Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,109

really teach that sort of shit at Prescott High, you know what I mean?

I do, however, know that holding your keys between your knuckles isn’t a very good self-defense technique. Sure, if your attacker isn’t very experienced, those keys will hurt when you throw a punch. But if they know shit about shit, then they’ll just grab your hand in theirs and grind the sharp ends of the keys into you.

That’s what we teach at Prescott High. That, and how to contour, or do a Kegel, or suck a dick. Beat a bitch’s ass. Hotwire a car. That sort of thing.

I’m sure the teachers here are going to love the six of us.

I light up a cigarette as the boys finish unloading our things. We don’t have a lot—of physical crap anyway. It’s the emotional stuff we have in spades, that heavy, deep, aching sense of belonging, like a thorn in your side that you don’t want to pull out because you hate to love the way it hurts.

“At least we get to be here with the girls,” Aaron suggests, lighting up a cigarette of his own. The flicker of the flame bathes his just-this-side-of-too-pretty face in nicotine, tobacco, and bullshit. I like that, the way he can go from looking like the boy next door to the man that kicked the boy next door’s ass. “Three and a half months. That’s it. Then we’re done with all of … this.” He turns his green-gold gaze to the building, pausing at the sound of approaching footsteps on the gravel.

Before I even turn around, my eyes catch on Victor’s and I know exactly who’s going to be standing there when I finally deign to look.

Trinity Jade waits off to one side, dressed in her heather gray jacket and charcoal pleated skirt, sky blue tie catching in the breeze. It tangles her gold hair around her face as she studies us with dust-colored eyes.

“It’s always a pain when the wind shifts, isn’t it?” she asks, reaching up to tuck some stray blond strands behind her ear. “Sometimes, it blows Prescott trash into the wrong neighborhood.”

“Oh, and it looks like that’s too motherfucking bad,” I purr back at her, loving the way her eyes take in my curvy form, my too-small red tee that shows off my belly button, and the soft waves of my blood-dipped hair. Maybe she can see that I’ve got that freshly fucked look in my cheeks, too? Having five boyfriends is a real treat when you’re as parched as I am. “Because if you’re not really, really nice to me …” I move up to stand in front of her, glad that I chose to wear wedges today. Tack those few extra inches onto my already much-taller-than-other-girls frame, and I tower over Trinity Jade. “I’m going to tell daddy Samuel all about your cheap-ass gangster blood.”

I grind my teeth briefly and flick my tongue against the corner of my mouth, just to taste my rachet ass lipstick, just to make sure it’s still there. If you’re smart, it isn’t difficult to steal nice lip stains. If you’re skilled, you can mix and paint and sculpt the cheap shit until it looks like the good stuff.

That’s what I’ve done today.

I call this shade Missed Opportunities. It’s red and scary and it reminds me of the blood that wouldn’t stop running down my legs.

Trinity looks right past me, toward Vic instead.

“I’ve spoken to my grandfather; he agreed to play along with this game of annulment for my sake, but he doesn’t understand. He’s a very forthright and honest sort of man. This won’t last long.”

Victor ignores her, looking at his Harley with a pained sort of expression. A valet is supposed to come by shortly to move our vehicles to the Student Parking Area. I don’t much like the idea of being separated from our only modes of transportation, but it’s part of the game, and we’re all very good at playing games.

“You can deal with my wife,” Vic says, gesturing in my direction with his chin as Aaron locks up the Bronco and gives it a gentle pat. Hael looks half-ready to cry over the Camaro, but it’s the Eldorado that’s really got him twisted up. “I restored that car for you, babe. Not for some stuffy ass valet to fuck around with.”

Sacrifices must be made, I suppose.

“Pardon?” Trinity queries, giving these long, slow blinks that really push me over the edge into believing she’s a true psychopath. Remember