Page 121 of Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 3)
“Your grandmother …” I start, my mind reeling. Wow. It’s like we were all designed for each other by a cruel and unforgiving universe. Then again, there are very few students at Prescott High who have backgrounds that aren’t drenched in blood and secrets and bullshit. Callum’s story should be weird, showstopping, but it’s not. Not at Prescott. “Wow.”
“I mean, not anytime recently,” he explains, leaning a shoulder into me and gesturing with his hands. “Just before I turned three. So, it’s not as big a deal as it could be.” Callum pulls a package of peanut M&Ms from his pocket and pours some into his palm. He offers them up to me, but I put up a hand to turn them down. “My grandma was a prima ballerina in New York City once upon a time; she wanted me to be everything she wasn’t.” Cal stares at the candy in his hand with a faraway expression in his gaze. “What a disappointment I must be,” he muses, but not like he’s at all upset about it.
He knocks the candy back in one mouthful, chewing thoughtfully.
“Did you tell her your family was featured on a murder mystery show once?” Hael asks, and Cal laughs.
“Ah, that,” he says as I gape at him. “What? The episode came out when I was five, trying to pin my mother’s murder on my grandma. Nothing came of it anyway.”
“Why would your grandmother murder her own kid?” I ask, aghast at the idea of it. But then … Pamela, am I right? She’d have definitely murdered me and Pen and Heather if it served her well to do so. Oscar makes a sound of disgust from behind me.
“Rumor has it that Grandma killed her husband when Mom was thirteen, and made her help with the body.” Callum pours more M&Ms into his palm and flips a blue one into his mouth. “Apparently, my mom confessed everything to my aunt before she disappeared.” Cal slumps against his door so he can look at me better. “Do you feel sorry for me, Bernie? It looks like you do.”
“Of course I do,” I say, but Callum just chuckles again.
“Don’t. I don’t remember any of it. I’ve only heard stories.” Cal tosses another M&M into his mouth. “My grandma’s always been good to me. Not even sure if I believe any of the stories.” He pauses for a moment, his smile faded and his expression glazed over. “Even when I got my injuries”—he taps at one of his scarred knees with a hand—“and her dreams for me were shattered, she took care of me without complaint.”
“How have I never heard about any of this?” I ask, and Callum shrugs again.
“I wasn’t in danger with my grandmother, Bernie. Even though we’ve always lived in South Prescott, I had a good life. I got to dance. For a while there, I was the best. That’s a feeling you don’t ever forget.” Callum finishes off the M&Ms and then picks his rifle up off the floor, laying it across his knees. “What if our distraction doesn’t work?” he asks, changing the subject abruptly. I guess that’s his right; it’s his story.
I sit back as Oscar finally turns to join the conversation.
Much of our plan tonight involves the Charter boys paying attention to Aaron as he drives Hael’s Camaro into the first race.
Mitch, Logan, and the Ensbrook brothers don’t race until later. We just need to buy Hael time to get to their cars without being seen. He’ll do his thing, and then … well, hopefully the Charter Crew will be a hydra without any heads.
“It’ll work,” Oscar assures us, like he has any way to guarantee such a thing. “People are predictable. As soon as they see Aaron, they’ll be like sharks with blood in the water. The most important thing is that we make sure he gets out of there alive.”
My blood chills and I wring my hands together.
This is dangerous as fuck, but it’s also not something we can’t handle.
Mitch and his buddies should’ve known we’d always be a dozen steps ahead of them. They have Ophelia’s hired soldiers; they feel untouchable. It’s always a good feeling to bring your enemies down a notch.
I settle into the seat and close my eyes.
One day, I imagine we’ll have people to do this sort of thing for us. That is, if we play our cards right. But you don’t let your underlings know about all the murders you commit, especially when the cops are on your ass. And you most definitely don’t send a soldier to do a general’s work.
I open my eyes as Hael’s phone rings, and he answers it with the car’s Bluetooth system.
“What’s up, lover boy?” Hael asks, and I hear Aaron’s low laughter on the other end of the line.
