Page 42 of Mayhem At Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 3)
“Is it time to eat now?” Heather asks, still wearing her black shorts, blue tankini top, and flipflops. It's far too stormy to hit the beach today, but the kids seem even happier with the heated indoor pool. Before we leave on Sunday, I'm going to push all of Marcus' exotic plants into the water and watch them sink.
“It's time,” Hael confirms as Oscar snaps his iPad lid closed. The way he looks at me, though, he knows we're onto something here. “Shall we eat in the formal dining room?” Hael oozes with a roll of his eyes.
“Turkey tacos for Thanksgiving is so weird,” Kara giggles, clamping her hands over her mouth. Aaron smiles softly down at her, putting his hand on the top of her chestnut hair for a moment. It's curly, like his, and she even has the same color eyes. He'd be a good dad. Eventually. Like, far off in some distant future that I may or may not make it to see.
No. You will. Bernie, you can fucking do this.
Finish the list.
Kick the Charter Crew's ass.
Get Victor's inheritance.
There's a checklist of things laid out in front of me, and I know that, in theory, Havoc always has business to attend to. There is no phew, we're all done, let's rest mentality with this group. But we always manage to find time to watch South Park and smoke, eat pizza and fuck. Shit, we even took the girls trick or treating.
Everything is going to be okay.
“Heather, can you get the platter with all the veggies?” I ask. “I'll grab some sodas.”
“Kara, take a small stack of those plates with you. Ashley, you and Alyssa can be responsible for the sour cream and salsa.” Aaron commands the children with an effortless ease, tossing me a smile as he hefts the majority of the plates into his arms (obviously, the Vincents wouldn't be caught dead with paper plates in their formerly immaculate home).
Everything is going to be o-fucking-kay.
I repeat that to myself, and for a minute there, I actually believe it.
You know, I just sort of forgot to add the fucking cops to my imaginary checklist.
Because nothing worth fighting for is ever easy, am I right?On Saturday, I find Hael in the Vincents' garage, examining their Ferrari 488 Spider. He sighs when I come in, gesturing at the sportscar with one, inked hand.
“Can you believe I have to tear this car apart? Such a shame.” He taps the hood with his palm, and I get chills, remembering our quickie on the hood of his Camaro. “Of course, I prefer my baby any day, but this is pretty slick.” He puts a hand over his heart as I move up to stand beside him, crossing my arms.
“I hear this thing delivers a full seven-ten horsepower all the way to eight-thousand rpm. Shit, rumor has it that the Spider can go from zero-to-a-hundred-and-twenty-four mph in just seven-point-eight seconds.” I nod my chin, like I know what I'm talking about, and Hael turns to me with a cocked brow, a fresh cigarette halfway to his lips. “I say we dig deep into the throttle and find a set of switchbacks because the stiffer suspension and stickier Michelins make for a more capable chassis.”
“Okay, you almost had me at the horsepower thing, but I'm calling bullshit.” I grin as Hael lights up, takes a drag, and offers me the cigarette. “Where did you read all that, little bird?”
“Uh, Kelly Blue Book?” I offer up and Hael throws his head back in laughter.
“You tricksy little minx,” he growls when he drops his chin back down, so he can look me over from head to toe. I'm wearing a robe, but underneath, I've got on my swimsuit, the one Victor says he doesn't like but that he ravaged me in the last two nights. It's hot pink and skimpy as hell, with a skull and crossbones over the left breast. The bottoms are little booty-shorts, and I'd be lying if I said my cheeks didn't hang out a bit.
I stole this swimsuit from the Hellhole when I was sixteen, but I've never worn it. Until now.
Somehow, I feel like Hael knows what's underneath my robe.
He steps forward, reaching out for the tie around my waist and very carefully and meticulously untying it. As soon as the robe opens up, Hael sucks in a sharp breath and curses in a very violent and colorful sort of way.
“Fuck a nun's dry cunt,” he murmurs, and I choke on a bit of laughter. “I know I saw this bikini yesterday, but holy damn, your sister was swimming with us, and I was trying not to look …” He trails off. He is most definitely looking at me right now. “Man, if Vic weren't in such a mood …” Hael reaches his palms inside the robe and puts them on the curve of my waist. The connection between us fires up like the motherfucking Fourth of July, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to bear it. “He's so insufferable now. I knew he would be, after the wedding.” Hael pauses, and his full mouth twitches with bemusement. “How'd you like that twist, having Aaron give you away? What a hoot and a holler. Victor really is the king of assholes.”
