Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,1

shots I think I can make right now; ammunition is sorely limited. Instead, I hop down and spin, aiming beneath the car and firing at the briefest flicker of shadow and light.

That’s when my second attacker appears, a much less careful monster that stumbles around the corner with his gun drawn. Exhale, Cal. I’m getting frustrated here: my only goal—and I mean only goal—is to protect Havoc. Bernadette, in particular. These men are wasting my time.

I squander one of my beautiful bullets putting a shot through the head of the newcomer; he drops to the pavement like a boneless doll. By the time I’ve turned back toward Russ, I can see him removing a handgun of his own as he balances on the hood of the car once more.

Too late.

My finger’s pulling the trigger before he can even line up a shot. Blood blooms on his hand, knocking the pistol to the pavement beside the vehicle’s front tire. He stumbles, but he’s smart enough to use the movement to leap down and throw himself into me.

His hand grasps for my gun, but I chuck it as far as I can, freeing my wrist from his grip and clocking him in the face so hard that I feel bone crunch.

“What the fuck?!” Russ snarls, clearly unused to engaging with anyone on his level.

That’s what makes Havoc so dangerous. Nobody expects us. Nobody sees us coming.

That’s how we’re going to win this war, a quiet but unrelenting assault in the dark. After all, a venomous spider can kill a grown man with a single bite while he sleeps. What makes us any different than that?

When I was jumped by those boys, when they broke my knees and took turns pissing on me, I couldn’t defend myself the way I wanted to. All those months of lying in bed, racked with pain or numbed with painkillers, I kept my phone in my hand and I watched videos. I read books. And then I got out of bed, and I started to imitate all the things I’d learned.

You’d be surprised what a little personal growth can do for you.

Like I said, educated monster. Knowledge is truly motherfucking power.

This guy, Russ, though, he’s an enforcer. His job is to keep gang members in line, deal with rivals, and dispose of informants. He knows what he’s doing, too. So, he crosses his ankles together beneath my knees to hold me in place, and then backhands me with an easy, fluid movement that has me tasting blood.

I’m so dizzy there for a minute that I can feel it, her name perched on the edge of my lips. Bernadette. I would quite literally murder the world for her. Acting on instinct, I bend my leg at the knee and use my heavy boot to kick down at Russ’ crossed ankles. He grunts, but he’s wearing leather boots as well, so I don’t quite get to break his ankle the way I planned on.

Another kick and I’ve at least got his legs uncrossed. My back arches like I’m possessed, and in the back of my head, I can hear the taunting murmur of children playing London Bridge. The London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down …

I flip Russ over with the movement, but he’s still got his legs wrapped around me. Using both fists, I smash them down into his face. Bone shifts, blood runs. He slips a knife from his belt and thrusts it hard and quick toward my midsection.

Tatted fingers wrap his wrist, the letters of HAVOC inked into my knuckles. With my other hand, I snatch the knife and spin it until it’s pointing down at his neck.

“Will!” Russ shouts, and that’s the only warning I get before I feel a breeze at my back. There’s another one. Somebody sent the cavalry after us, didn’t they? I can’t, for the life of me, imagine why. But politicking isn’t my forte. I’d much rather make people bleed.

My body falls to the side just as Will—another name I recognize from crew intel—hops down from the roof. He doesn’t shoot at me because he’d just as likely kill Russ. Interesting. A bit of loyalty.

I swipe my hand across my bloodied lips and smile.

“I’m impressed,” I say as I retrieve my pistol with my right hand and stand up. “I wasn’t certain there was any loyalty left among thieves.” Except for Havoc, of course. Blood in, blood out. Always.

“This kid is fucking nuts,” Russ says, choking on blood