Page 110 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
I keep smiling, really trying to savor the joy I feel in this moment, watching a monster be hunted by bigger and better and kinder monsters.
This is exactly why I wanted to see Don, a nightmare from my past reduced to ashes. It makes the awful memories of him more palatable somehow, the way seeing Neil Pence buried alive did.
“Not yet,” I tell him, giving him a look that I hope he takes very, very seriously. “But we will. If I ever hear about you hurting another girl, you will suffer. And don’t think we can’t find you. No matter where you run, no matter where you hide. Be it in this country or any other, I will use the billions of dollars my husband is inheriting to make sure that you suffer.”
Don flinches, and I wonder briefly if I shouldn’t just have him killed. But then, seeing the way he shrinks and cowers and shakes is too much fun.
“Do something good for the world, Donald, or we’ll find you—I can promise that.” I sit back in the chair and then nod toward the door. “Now, get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”
The rich pompous dickhead scrambles out of his seat, leaving his kitty litter coffee behind. Frankly, I’d rather drink my own piss, so I push it aside as the boys pull up chairs around me. For once, we’re not being stared at like we don’t belong here—the Oak Valley uniforms make it look as if we do—and I decide that I don’t like that either.
I don’t want to blend in; I want to stand out.
“Shall I order us a round of coffee?” Oscar asks, and I nod, lifting up a single finger in warning.
“But it cannot be cat crap coffee, just the regular stuff,” I say, and he laughs. He actually laughs at me in a way that isn’t derisive or mocking or dry. A shiver takes over me as Oscar stands up, Hael joining him at the counter to help carry the order.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Vic clarifies, his hand sliding up and under my skirt so that he can stroke the silky inside of my thigh. That’s when the shiver turns into a quaking heat that I know I’ll have to slake before the day is out. We haven’t been fucking nearly enough. Granted, we survived a school shooting, a miscarriage, and enrollment at a school for people who think cat poop makes a delicious hot beverage, but I don’t intend on finishing out my senior year as a nun.
“I’m okay with it,” I say, glancing over at him. “Donald isn’t worth our time. Did you see the look on his face? You neutered him.” My mouth twitches and I find that I’m having trouble keeping the grin off my face. “Physically and emotionally. Besides, the last thing we need to do is put a body in the ground when we’re so close to having all the others swept under the rug as a result of the GMP.”
“Police Girl incoming,” Aaron murmurs as Cal’s blue eyes target Sara Young through the window, and I sigh.
I’m not surprised to see her here, to be honest: she’s been trying to get ahold of me since Friday.
I stand up before she can approach our table, meeting her halfway across the café with my arms crossed over my chest.
“I have to say, you look lovely in that uniform,” she tells me as Constantine peruses the menu on the wall above the counter.
“Kopi luwak,” he says, whistling sharply. “Thirty-five dollars a cup? For cat shit?”
My mouth twitches, and I try not to hate him just a tad less than I did a minute prior.
“Thanks. What do you want?” I ask as Sara glances over my shoulder and lifts a hand in greeting to the boys, her mouth stretched tight. She readjusts her attention over to me.
“Do you want to talk about why you went to Portland and visited a club owned by the GMP? Oh, and also, the racetrack thing, could you stop doing that? We’ve traced your routes, so we know all about your shortcuts and your secrets.” Sara turns her head from side to side in time with those two words—shortcuts and secrets—in a way that reminds me of the mother I used to wish I had. One who was kind, but who also cared enough to be concerned if it looked like I was faltering or flagging in life.
If Ms. Keating and Sara Young had been my parents, I’d be a whole different person than I am right now.
“I don’t hate you anymore,” I tell her, and she lifts a brow, dressed in a casual suit with a loose silken blouse underneath, very FBI of her. “Just thought you should know that. Also, I have no idea what you’re talking about. My friend Vera was supposed to work a party and then got freaked-out at the last second. She called us for a ride, but by the time we got there, she had some guy picking her up.” I roll my eyes, and I don’t care if Sara believes me or not. It’s a good enough story and kind of close to the truth, too.
