Page 34 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Bernie,” Vic says, his tone a warning. It’s thick with fear and upset and possessiveness. In short, it’s perfect. I ignore him, leaning down to flick open the lid of the toilet and then dropping my shorts as if I were Callum, as if I don’t care that all five of them are staring at me in that way of theirs, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
I sit down on the toilet and then take the cup out, turning the water ruby red. It’s a little weird that they’re all still watching me, but I don’t care. This is life. If we’re going to be together, they may as well see every facet of it, even the less pretty parts.
“Don’t,” I growl out, but Vic just raises an eyebrow at me.
“Don’t what?” he snaps, gritting his teeth and then exhaling sharply. He flicks his cigarette into the sink as Hael crowds between him and Oscar so that he can stand directly in front of me. Aaron moves up to fill the gap, and then they’re all just there, inches away from me in the relatively small space of the bathroom.
“Don’t get all overprotective and weird. These things happen.” I try to rinse the cup in the sink and Vic takes it from me, washing it himself. I’m surprised, I’ll admit. Guess there’s more to him than just a primitive caveman asshole, huh?
“Are you fucking kidding me, wife?” Vic asks as he hands the cup back to me. “That’s all that we do—get overprotective and weird.” He laughs, but the sound is hideous. Somebody—probably a lot of somebodies—are going to die for this. “It’s what Havoc was literally made for. So, you might be queen, but this is not an order I’m going to take.”
They all continue to stare at me, pants-less and vulnerable on the toilet, bleeding everywhere. Again. Always bleeding. Be it metaphorical or physical, that’s just my life.
“The GMP beat our baby out of my wife,” Victor says, and his voice is strange and dark and detached. He exchanges a look with Callum, and I swear to god, I can smell it in the air: the promise of vengeance.
And oh, how I recognize that scent better than any other.
“Shot up our school,” Aaron adds, but his voice cracks, and I know he’s struggling to give me space.
“Encroached on our turf,” Hael adds, his brown eyes meeting mine as I lean against the back of the toilet. The cramps are next fucking level, but I can deal with it. Because I’m a woman and everyone knows that women are magical goddesses with the pain tolerance of titans. Pluck a man’s eyebrow hair and he screams in agony. Women deliver people through their vaginas.
Get on our level, bitches.
“Made a deal with Ophelia.” Oscar pushes his glasses up his nose, but he isn’t smirking or sneering at me this time. Instead, he looks reserved, like he isn’t sure how to behave right now. I don’t blame him: emotional intimacy is terrifying. It’s the scariest thing there is because once you show your soft side to someone, they know exactly how to hurt you.
“Worked with the Thing,” Cal croaks out, putting a hand to his throat. He smiles again, but it’s not pretty this time. Instead, I imagine it’s as sharp as the garotte that was wrapped around his scarred neck.
“Mostly,” I say, one arm banded across my midsection. “They pissed me off. Get me another hot water bottle, some more ibuprofen, and a laptop. Let’s plan our next move.”My declaration sounds cool as fuck, but I barely make it twenty minutes before I’m passed out in the master bedroom, waking up to sweet sunshine falling across my face. Blinking awake, I find that I’m alone in the room. There’s a small bloodstain where I was lying, but if that’s all there is, then the bleeding must’ve slowed down substantially during the night.
With a groan, I drag myself out of bed, wobbling slightly on my feet.
The boys all look at me as I pad out, blinking away sleep and finding Cal sitting up on one of the sofas. He look substantially less ashen and waxy than he did yesterday. I point at him and he raises a blond brow.
“You’re going to the hospital today—no exceptions.”
“Well, good morning to you, too,” he replies in a husky voice, hands wrapped around a mug of either coffee or tea, I’m not sure. Aaron watches me from behind the peninsula, making pancakes while Hael sits on one of the stools, an observer instead of a chef today. Vic and Oscar are, as usual, at the table, plotting.
“Being cute won’t save you either,” I tell him, heading up the stairs for another rinse, another cup change. When I head back down, I settle on the couch opposite Callum and accept the pampering that the boys so clearly want to give me.
