaches with a small glass bottle filled with black ink.
“Bernadette likes it here, don't you, Bernadette?” he purrs, lifting the glass up between two fingers and shaking it back and forth so that it sloshes around inside the bottle. “Stop dragging your feet, Aaron, and accept it.”
Aaron's jaw clenches and he runs his fingers through his auburn hair, taking a step back and turning away, toward the dark maw of the garage.
My eyes narrow, and I exhale, feeling all of their eyes watching me, like they did that day in Billie's trailer, when I stripped my tits bare and changed in front of them. This is worse, though, like my soul is exposed somehow, like I'm emotionally naked in front of them.
