Page 59 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
A rapping of knuckles against the changing room door startles the shit out of me.
“You okay in there, Blackbird?” Hael asks, his voice laced with concern. It’s a voice that says if you don’t reply back to me in five seconds or less, I’m coming in there. I can’t decide if I should smile or scowl. I like that they watch over me, that they want to protect me. But I’ve always, always, always wanted the luxury of being able to protect myself. “Do you want to do a fashion show for us? According to Oscar, I have cheap taste, but I can at least tell you how fucking hard you make me.”
“I’m fine; I picked a dress.” I strip down to my bra and panties and yank my regular clothes on as fast as I can. I would not put it past any of them to force their way in here. Callum would climb over the top, Hael would shimmy underneath the door, and Victor would break it down.
As soon as I’ve yanked my sweater over my head, I open the door to find all three of their huge bodies blocking the exit. They stare down at me with equal but vastly different flavors of intensity. My skin pebbles, and I struggle for the briefest of moments to find my breath.
“This is the one,” I say, lifting my arm up to indicate the dress that’s draped over it. Both my side and my head hurt, but that’s to be expected. They’ll heal, in time. It’s my sense of self-worth and my pride that I’m concerned with.
“You picked it without us?” Hael asks, pretending to be butt-hurt about it. But he must see something in my face that softens his mood, reaching up a hand to cup my chin with soft fingers. “Did that bitch say something to upset you?”
“There’s a fervor in her that scares me,” I admit, and Hael drops his hand to his side, exchanging a look with Victor. Callum never takes his eyes off of me.
“Don’t worry about cop girl,” Callum tells me, his voice like a bell in a quiet, country church, one that’s covered in cobwebs and hasn’t been used in years but which calls all the lost souls to its shuttered doors. “We’ve adjusted our plans a bit already.” He gestures with his head in the direction of the store’s front entrance. “Constantine was here, too, waiting outside.”
“We can talk about this later. Let’s get the dress and go,” Vic says mildly, glancing back at the salesgirl. She’s on the phone with … someone. Probably her boss, explaining the situation. Four white trash nobodies from across the tracks have come in; they’re spreading their poverty and filth everywhere. “God and the devil only know who else might be watching this store.”
After everything I learned about the GMP in the car on the way over, I figure Vic’s not exactly talking about cops. Between Ophelia, this new gang testing the waters of our turf, and the cops, I think Sara Young is the least of our worries.
“Buy the dress but forget the shoes,” Cal says with a terrifying smile. “I want to see if I can steal them without the little mouse noticing.” I shiver at his words, giving the salesgirl a quick glance and noticing that her sweater is, in fact, patterned with little gray mice. How appropriate.
“It’s your funeral,” Vic says, which is just an expression, but a terrifying one nonetheless. At some point soon, I’m sure there are going to be plenty of funerals in Springfield. I just hope none of them are ours.
“They will be, if you don’t grow a fucking backbone,” Kali purrs, but I ignore her, tossing the dress onto the counter and smiling as Victor whips out a credit card with two fingers and flicks it at the woman. Behind us, Hael chuckles in bemusement.
“Wrap it up real nice for my wife,” Vic growls, and the girl rushes to comply.
“This plan you have for Sara Young,” I start, drawing his endless dark stare over to me as the girl charges the card and seems surprised to see the purchase go through without a hitch. “Am I going to like it?”
“Oh, trust me,” Victor says, scrawling his name on the iPad the salesgirl hands him, “this is right up your alley. Poetic justice, personal choice, and wrongs made right.” He tosses the iPad back, grabs the box, and then places it in my arms. When he looks down at me, I swear to fuck I can feel the weight of his stare like the universe settling on my shoulders. “Just one of many gifts I’m going to give you, Bernadette Channing.”
Vic moves away from me, lighting a cigarette before he’s even out the doors of the boutique.
I’m so busy clutching the box and breathing hard to fully appreciate the look of terror on the poor salesgirl’s face.
