Page 47 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Desperate times call for desperate motherfucking measures,” Vic says, opening a wooden box on the peninsula and pulling out a cigar. He offers it up to me and I take it in two fingers, staring at it before looking up at him. “You know how men back in the fifties would smoke a cigar when their baby was born?” Vic asks, and I just stare back him. He frowns, and I can tell he’s upset, probably more so than I am. “Just humor me and have a smoke.”
“And Oak Valley Prep?” I reiterate, because the very idea of attending that school skeeves me out on so many levels.
“Hey, think about it,” Vic says, clenching the cigar between his teeth and grinning at me. “If we enroll, it’ll be that much easier to kill Trinity Jade.” He lights up, taking a few puffs on his cigar before handing me the lighter.
I stare down at it in my hand for a minute, but I can’t deny him that logic.
He has a point.The safe house is right in the dirtiest, ugliest part of South Prescott. This block is, like, the southside of the southside. The air tastes like desperation and despair, and the wind brings with it the acrid scent of piss and unwashed bodies. Junkies line the stoops, slumped over and broken. The cops don’t ever come here. Or, if they do, it’s not to help anyone.
I grind my teeth slightly, my arm banded across my middle, holding a fresh hot water bottle in place. Having a miscarriage in the middle of the gang war is … impossible. Nantucket, Bernadette. You could’ve had Nantucket. Hah. But really, you can take the girl out of Prescott, but you can’t take the thirsty ho out of the girl.
I never would’ve survived there.
All of this shit, this adrenaline, these dangerous boys that smell like spice and passion, how was I supposed to walk away from this? It’s quite literally in my blood. Violence is in my blood. The need to win against an enemy that I can see, smell, and touch. More often than not, our worst enemies are intangible.
Self-doubt. Fear. Ignorance.
Aaron opens the passenger side door, holding out his recently broken hand. It’s a little early for his cast to be off, but I can understand why he took it off. Vulnerability hurts, especially if it means you might not be able to help the ones you love the most.
I take his outstretched fingers and let him help me down from the Bronco. Our bodies fall together, and I look up into his green-gold eyes, flecks of color swirling like dancers as cold winter sunshine falls across his face. The air is so crisp that even though I just got out of the warm car, my lips feel frozen and dry as they part in wonder.
How it’s possible for Aaron to look like an angel when he wears the ink of the devil, I will never be able to understand.
“One day,” he says, wetting his lips and looking up and over my head. I imagine that he’s staring into the open door of the Bronco and over to Hael on the driver’s side. Aaron tilts his head back to look at me. We don’t have to hurry or hide the fact that we’re here. The reason that we’re here is that this is heavy Havoc territory. There are crew members in every building.
This is where we hunker down, deep in the darkness and the filth of our own nest.
Six blocks down, Prescott High sits, surrounded by reporters and filled with cops. Who knows if, after the investigation winds down, if there will even be a Prescott High anymore.
“One day?” I query, squeezing my fingers around his. He drops his lips to mine, tasting our shared memories on my mouth. He never wanted anyone but me, and in that desperation, he forgot that he should let himself relax every now and again, let his guard down. He doesn’t know how to do that anymore, paint my face with frosting while we laugh until we cry like we did on a Christmas Eve three years ago.
But, as soon as those words leave my lips, I see something shift in his face. His worst fears are coming true, and he has no choice but to face them. In doing that, some of his careful shell cracks around the edges, and he’s a seventeen-year-old boy with too many responsibilities all over again.
“One day, we’ll either have a baby or we won’t. But I want you to decide when that is. Not Victor. Or me. Most especially not the GMP …” He trails off and then lifts a hand up to cup my face. Sandalwood and roses. That familiar scent makes my nostrils flare, and I close my eyes briefly as the wind picks up, ruffling my hair.
