Page 147 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
I hang off of him from behind, squeezing as hard as I can and letting my feet come up off the floor as he thrashes. That puts my own bodyweight into the move, giving me the extra bit of force that I need to pull this off against someone that’s so much larger than I am.
This guy is smarter than the last one though. He bends forward suddenly, trying to throw me off of his back as I lock my thick ass thighs around him and hang on for dear life—quite literally.
Two men come around the corner as we struggle … followed by four more.
That’s six plus the one I’m already choking for a grand total of seven.
Seven GMP motherfuckers up in my ragged ass school.
I am fucked. I am beyond fucked.
Then I see the blood, the flecks on the clothing of the men that’ve just appeared. They’ve already killed people. And, seeing as they’ve likely come here just to say hi to Havoc, I’m filled with this primal terror that one of the boys might be dead.
A noise like a backfiring car echoes around the hallway—the sound of a weapon without a silencer being fired. One of the GMP’s soldiers falls to the ground, bleeding from the head as the majority of the men turn to find out where the shot just came from. Another shot, another man on the ground. It’s hard for me to tell what, exactly, is going on since I’m still in the midst of a primal struggle for my life, but … I’m pretty sure I see a skeleton-masked face emerging from the hole where the ceiling vent was.
Whoever it is—let’s be honest, it’s gotta be Callum—can make a hasty retreat back into the ceiling if needed. This is a distraction meant to get me the fuck out of here. I’m at least smart enough to recognize that.
I let go of the man I’m choking and turn, hating my heels, thankful that I’m Prescott High’s most talented bitch. Don’t like running in them, and it hurts, but if need be, I’ll do it. I’d have kicked them off if they didn’t have straps.
I’m out the front door and halfway down the steps when I run into James Barrasso.
He’s smiling at me, and the sight of it makes me gag.
Something he said the other night burns like fire in my brain. “Not if I can help it.” That was his reply when Trinity declared she was going to marry Vic. I have a bad feeling that this is what he meant by that.
“Grab her,” he says to one of the men standing beside him. Hands reach for me, but I’ve got nowhere to go and nothing left to fight with. I swing at them anyway. Like a cat pinned by a dog, I’ll fight with all my claws. “We’ll use her to lure Victor outside.”
The first punch to the jaw hurts, but it’s the one to my stomach that knocks the air out of me. Then there are just too many of them, boots slamming into my back, my stomach, the side of my head.
I end up choking on blood on the grass in front of Prescott High.
“You are pathetic,” Kali whispers to me, reappearing for the first time since I fucked Victor in his closet. Standing behind her, I can see all of the others, too. I can see Coraleigh Vincent, Neil Pence and Ivy Hightower, Eric and Todd, Mitch and Logan. I’m so conflicted and twisted up with all of my own bullshit that I’ve written a metaphor so real inside my head that I can see it now, right there in front of me, with eyes wide open. “This is always how you were meant to find your end.”
Jimmy saunters up to me, trying to roll me over with his boot. But I’m not a dog. I don’t perform tricks. When he can’t get me to move, he kicks me as hard as he can, and I vomit blood. It’s involuntary; I can’t help it.
“Stupid, frigid bitch,” he bites out with a laugh, leaning down to look at me. “You’re lucky your buddy stumbled in on us at the party.” He sweeps some hair away from my face as I lie there with all of my failures, my critics, my betrayers, standing above me and gloating. Is that how I want to die? Quiet and bleeding and shaking? “I was going to fuck you and kill you right then. This is better.”
He stands up and pulls a gun from his shoulder holster, sea glass eyes as empty and cold as a bottle with a note that will forever drift on an angry sea. The barrel is aimed right at me; I’m staring down the face of death in the form of some misogynistic sister-fucker.
