Page 31 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
I lean in for more, but he pulls back from me, giving me a harsh look that I know I’m going to yield to, if only to make up for last night.
“Get. Some. Sleep.” He kisses my nose, my forehead, strokes my tangled hair back. “I need you rested, so I can properly chew you out later.” He steps back and makes a circle in the air with his finger. “Out, out, out. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out: that’s my job.” He smirks at me as I flip him off and follow after Havoc’s leader to the exit. If this were any other hospital—meaning not a south Prescott shithole—I might be in a wheelchair right now. Alas, the ER is stretched so thin you can see right through it to the other side.
“Hael will drive Aaron home when it’s time,” Victor tells me, checking his phone as we pass through the automatic doors of the emergency room and into the diffused gray of a December evening. Even that small amount of light makes me want to claw my eyeballs out of my skull with the chipped remains of my coffin-tipped black nails. Vic glances my way again, like he can hardly believe I’m still here with him. It’s a vulnerable sort of look that lasts about one one-hundredth of a second and then disappears just as fast. Then he’s back to being an asshole. “If you think being my girl gets you out of trouble for deliberately disobeying my orders then you’re wrong.”
“Not tonight, Vic,” I say with a small sigh, hugging Callum’s hoodie closer around me. He left it on the chair in the waiting room when he stepped out with Oscar for a smoke. They don’t know I’m awake yet so this should be fun. “Let me get some real sleep and then you can piss all over me, mark your territory, assert your dominance, that sort of thing.” I shrug one shoulder loosely and then groan in pain. My entire body hurts. And when I move, my skin tugs on the stitches.
“I’ll save your spankings for a different day, but you’re not getting out of this, so don’t fucking bother trying.” He lights up a cigarette and then snorts. “If I were a different sort of man, I’d beat the shit out of you. Hell, that’d be the feminist thing to do, treat you just like I’d treat one of the guys that did something so stupid.” He shakes his head and takes a drag, pausing at the edge of the curb to look down at me. “In this case, I think it’s okay we keep the double standard, at least for a little while.” Vic smirks, and I punch him in the arm. It’s lacking my usual force, but oh well.
“She lives,” Callum says with a small smile, pushing off the edge of Aaron’s Bronco where he was smoking. His blue eyes look me over, from head to toe, just like Vic. Unlike Vic, he isn’t assessing or delving, just observing. Cal tests my mettle in one glance, finds me worthy, and grins. “You almost ended up buried on Tom’s land last night,” he adds sadly, and it’s said in such a way that I can tell it’s meant to be comforting rather than admonishing. As in, thank fuck you didn’t, you’re here.
Oscar, on the other hand, is glaring at me like he wishes he had his hands around my throat again. Not sure I can play that game again after tonight, but we’ll see. He’s got on a different pair of glasses, white ones this time. They make him twice as terrifying as he was before. Not sure how, but there’s something about that careful civility that makes me shiver.
I swipe at my face with the edge of the hoodie’s sleeve.
Any other girl, standing in the dark like this, with these three men, would be terrified. I’m the only person in the universe that’d be delighted, surrounded by predators like these.
“Let’s go home,” I say, hands twisting in the hoodie fabric as my nerves start to get the better of me. When I let Kali go, I risked Heather’s life and happiness. I mean, the boys would’ve taken care of her, but losing Pen was bad enough; my baby sister doesn’t need to lose another sibling.
“Let’s,” Oscar hisses, like he may very well slap me later. “Do you mind if I drive? I’d rather not sit next to Bernadette.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Vic groans, rubbing his hand over his face. I’m too tired to deal with Oscar’s bullshit, so I just flip him the bird as he glares down at me.
“I’ll sit next to her,” Cal suggests mildly, hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. He’s anything but mild, however. When I look at him, I can easily translate that inane phrase into: I will sit next to Bernadette.
