Page 49 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
Victor turns back around to look at me, but it’s hard to argue with that logic.
“We broke in pretty goddamn easily,” I repeat, but I’ve already had this discussion with Aaron. I scrub both hands over my face as Vic approaches me, grabbing the water bottle from my pants and sliding it out in a way that’s far more intense and sexually charged than it ought to be.
“Look at me, Bernadette,” he says, putting both of his big hands on my neck, one on either side. His palms are warm, his touch bringing to life all the winter-dead parts of me, a searing summer day that chases away the cold. I keep my focus on his face, reaching up to place my hands over the tops of his. “If you don’t think the Oak Valley idea is a good one: tell me. I trust your judgement.”
“Do you?” I ask, and he smiles, but it’s a tad lopsided.
“On most things. When it comes to putting yourself in danger, nah, I don’t trust that at all. You’re the queen, but I’m still the boss.” He presses a kiss to my mouth that tastes like dangerous promises and violent heat, of all the horrible things he’d like to do to me in the dark of this abandoned house. “So, what do you think we should do, Bernie? What’s your next move?”
“I say we retaliate hard-and-fast—in the way we do best.” I wet my lips, thinking about all the things I suffered at the hands of the ones I loved the most. “Havoc’s specialty is inflicting pain without leaving any marks. When you locked me in that closet”—and here Vic at least has the common decency to cringe—“you tore me apart in ways that hurt to the very core of my soul. And yet, there was no evidence of it. Nobody would ever know by looking at me who put the darkness in my gaze and the vengeance in my smile, right?”
“Little poet princess,” Vic grumbles, giving my neck a slight squeeze before he drops his hands to his sides. “Go on.”
“We do the same here and now. We retaliate but in ways that make it looks like we’re not doing anything at all. Starting with Mason Miller.” I exhale as I lay my palms flat against Vic’s chest, the diamond ring on my finger catching a stray bit of sunlight from the leaky skylight above my head. “Let me talk to Stacey’s girls. They deserve to know they’re under our protection—whether they agree to this plan or not.”
Vic nods, watching as my hands creep up his chest and curl around his shoulders.
“That works for me, provided you meet with them someplace secure.” His jaw works a bit as his dark eyes sweep me. “And for what it’s worth: I’m sorry, Bernadette.”
“Don’t do that to me,” I groan, trying to pull away and finding myself captured in his orbit, like always. He has but to snap his fingers and command my heart; I’m a soldier for him in so many ways. The only thing that makes that fact bearable is that I know the reverse is true: Victor Channing has always been mine.
“Don’t do what?” he asks, sliding an arm around my waist and bringing my body close. “Apologize? Why? Are you allergic to feelings, Mrs. Channing? If I fuck up, I say sorry. Anybody who lacks the ability to do that should get their head checked. Being wrong isn’t the end of the world; we all make mistakes.”
“And this apology is for what, exactly?” I ask as his eyes soften in just such a way that I feel my heart breaking all over again. He has no right to show me his vulnerable side and make me love him even more. No right.
“For handling the Trinity thing the way I did. In the end, all I did was hurt you and it didn’t matter a goddamn bit. You were right: I should’ve let my obsession for you guide the way. I always have.” He leans down, like he might kiss me, but pauses at the last second and turns his head away. The nearness of his mouth infuriates me, and I dig my nails into the back of his head, probably making his scalp bleed. He doesn’t seem to give two fucks either way. “For once, I thought maybe I could prove my love wasn’t selfish.” Vic glances back at me, and our noses brush. It’s like, he wants to keep talking, but the magnetic pull of his mouth to mine is making it hard to keep any distance. “I’m not too proud to admit my mistakes.”
He releases me and then, much to my surprise, gets down on his fucking knees.
I just stare at him, heart thundering in the quiet space of the old house, the smell of must and long-buried memories present in every breath that I take.
