Page 65 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
“Why?” I ask, setting the brush down on the little plastic table that I’ve commandeered as a makeshift vanity. I’m wearing the dress, but I didn’t want to get any makeup on it. Still, is it better if Vic thinks I’m naked? “You want to make us late for the party, I’m guessing?”
“I don’t give a shit what time we go to the party,” he purrs, stepping forward as I turn to face him. He holds out a hand and I take it, standing up in bare feet as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon. Luckily, my makeup is just about done. I’m most excited about my new lipstick, a shade that’s titled Nothingness. Now, I’m not exactly sure what the color of nothingness really is, but this company’s take reminds me of deep holes in the ground with just a bit of brown earth for color.
Holes dug to hide bodies, for example.
Carefully, almost reverently, Victor slips the tie from around my waist and lets it slither from his hand to the ground. The robe gapes open and the red and black dress makes her debut appearance.
“I’m simultaneously disappointed and excited,” he admits, sliding his hands inside the robe and resting them against my hips. “You want that crown I bought for you?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“I still haven’t earned it,” I admit, and instead of feeding me platitudes like Aaron or Callum, Vic nods and steps back. He’s said his piece, and that’s that. “Save it for the right time.”
“Only you will know when the right time is,” he says as I bend down to grab the box of heels, sitting down on the plastic lawn chair to put them on. I look up at his face, and he gives me a sardonic smile. “Bernie, this is all about you. Only you know when you’re ready.”
I look away from him and back down at the shoes, at the shiny black patent leather, and the red soles that match my new hair color. When I’m finished putting them on, I glance back up and Vic is gone. For just a brief moment there, I’m alone.
I haven’t been alone since forever ago, it seems.
It hits me all of a sudden how vastly different my life is. Some would argue for the better, some would argue for the worse.
None of them could possibly understand.
Hael appears in the back door, wearing the bloodred bow tie I picked out for all the boys to wear. The rest of his outfit—from the button-down to the jacket to the slacks—is all black. I chose the color specifically because I read an article online about how midnight blue tuxes are preferred for events like this. The reason is, the waitstaff is likely to be wearing black. “If you’re not a fan of being asked to top off a guest’s champagne, the writer of this article strongly suggests you not wear black …”
As if being mistaken for a working-class person is the worst possible thing that could happen to someone.
So.
Black.
The color of crows, of the waitstaff’s uniforms, of coffin-tipped nails, of rotten bodies and funerals.
It was the right choice.
Lifting my eyes to Hael’s honey-almond ones, I see that we don’t really know each other at all. We’re ghosts from one another’s past, dragged into a feeling of romance by something even more basic, more desperate.
Obsession.
It oozes over the both of us, this metaphysical aura, as he steps forward and I stand up. Not sure what it is about those simple moments, what makes the way he moves mean so much more than it should. My hands slide behind Hael’s neck as he leans down and presses his lips to mine. He’s so fucking hot that I feel myself lifting up on my toes to be closer to that wicked mouth.
Hael Harbin has likely kissed a hundred girls with this mouth. Two hundred. More. I have no idea. The way he touches me tells me he’s got plenty of sense memory when it comes to women, like he could write a course on how to do it right. There’s just something about that sweet coconut oil scent that helps cut the grittiness of the motor oil. I know he’s been working on the Caddy for me, whenever he gets the chance.
Probably checking on his mother, too. Weird shit might be happening, but I haven’t forgotten that his father’s a convicted murderer who beats his mom on the regular.
“Would it be wrong if I fucked you against the fence and scared the shit out of the neighbors?” He leans in, fingering some blood-tipped blond strands of hair that’ve escaped from the loose chignon I’ve decided on. “Ruined those pretty panties of yours.” Hael pushes the tight dress up my legs, moving the mesh cutout from my thighs to my crotch. My panties underneath are as red as my hair.
