Page 147 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“I just wanted to say that getting paid to work for y’all is helping a lot of the girls out.” Vera shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s what Stacey would’ve wanted and that’s important to me.
“You guys do good work,” I admit, and they really do. They tell us exactly where the GMP is at all times, via their sex work and through the grapevine of gossip that travels down from Portland. We have a pretty clear idea of where the bulk of the Grand Murder Party is at all times, where Ophelia is, where Maxwell is. If they remain in the state of Oregon, we have eyes on them.
Outside of it, well, that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
“You’ve got a good thing going on,” Vera tells me, flicking her attention back to the window again. “I mean, besides having to deal with those hulking beasts on your ass all the time.”
Only, she doesn’t know that I just love the idea of those hulking beasts on my ass—like, quite literally on or in my ass. If we could just be together, eating pizza or fucking or talking at all times, I would be happy. The Havoc Boys are all that I need. Them, and Heather, Ashley and Kara. We don’t get to spend a lot of time with the girls since each interaction we have presents a risk, but I can at least see them every day—even if it’s from afar.
I leave Vera’s aunt a huge tip and we make our way downstairs, sweeping past the boys and down the sidewalk. Vera keeps hold of my elbow as we go and then leads me to her favorite lunch place, this scary ass hole-in-the-wall that serves barbecue sandwiches wrapped in newspaper.
It’s legit one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life.
I suck a bit of sauce from the tip of one finger, noticing that the boys are watching me like they’re on a hunt. Ignoring them, I turn in my seat until I’m facing Vera completely.
“I stopped by Stacey’s grave the other day,” she tells me casually, but the melancholy in her voice is impossible to miss. My heart gives a sharp and violent seize as I think about Stacey’s last moments, how she mouthed off to that GMP motherfucker right before she died. It was how she’d want to go out, I think, if she’d had to choose a way to go in that moment. “It was covered in flowers and tubes of lipstick and shoes and dresses …” Vera trails off with a sigh and then runs her hand over the top of her shaved head. There’s still a big ‘S’ shaved into the side opposite the anarchy symbol, and I can’t imagine that she’ll be getting rid of it anytime soon. Or, maybe like, ever.
“I really need to take a moment to visit my sister’s grave,” I say, shoving my fingers through my hair. Nobody ever contacted me about Pamela’s body. I’m not sure if that matters or not. Even if they had, I would’ve told the county to bury her. She doesn’t have any power over me anymore. Not a single person whose name was on that goddamn list can ever control me or hurt me or make me feel powerless again. “My little sister keeps asking and asking, but it isn’t safe right now. Shit, we can barely spend any time together as it is. When we do, it has to be in a private place where nobody else can see.”
The last thing I need is for the GMP to figure out where Heather is, who Heather is, and how much she means to me. Kara and Ashley, too, of course. That’d be my biggest fucking nightmare.
Vera reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze and a pat, her mouth pursed into that sympathetic so sorry, girl face she gets when she’s acknowledging other people’s tragedies. Every time we hang out, I see other girls come up to her with some problem or another, and it’s always this face that she gives them, one that recognizes pain and validates it.
“Graves are for the living, not the dead. So take your time getting over there. I doubt your big sister would want you to risk your own life to visit her corpse.” Vera shrugs, having put her wisdom out there in the most ineloquent way possible. I smile anyway and take another bite of my sandwich. “As far as your little sister goes, trust me: better safe than sorry.” Those blue-gray eyes of hers stare into her soda, watching bubbles pop. After a moment, she reaches out and gives it a stir with her straw. I bet she’s thinking about Stacey again, or about the other girl they lost after the robbery went bad. I don’t let myself think about what might’ve happened to that girl …
