Page 94 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Fuck is right,” Mason tells me, grinning as he reaches down for his belt, sliding the leather from the loops of his pants with a hissing sound. “You and your boys think I’m stupid?” he clarifies, taking a step toward me and causing me to scoot back a few of my own. His gaze is as slick as oil, rife with perversion and violence. I can only imagine the things he’s done to girls in the dark.
And tonight, he recognized me. Just as Victor suggested he might. Just as Callum promised he would.
I smile.
“No, actually. The guy you almost killed—Callum Park—he was impressed. He told us we shouldn’t underestimate you.”
“So you show up at my club during a night of mourning?” Mason reaches out to take my arm, pausing briefly as he glances over his shoulder at a sound. It’s hardly anything. Most people would never notice it, not with the thumping, pounding bass from the main part of the club or the insistent, unrelenting creak of a bed on the floor above us.
Mason notices though, spinning around to find Callum waiting there with a knife in his hand. He toys with it, pressing a single finger against the end of the blade as he smiles.
“You were right, Mason. I am still human. I’m not sure why I denied it in the moment. Chalk it up to youthful inexperience. I’m grateful for your observation though, because I was reminded that I’m not the darkest, most twisted shadow in the night.”
“And you came back for another round?” Mason queries, his expression showing grim appreciation for Cal’s ability to predict his movements, but also a disturbing level of glee at the thought of being able to kill the blond boy in front of him. “Because that worked out so well for you last time?”
I slip my phone from my pocket, checking the time.
It’s now been eleven minutes since we pulled into the parking lot; we’re running out of time.
“Humans are like wolves,” Callum says, looking up from the knife to Mason Miller’s terrifying face. Mason has the same unsettling look in his eyes that the Thing possessed. The same look as Eric Kushner. The look of a predator. “We need a pack. A single wolf can’t bring down big prey. But a pack? Well, a pack can do anything.”
Mason’s hand goes for the gun on his belt, but it’s too late. The sound of a hammer being pulled back surprises him. He glances up just in time to see Oscar rising to his feet after sliding out from underneath the bed.
“Cry ‘Havoc’,” Oscar drawls, silver eyes half-lidded with boredom. Mason reacts with lightning fast reflexes, but Oscar’s already pulled the trigger. The bullet from his revolver rips through the man’s throat, making him choke and stumble. Blood bubbles to his lips as Oscar pulls the trigger yet again, nailing Mason in the shoulder. Again, in the thigh. In the arm.
The monster slumps back, smearing crimson down the length of the vault door.
I squat down beside him, pushing some hair back from his forehead as his hands spasm and he tries—even in the throes of death—to go for the pistol he dropped on the ground after the first shot found its mark.
“I want you to know that we didn’t kill you here today.” I stroke the man’s face as he stares at me with wide eyes, ones that ask a simple question: what happens to me after this? I haven’t the faintest idea, but I do hope that it’s something awful, whether a pit in the depths of hell or rebirth as a banana slug who gets promptly salted, I don’t give a fuck. But at least Mason Miller, as he is now, won’t be around to hurt anymore girls. “You were killed by a bunch of hookers. They gave us intel. They told us where to find you. They let us in. Whores. Prostitutes. Call girls. That’s why you’re dead right now.”
I lift the discarded pistol up to Mason’s head and smile.
“Fuck you.”
And then I pull the trigger and blood spatters my face, staining it crimson. I pull my phone from my pocket, the connection to Victor’s still going strong.
“I take it it’s done?” he asks as I rise to my feet, bringing the gun with me. The GMP will dispose of Mason’s body discreetly, so there’s no concern there, but I’m not letting them keep a murder weapon with my fingerprints on it.
“It’s done,” I say as Cal unlocks the door and swings it open to reveal Aaron, Hael, and Vic waiting for us.
“I do love it when things go according to plan,” Oscar remarks, frowning at a tiny fleck of red on the end of his shirtsleeve.
Vera appears at the end of the hall, holding the duffel bag I asked her to bring. She hands it over wordlessly, peering into the room behind me at Mason’s body just before Cal drags the door shut again. Likely, the man will be left alone in there until Monday, the way all the call girls say he likes. The GMP won’t know he’s dead for a while, long enough for us to leave, get some sleep, and then head to Oak Valley first thing Monday morning.
