Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,50
talk, and if he screams, you know what to do.”
“Got it.” Hael loosens his grip ever so slightly, and Donald begins to choke dramatically, causing Callum to chuckle.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Don demands, the whites of his eyes a dead giveaway to his fear. Honestly, I wouldn't have been surprised to find he'd pissed himself the way Kyler did. When he finishes scanning our group however, something changes. Rage twists his relatively handsome expression into something truly ugly. “What is this, some sort of shakedown? If you all leave my room right now, I'll consider dropping the breaking and entering and assault charges you're facing.”
This time, it's Vic who laughs. The sound is low and dark, truly terrifying.
“You think you have room to negotiate here?” he asks, and the sound of his voice strikes fear into my heart. Regardless of that fiery kiss on the rooftop, I'm terrified of Victor Channing. “Truss him up like a pig and take him out to the roof.”
“You wouldn't fucking dare,” Donald snarls, but Oscar is already reaching for the coil of purple rope Cal’s got slung over his shoulder. When the rich asshole goes to shout, Aaron clamps a hand over his mouth and leans in.
“Last chance before we choke you to death.”
“I'd do it, too,” Hael says, all smooth and cocky. He's like … the jock-y football player from a good school, but reversed. Same shit-eating grins, over-confidence, and healthy swagger, but wrapped in tattoos and pain instead of money and a letterman jacket. “And I'd enjoy it. Nothing I love more than showing a rich asshole that he doesn't own the world.”
Aaron releases Don's mouth, and Oscar makes quick work of tying him up. Next thing I know, the other guys are dragging Don through the window.
“What the hell?” I murmur, grabbing Oscar's arm. The way he looks down at my hand on the fabric of his suit jacket, I get the idea that I better let go and quick. “This is like a fucking repeat of what you did to me.”
“No, not even close. Consider it … an ode.” Oscar climbs out, and I’m expected to follow behind. Hands shaking, I do, and find myself watching as Oscar ties a rope around Donald’s neck.
They’re going to hang him?! I wonder, heart racing so fast that I feel dizzy. Right here, like this? I mean, I wouldn’t put it past them to commit murder, but … this is insane.
“Donald Asher,” Vic says, squatting down beside him as the boy who thinks he owns the world gets a nice, sharp taste of brutal reality. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I can pay,” Don simpers, his voice a broken, weak thing, so unbelievably pathetic that my lip curls. I can’t believe I actually dated this guy. But I was so desperate to escape my life, to get as far away from Aaron as I could, that it seemed like a good idea at the time. “Whatever you want, just name the price.”
Victor laughs, and the sound is truly nightmarish, an ephemeral darkness that blots out the brilliant moon. He reaches out and strokes Don’s dark hair from his forehead, almost mockingly.
“You think we give a shit about money?” Vic asks, tilting his head to one side, studying his subject. “Do you think that’s what motivates us?”
“Everyone likes freedom,” Don whispers, shaking violently. I smell an acrid scent on the wind that takes me a minute to place: he really has pissed his pants. Not that I blame him. I mean, when the Havoc Boys dragged me from my bed in the middle of the night, I didn’t wet myself. But then, I guess I’m made of tougher stuff. “Money can buy you freedom. I’ve got cash, hidden in the safe. If you let me up, we’ll go get it together, and then you can—”
Victor grabs a handful of Don’s hair and yanks his head back as Aaron finishes tying off the noose.
“You’re insulting my intelligence, Don,” he says, looking him dead in the eye. “We’re not here for money. Whatever you could give us, it’d be a pittance to you. You wouldn’t suffer, and that’s the most important thing here.” Vic sighs, like he’s frustrated at having to explain himself to this pathetic cretin. Meanwhile, I’m fairly certain I’m simultaneously having a PTSD attack and also enjoying the show. A deep, sick sense of satisfaction curls through me, and that’s when I know I’m truly evil, as evil