Page 87 of Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 5)
“What do you want from me?” Tom snarls, looking like a kicked street dog with its teeth bared. He thought he had the upper hand with Aaron tied up in his cabin. And now? Even Ophelia has betrayed his ass.
“Bet ya twenty bucks that he asks for cash up-front,” Hael murmurs, sipping a vanilla shake and watching the exchange over the rim of his metal cup. Cal has one elbow leaned on the surface of the table, head resting in his hand as he snacks on a basket of fries. Meanwhile, Oscar is on his iPad, acting like he’s not a part of this conversation when, in reality, he’s the one who told Aaron and Vic exactly what to say in the first place. “Right now. Today. Bet he says it just like that, too.”
“You shouldn’t be making anymore bets,” I tell him, flicking my gaze in his direction. He flashes a sharp grin at me because he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Us. The Eldorado. Our oral sex bets … “Not when you’ve just finally paid yours back.”
“But I did pay you back—and it was epic,” Hael starts, leaning toward me and flashing one of his signature cocksure grins. “Bet you didn’t expect the ass play part though, huh?”
I give him a look as Cal chuckles and Oscar finally lifts his eyes from the screen of the iPad.
“Ass play?” he queries, in such a mild way that I know he’s immediately fascinated by the idea.
“Dude, you don’t get to take credit for the ass play when I was the one that shoved my finger up your ass first.” I quirk a brow to emphasize my point.
Hael roars with laughter, interrupting Aaron and Vic’s conversation with Tom. Both of my boys glance back at us, wearing similarly wry smiles.
“I didn’t come here to listen to your whore talk about anal,” Tom growls, and then Aaron is grabbing the man by his hair and wrenching him off the stool. The elderly owners of Wesley’s—those poor parents who lost their Prescott High alumnus son once upon a time—act like they don’t see any of this happening.
Even the adults in the Prescott neighborhood know who we are. Eventually, every person in this city will know. That, or they’ll remain blissfully ignorant because they walk in the light and have no need to see us creeping through the shadows.
Aaron shoves Tom to his knees and, at a subtle nod from Vic, removes a pistol from his belt. He presses it up against the side of Tom’s head. There are no cameras here, and we have—I glance at my phone—about nine minutes left before the cops catch up to us.
“Call my girl a whore again,” Aaron says, his face hard, his green-gold eyes honed-in on his prey. “I’ll wait.”
“What do you want from me?!” Tom wails, sounding frustrated and broken and sad. To be quite frank: I couldn’t give any fucks less how the bastard feels. He sells girls. He abuses his son. He was in love with Ophelia Mars, of all people.
“All we need you to do is include one of our girls in the group you’re sending to Kay’s on Friday. That’s it.” Vic leans in close, and I swear I can hear him growling under his breath. “And don’t you fucking dare ask me something asinine like and why should I? If you do, I might lose my shit and decide to shove the broken pieces of that beer bottle down your throat.”
“Send your girls to Kay’s?” Tom repeats, blinking stupidly in Vic’s direction before flicking his eyes up to Aaron’s face. He must know how close my lover is to pulling that trigger, just for the hell of it, and immediately softens his approach. “The GMP will kill me. I can’t betray them. And you shouldn’t either, not if you want to finish up high school.”
Aaron puts the gun away and then bends down beside Tom.
“I think the problem here is, you’re acting as if we asked you to send one of our girls in the group. Let me rephrase it so that you can understand: you will send one of our girls. Nobody has to know about it. Even the GMP won’t know what’s happening.”
“Mason will,” Tom chokes out as I check my phone yet again. We have six minutes left. Fuck.
“Six minutes, Aaron,” I warn, and he curses. We need Tom to get the fuck out of here before our police escort shows up. His police escort was left back at a café in town where one of our crew members shoved Tom out the restroom window and drove him here to meet us. The clock is ticking on that, too.
“Fuck Mason,” Aaron growls, yanking Tom’s head around by his hair yet again. “And fuck you. I already said I wasn’t asking. You’ll do it. Give us the details on where to send our girl.”
