Page 150 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
It’s like, after that night at Vic’s grandmother’s house—our future house, you know, if we don’t end up dead—everything’s changed. The boys behave better around one another, and my connection is stronger to them than ever.
That’s how I know I need to rest my hand on Hael’s leg as he drives, how I know I should push my fingers up beneath the edge of the shorts so I can touch his skin. He shivers, hands clenching around the wheel as we make the drive from Oak Valley Prep to the Four Corners neighborhood. It’s a stark study in classism; you can practically see the stratified layers of wealth being stripped away during the drive.
“If he’s hurt her …” Hael begins, and then he shakes his head, swiping a hand down his face.
He doesn’t have to have to say anything more. I know what he wants. I know what he’s wanted for a long, long time.
It’s the same thing Victor wants for Ophelia, that I wanted for Pamela, that Oscar dreams about with his dead father. Vengeance. Payback. Some restitution for wrongs committed.
Unfortunately, we still have a squad car on our ass. That, and Sara Young isn’t the type of person that lets things go. For now, we’ve earned her forgiveness and begrudging acceptance, but that’s only because the cards have fallen in just such a way that it looks like Havoc is almost entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
The violence at Prescott High, that was self-defense. The bodies on Tom’s land are related to Ophelia and Neil and the GMP. Pamela killed Kali along with Penelope. It all fits together just right, but if we’re not careful, if we mess up even one time, in even one, small, seemingly insignificant way, then Sara and Constantine will nail us to the cross.
So as much as Hael wants to hurt his father today, as much as I want to hurt the man myself, we can’t do anything of the sort. There is no way to get rid of that man with two cops sitting outside the house, and not have it traced back to us. We could claim self-defense maybe, but is it worth the risk?
We pull onto the lawn, right into those fading tire tracks that I took note of the first day I saw this place. The only thing that’s changed now is that those tracks are much less deep since Hael doesn’t live here anymore. I know it’s been hard on his mother. He’s said as much. But it’s also so much better for her son to be with us at Oak Valley.
“Maman!” Hael shouts, using his key to unlock the front door and shoving his way in.
Right away, it becomes apparent that something is wrong. Food burns in a pan on the stove, making the air cloudy with thick, gray smoke, and furniture is upturned in haphazard patterns that speak to violence and mindless rage. I even spot a streak of blood on the wall near the kitchen.
The other boys are right behind us, but I leave them to deal with the burning food as Hael storms down the hallway toward his parents’ room. His hands are clenched into fists, his teeth gritted so tightly that it looks like he could very well crack that pretty porcelain.
He throws open the door at the end of the hallway to find his mother in bed with her dress pushed up, his father on top of her. There’s no stopping him when he goes for Martin Harbin, ripping the man off the bed with a strong grip on the back of his neck.
“Hael!” Marie calls out, scrambling off the bed and pushing her dress back in place. Her makeup is smeared; it’s obvious she’s been crying. She also has a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek, a split lip, and finger-shaped bruises on her upper arms. “Hael, stop!”
But he isn’t stopping. Hael has officially lost his shit. He throws his father’s head into the mirror above the dresser, shattering the glass as Martin scrabbles at the hand latched onto the back of his neck.
“Alright, princess,” Vic says from behind me, giving me a slight shove in the lower back. “Get your man under control.”
Fuck.
Hael drags Martin out a back door and onto a small, shaky deck. The wood is clearly rotting from underneath, and it feels like our weight might well topple the whole thing into the dirt. Fortunately, even if that is the case, we’re only about three feet off the ground.
There’s a flimsy fence, half-collapsed and drowning in blackberries that surrounds the property, but surely the cops can hear the commotion from their stakeout spot? This isn’t going to last long. I can’t let it, much as I might want to.
We will get Martin Harbin someday soon, but it cannot be here, and it cannot be today.
