Page 53 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
It’s like … he never went missing. Like I wasn’t stabbed. Like Kali isn’t dead. Like they didn’t all share me last night and sleep in the same room.
I guess that’s just how it is when you’re in a motherfucking gang. This is our version of normal, recovering from knife wounds and broken legs and heartbreak.
Oh, and murder.
Or a lack of courage to commit it.
“What makes perfect sense?” Hael asks, turning on “I Like It” by, once again, Cardi B. I’m guessing he’s taking inspiration from last night’s playlist. He doesn’t like hip-hop anymore than I do. Shit, he’s a rock ‘n’ roll sort of guy. I snort when I remember him playing Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.
“Bernadette, stealing her mother’s husband,” Victor says, smashing his cigarette into the ashtray on the table and turning his attention over to me. As soon as our gazes meet, I can tell that he, at least, remembers everything from last night. “It’s what all little girls aspire to, the attentions of a pedophile.”
Aaron finally makes it down the stairs, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes with a long sigh. His chestnut hair is mussed and falling into his face. He pushes it back with his hand and opens green-gold eyes to stare at me.
We’re both thinking about Kali, I’m sure of it.
I’m fairly positive that I’m the only person in this room who sees her though, sitting naked on the counter with her skin sloughing off, green party dress sparkly and clean and perfect on her ruined flesh. She smiles at me, and I turn away, moving over to the pink leather Havoc jacket that’s hanging near the front door.
“Is Pamela gone?” Aaron asks, his voice tired and strained. We really shouldn’t have fucked last night. When I woke up this morning, my bandage was stained with blood and I was forced to sit patiently on the toilet while Oscar changed it out for me, long fingers sliding across my overheated skin.
We both spent so much time waiting for the other person to speak that we ended up not talking at all. Well, except for one, gentle Shakespearean chastisement from him. “Oh, let me suffer, being at your beck …”
Jesus.
“She’s gone,” I say finally, trying first one jacket pocket and then the other until I find what I’m looking for.
Inside of it is a crumbled list with seven names and a tube of pink lipstick that’s seen better days. I sit down at the counter as Hael watches me from the other side, smoothing the paper flat with my hand and striking a pink line through number two, the best friend.
“Oh please,” her specter hisses, leaning toward me until I swear to god, I can smell her rotten breath. “You miss me already. So much so that you’re imagining I’m still here.”
I stare down at number seven on the list—the mom—and then I crumple the page back up and hold it in a closed fist. Aaron slumps onto the stool beside me, snapping me out of my temporary trance. I lift the pink lipstick to my mouth and paint myself while all five boys watch.
Their attention is not lost on me.
“Where should we shop today?” Victor asks, referring to the dress I’ll need for Ophelia’s party. What a weird thing to do, after recovering from a stab wound and killing your ex-bestie. Well, having your ex-boyfriend-turned-new-boyfriend kill your ex-bestie … I won’t think too hard about that today. Reflection is for downtime. And Havoc, we don’t have any of that lying around. “Any ideas? I’m not exactly up to snuff on designer labels. I mean, there’s an art form to how the rich squander their fortunes.”
“She needs something with diamonds,” Oscar muses from behind me. He feels close, like maybe he’s gotten up from the chair and is standing right next to me. I don’t look back to see; I’ve already got one demon grinning at me from Kali’s rotten face. No need to add another. My poor heart can only take so much.
“Oh, I already have diamonds,” I say, pulling Ophelia’s necklace out from the breast pocket of the t-shirt. It says, ironically enough, I’M A VIRGIN across the back. “I found this by stepping on a pair of my discarded pants this morning. Hurt like a bitch.”
“That’s my girl,” Victor purrs, licking his lower lip as he stares down at me with eyes the color of crows. “Shoving diamonds into her pocket and forgetting all about them.”
“Let me,” Cal offers, taking the necklace from my fingers and clasping it against the back of my neck. His touch lingers, making my skin pebble with goose bumps. When he drapes himself over my back and puts his lips against my ear, I shudder. In pleasure, of course. I’m not afraid of him. Never have been. “Let’s go steal from one of the Oak neighborhoods,” he says, referring to the ritziest parts of town, the ones that have been setting themselves apart from the rest of the city by planting oaks in their front yards for over a hundred years. There’s Oak River Heights, Oak Park, and Oak Valley. Of the three, Oak Park is the most prestigious. I can’t even imagine the horrible secrets hiding behind the doors of those mansions.
