Page 44 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
The fingers of my left hand dig into the sheets as I writhe and moan, phantom hands sliding across my heated flesh, slick tongues licking beads of sweat from my tattoos. My legs bend at the knees, my toes curling as that pulsing sensation between my thighs bleeds into the rest of me, a demon of pleasure unfurling in my body.
With a violent groan, I arch my back as the climax takes over my body like a possession, pressing the vibrator into my clit as hard as I can and then collapsing with a shuddering moan.
It takes me about thirty seconds of hard breathing to realize that I’m not the only person in the room. My eyes crack open to the easy flicker of the TV. Apparently, the playlist I chose is all Cardi, all the time. “Money” is playing now as I lift up onto my elbows to get a better view of what’s going on.
All five Havoc Boys are standing at the end of the bed, shirtless and wearing skeleton masks.
A flicker of fear passes through me before I wet my lower lip with my tongue and carefully set the vibrator aside, like any sudden movement might trigger their predatory instincts. My skin is white as fuck, almost glowing in the strange half-light; I can feel them all staring at my nakedness.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice steady and even. You wouldn’t think that lying here naked on a bed with five masked men that I would feel safe. But I guess I feel even better than safe because the cockiness in my voice is an eerie mimic of Victor’s even-keeled tone.
“I told you to rest,” Victor says, standing at the head of the group, like always. “Why are you so insistent on disobeying me? Nobody else does.” He gestures at the four men on either side of him. Aaron is on one end, the cuffs still dangling from his wrists, and likely who Vic is referring to right now. He was told to put on a mask and get his ass in here, and he did. “You shouldn’t be fucking anyone, sweetheart.”
I grit my teeth as Victor leans forward and places a hand on either side of me.
“Call me sweetheart again and watch me get violent.” My voice is dark and gritty, like I’m falling apart on the inside. Put me back together again, it says, begging Vic to do what he does best. He owns me. He clears my numbness. He wakes me up inside.
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. You rebelled and almost got yourself killed. If you think I’m not pissed, it’s only because I know how to control my temper. You would not want to be present if I truly had a blow-up.” He laughs at me and stands up again, the mask he’s wearing one I haven’t seen before. It covers the top half of his face, made of black glitter and brittle bones that might very well be real. “I didn’t want to do this with the stitches still in, but if you’re well-enough to ride dick then you’re well-enough to say sorry for what you did. Turn over and show me your ass, Bernadette.”
I look down the line of men as one of them cocks his head at me. Callum. He studies me from behind his mask, limned in low light and impossible to read. Oscar mirrors his position on Victor’s other side, his chest, arms, and hands so covered with ink that it’s impossible to find even a square inch of bare skin. Hael and Aaron are at the end on either side, one of them sporting cuffs, the other with a bit of danger etched into his smirking smile.
He’s pissed at me, Hael is.
I wet my lips.
My initial reaction is to put up a fight. But why? Victor is right: I fucked up. I chased after Kali and nearly got myself killed. I do deserve to be punished. So why does this feel more like a dark dream come true than a nightmare?
“You were made to be a whore, that’s why,” Kali’s ghost says, and I ignore her. At least the weed didn’t make her apparition any worse though I was hoping she’d go the fuck away. I can’t be seeing shit; I have to tell somebody about this if it doesn’t stop soon.
I close my eyes for a minute against the sight of them, five boys dripping ink and hiding behind what’s very quickly become a symbol of our gang: the grinning maw of a boney face.
When I open my eyes, they’re all still staring at me.
“Jesus H. Christ,” I murmur, and Hael’s harsh laugh makes me shiver.
“Jesus can’t save you now, baby,” he purrs as I turn over, swinging my hair over one shoulder so that it hangs down beside my face. I’m staring down at the sheets and panting when I feel the mattress dip with somebody else’s movement.
