Page 65 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“You Stacey Langford?”
“Who the fuck wants to—”
Bullet, brain, body slumping to the floor.
I bite my lower lip, tasting the sweet waxiness of a lipstick color called Honey Buns. It quite literally tastes like beeswax and soft summer afternoons spent by the creek.
“Fucking tragic, isn’t it?” Vera asks, her shaved red hair buzzed into a series of designs, one of which just so happens to be a capital ‘S’. The way her makeup and nails are done reminds me of last year’s winter formal, when she got busted stealing a dress and ended up attending the dance in her ragged-ass PE uniform.
I force a tight smile.
“I’m going to make it right, I promise,” I tell Vera, standing in an empty half-circle near the front of the crowd. Nobody dares jostles me or touches me, not with my boys slinking through the gathered mourners, taking note of the attendees, looking for anyone who doesn’t belong. Of course, there are two very obvious standouts in this group: Sara Young and John Constantine.
They stand across from me, on the other side of a very deep hole, just past the gleaming surface of a casket that I fucked my boyfriend in. Some might call that disrespect, but I’m pretty sure Stacey Langford would approve.
“Hope you know what you’re doing,” Vera tells me, pale eyes following my train of thought to the uptight federal agents and their prying eyes. “Bringing pigs to a Prescott funeral.”
I let my attention shift from the VGTF officers and back to Vera.
“Sara, at least, isn’t a bad person. Some part of her genuinely wants to help. I’m just … letting her see a different side of Prescott.” I shrug my shoulders, like this is no big fucking deal. In reality, it’s a huge one. Because despite everything, despite all my bullshit and my bravado, I still want to believe that there’s good in the world and that Sara Young might—might—be a small part of that.
“So she doesn’t bust your boyfriends you mean?” Vera asks with a chuckle, taking a swig from a pink flask and then handing it over to me. I accept it, tossing the drink back and trying not to cringe at the harsh, bitter grating of cheap vodka. Shit, give me a lighter and I could breathe flames the way Hael did at the Halloween party. It was only three months ago, but it may as well have been a lifetime with everything that’s happened in-between.
“Something like that,” I agree as the boys find their way to me, as they always do, the dogs of war slipped loose and returning to their mistress as faithfully as if they’d been leashed. My mouth twitches, but I make sure to keep that thought to myself. They wouldn’t like to hear it.
“Coast is clear,” Aaron says, pausing beside me, his gaze drifting over to Vera. I bet he’s thinking about Mason Miller, and the plausibility of using Stacey’s girls to get access to that fucker. We could order them to do it. Shit, we could get most any girl in this neighborhood to play whore for us. But … it wouldn’t be fair. If Mason is badass enough to take Cal on, then no girl in Prescott would stand a chance.
No girl except for …
I pull a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of my pink leather Havoc jacket, slamming the bottom of it against the flat of my hand. Supposed to, like, pack the nicotine together back in the day before filters were invented. Now it’s just a ritualistic bunch of bullshit, but we all need to pretend we have our everyday spells and charms, like tapping your nails on the top of a soda can to get rid of the bubbles.
“I need to go after Mason,” I say, and Vera turns to look at me, raising a pierced brow. It’s on-fleek for real. Prescott royalty right here. “It has to be me.” I glance over at Aaron, but he’s already laughing.
“No.” That’s more a response I’d expect from Victor, but my childhood sweetheart seems content with taking on a bit of a sour tone. Vera snorts and shakes her head, but she’s smart enough not to say anything. “Are you kidding?” Aaron glances over to where Vic is standing, his eyes on the casket and not on me. When he sees Aaron look his way, he adjusts his attention over to me.
“What?”
“Bernie wants to dress up like a whore to go after Mason,” Aaron tells him, willing to put aside their rivalry in order to keep me safe. That’s cute, isn’t it? My boys can shirk their jealousy and come together to act like overprotective douchebags. Vic snorts and shakes his head sharply, crossing muscular arms over his chest. He’s wearing a shirt that says Mare’s Nest on it. I can only imagine he had it made at the local t-shirt silkscreen place as a joke.
