Page 68 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“Protective detail,” I say with a shrug, which isn’t entirely untrue. The old man looks me over like I disgust him and then shoulders past me while Marie lets out another sob, squeezing her green eyes closed. Having Martin in prison for the last decade was one of the best things that ever happened to me and my mother. Even living in the homeless shelter for a while was worth it. Nobody can ever take those memories of Bernadette away from me. “For you. Because if they weren’t here, I’d invite my best friends over for a sleepover.”
“Don’t threaten me with your kiddie gang, boy,” Martin drawls, opening the fridge and tossing leftovers on the ground that he doesn’t like. Glass shatters, Marie’s homemade gumbo ends up plastered on the bottom of the cabinets. And my temper … it amps up with every tense second I have to spend here.
“Ne le provoque pas,” Marie tells me. Don’t antagonize him. I glance down at her, that old familiar anger squeezing my hand in time with her gentle caress. Sometimes, I just get so goddamn mad at Marie that I can’t breathe. Why can’t she just leave my father? He beats her. He kills pregnant young girls after hiring them for sex. He’s … exactly the type of person that would end up on a Bernadette-style vengeance list.
If only … The timing of his release from prison is so unfortunate. Lined up with Bernadette’s list, the rise of the Charter Crew, the flexing of the GMP’s muscles. Killing him should be so easy, but it’s become the most complicated thing in the world.
“Go see your girlfriend,” Marie tells me in accented English, her gaze sympathetic. When I told her about the miscarriage, she smacked me half a dozen times in anger. And then, of course, she cried because she’s Catholic and she has different ideas of what constitutes a baby than I do. Shit, she was devastated for me and Bernie. “But no more hanky-panky, Hael.”
I swipe the rest of the blood from my face and give a wry smile.
“Oui, no more hanky-panky,” I lie, because sometimes a white lie is preferable to telling your maman that you dream about that girl’s painted mouth as she deep-throats your dick. “You either,” I continue, following her down the hall to her room. I hate leaving her here with him, but I also can’t risk being separated from the rest of Havoc right now. One day, he’s going to kill her, I think, clenching my hands into fists.
Part of me wonders if I shouldn’t just do it now, grab Martin by the back of the head and smash his face into the side of Marie’s porcelain sink until it’s stained with red. I could walk outside and surrender myself to the two uniformed officers idling in their cruiser across the street.
Marie would be safe.
But Havoc would be down a man. I’d lose Bernadette. It just isn’t worth it.
“Je t'aime Maman,” I whisper, giving her a kiss on the forehead as she parts the curtains, searching for an enemy that isn’t there. Her visions always get worse when Martin’s around, as if, having a real monster in the house, she tries twice as hard to find one elsewhere. Anything but accepting the truth.
And this, this is part of the reason why Victor’s inheritance is so important. I can buy Marie a nice house, put her in it, and hire security to keep Martin away. That’s all I want, my girl and my mom, safe and sound.
“Fuck.” I swipe my hand down my face and head outside, pausing next to the Camaro with a frown on my face. I’ve had my guys at the garage on this shit for the last few weeks. Have to say, there’s always a cheap thrill in trying out different models of cars. The Firebird is nice. I like the Bronco. But the ’67 Camaro is where my heart is. In a sense, this is my Blackbird in car form. “Alright, girl, let’s see what you got.”
I run my hand over the fresh paint job, heading for the driver’s side and climbing in. I leave the Firebird in the driveway for one of our crew members to pick up and back into the street with my favorite police officers on my ass.
“How did it go?” Oscar asks, already seated in the passenger seat. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I’d almost forgotten I’d brought him along with me. I glance over to find him watching me from above the black rims of his glasses.
“Martin deserves a hole in the ground and a grave marker so I know exactly where it is that I should be taking a piss when I visit the cemetery.” I dig a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, attempting to light one while I drive. And holy shit, I have to say, I missed driving this motherfucker. “The King of Sexy,” I breathe and Oscar sighs like I’ve torn out one of his fancy little nipple piercings. “Come on, man. If a car were going to get you hard, it’d be this one, am I right?”
