Page 73 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
He appears from behind the bar, coming out of a crouch and climbing on top of the counter. He reassumes that position, knees bent, elbows resting on them. His bow tie is gone, shirt unbuttoned, blue eyes scanning the crowd.
“Not here yet—unless Hael’s found him,” Cal replies, snatching one of the shots off the counter. There are six of them; I’m assuming one for each of us. Aaron sinks into one of the stools, his demeanor that of a lazy prince. But I know that the slow, careful way he’s moving has much less to do with his personality than it does his injuries. Gotta say, he puts on almost as good a show as Vic.
“Either I’m not recognizing the little piss-ant based on his social media pics, or he isn’t here,” Hael purrs, appearing behind me and grabbing onto my hips. His touch is enough to set my blood aflame.
“The touch of the cocky school slut, huh? That does it for you?” Kali’s voice sounds in my head, but at least I’m not seeing her ghostly face among the crowd.
“Well, then,” Vic begins, turning and grabbing two of the shots. He passes one to Hael and one to me. Oscar lifts a palm up in quiet refusal when Victor hands one his way. Our boss shrugs and drinks it himself. “May as well stay and party then. To keep up appearances, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Hael purrs in my ear, reaching down to pluck the shot glass from my hand. He hands both empty glasses to Vic before he leans down and runs his tongue along the side of my neck. “After all, Blackbird here is the bait.”
“The bait?” I echo, but then Hael’s pressing his hot mouth to my neck and it’s suddenly hard to think.
“How best to draw a shithead out of the woodwork,” he murmurs against my pulse, “than with a pretty girl.” I close my eyes briefly, and Oscar scoffs. As if he wasn’t a part of a gangbang last week. I open my eyes again and stare him down. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he returns my stare with a challenge in his own.
“Just so you know,” Aaron says, drawing my attention away from Oscar. “I’m not a fan of this idea.” As it always does when I look at him, my heart gives a gentle flutter, and a sense of relief washes over me. I can’t believe I let those poser motherfuckers get ahold of my man.
“And then refused to punish his very punish-worthy kidnapper,” Kali says with a laugh and a smirk. This time, when I see her out of the corner of my eye, she’s riddled with holes and bleeding.
“Shit,” I murmur, and I swear to fuck, all five of those boys look at me like they can sense something’s wrong. See, that’s the thing about surrounding yourself with carefully astute monsters. They always know. Always.
“What is it?” Victor demands as my gaze swings back to him. I’m not getting out of this. And I can’t lie. There are no lies in Havoc. I glance away, pulling from Hael’s grip for a second.
“Can we get another round?” I ask, leaning over the bar. I know for a straight fact that my ass is now hanging out of this dress.
“Jesus, Bernadette,” Vic says, tugging my outfit down. “This is only for sharing in certain circles.” He laughs, a deep, dark male laugh that gives me the chills. “Now, stop flashing ass to avoid the question. What’s the matter with you?”
I turn back around, leaning my elbows on the bar. Everyone here who looks at me is either terrified or turned-on. Well, terrified or turned-on and terrified. They think I’m some sort of badass bitch. In reality, I’m just an awful poser myself.
“I can’t stop seeing Kali,” I tell them, having to raise my voice so they can hear my words over the music.
“Like, in your head?” Cal asks, taking a shot as soon as the bartender pours it. He tosses it back and then hops off the counter, turning the glass over carefully and placing it back on the bar with his blue nails. They’re disturbing, actually. The more I look at them, the more I think he wears them that way on purpose. They remind me of a corpse. I lift my eyes to his face and smile. Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse, right? That’s Callum in a nutshell.
“Like, everywhere,” I correct, putting my fingers to my forehead and closing my eyes. “Visions, hallucinations, whatever. She taunts me.” I shrug my shoulders. “Probably just manifested trauma.”
“And you were going to tell us when?” Oscar asks, adjusting his glasses and cocking his head in that way that gives me the chills. He’s digging into me with slate-gray eyes and a frown like a knife’s edge. So sharp. It’s fucking cutting.
