Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,17
cigarette in his hand. “You'd ruin any chance of me getting ahold of my inheritance.” He stares at me some more, and I can feel it, this tension between us, hot and sticky, and desperate to be snapped. At least when he orders me into his bed tonight, I'll want to be there. “It's a luncheon with my egg donor and her bitch friends.” Vic reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box, tossing it onto the grass beside me. My brows go up as I grab it and crack the lid.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, staring at the diamond engagement ring.
“Your wedding ring,” he says, and like, all of that anger comes roaring back again. Sex is one thing, but I did not agree to this shit. My eyes narrow, but Vic just keeps staring at me like he doesn't notice. “You'll come to the luncheon as my fiancée, please my mom, and marry me, so we can collect my inheritance.”
“You've got to be freaking kidding me,” I snort, but he frowns.
“Not even close. You're not going to pitch a fit about this, are you? Because it's blood in, blood out in Havoc. Do you have a problem being my wife?”
“I …” I start to answer honestly, but I don't want Victor to know how much this bothers me. The sex is one thing, but marriage? I don't want to be legally bound to this prick-hole. “Yeah, whatever. Do I get any of the money?” I look him straight in the face, and he raises a brow, like I've surprised him.
“We'll split the cut, sure, we always do. We're fucking family.” Victor throws his feet up onto the small green plastic table in front of his chair and smirks at me. “Welcome to the family, Bernadette.”
The boys order pizza and then gather in the living room to smoke more pot and watch South Park. The house is a lot better on the inside than the outside. I expected burn marks on the tables from meth spoons, holes in the walls from angry punches, and the stink of garbage. But it's not like that at all. Instead, there's a candle burning on the table, no sign of trash or dirty clothes on the floor, and humble but serviceable furniture.
Hael pulls me onto his lap, and I find that we have a completely different chemistry than I do with Vic. With Vic, it's like … a hot summer day when you're soaked in sweat and all you want is water and cool, silken sheets. That's Victor. Hael is … like a fireworks explosion waiting to happen. Dangerous, unpredictable, but damn pretty to look at.
He massages my hip with his hand while I try to watch the show. But I can't. I can't think about anything other than that tattooed hand of his smoothing across my flesh.
I'm not sure, exactly, what we're supposed to be doing here, but if smoking weed and watching TV fulfills my Havoc requirements, then fine.
“Maybe I'll take you in the bathroom real quick?” Hael whispers, his mouth teasing the shell of my ear. “See if that sharp mouth of yours is as good at sucking cock as it is at being snarky.”
“I get her first,” Vic says, with this unshakable calm but overwhelming certainty. He doesn't have to raise his voice or look at Hael to get his point across. He's the goddamn boss.
Hael makes a frustrated sound under his breath and pushes me off his lap onto the couch cushion. I sink into it, the scent of pot and beer permeating the fabric.
“We need to go look at dresses,” Oscar reminds the group, pushing his glasses up with a middle finger. He smirks at me, his eyes taking me in in a way that's both appreciative and analytical. “What are you? A size eight?” My brows go up, but I don't answer. It's clear he's not done. “Thirty-eight, G cup.”
My smile is wicked sharp.
“Wrong, actually. I'm a thirty-eight triple D.”
Oscar lets out a smooth, dark sort of laugh and then shakes his head.
“No, you're not. You're much larger than a triple D. Have you ever had a proper fitting?”
“Do you get custom made leather shoes from a fucking cobbler? Or hand tailored suits from a master craftsman? No, asshole, I've never had a proper fitting. My bras are from Walmart, and this is the biggest size they have.”
I stand up, ready to fight. It's just what I do; it's in my