Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,123

says, her smile grim, her expression dark. She reaches out a hand and rests it comfortingly on my shoulder. When I don’t immediately throw her off, she gives a small squeeze. My pulse races, the sloshing of blood in my head so loud and so deafening that I almost miss the next thing that leaves Sara Young’s mouth. “And … I want to apologize to you.”

“Apologize?” I ask, that one word cutting through the pain and horror of her previous statement in a way that nothing else could. Constantine takes a seat at a table nearby, within earshot but far enough away that it feels like my conversation with Sara is private. “About what?”

“About … the plea deal,” she says, sighing and dropping her hand to her side. “About asking you to testify.” I’m still staring at her like she’s grown horns, but Sara’s smile never falters. She sweeps a loose piece of blond hair back from her forehead and takes a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now about Ivy Hightower.”

Ivy.

Shit.

I’d almost forgotten about Ivy … almost. Then again, you never really do forget the sight of your boyfriend coming in the house after getting his ass kicked by the former chief of police turned local VGTF lackey and telling you about the dead girl on your other boyfriend’s front lawn.

“I’ve been a little busy today, to tell you the truth. First day at a new school and all that. Why?”

Sara sighs again and moves toward the counter, gesturing me to follow. I glance briefly over my shoulder to see all five letters of Havoc watching me intently. It’s comforting to know that in the event of a crisis, I’d have all of them at my back, ready to kill for me, ready to die for me.

I wonder if they know that I’d die for them, too?

“Can I buy you a coffee? A pastry?” Sara asks, waiting for me next to the register. I step up beside her and select a chocolate croissant from inside the glass display case, pointing it out to the salesgirl before informing her that I’d love a coffee—sans cat shit, thank you very much.

We end up at a table much farther away from Constantine than I think he likes, but also a bit too far from the boys for my liking. But I concede, if only to hear what the fuck this news about Ivy Hightower is.

“If you haven’t heard already—and I assume you will shortly—Ivy Hightower was an informant of mine.”

I just stare across the table at Sara Young and try to decide what it is I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Pamela and Penelope … I shut the thoughts down with an iron door, one crafted of self-preservation and twisted hope. Any lingering ideas I had about Pam valiantly accepting that she would go down for Neil’s death, if only to make up for her past transgressions, has been dashed. Also, finding out that Ivy was Sara’s informant both makes a ton of sense and also infuriates me. Likely, that’s the reason we found her dead on Aaron’s front lawn in the first place.

“Your informant,” I repeat, and Sara nods, even though I wasn’t asking a question. I lift my coffee to my lips and take a sip, enjoying it black while Sara loads hers with enough cream and sugar to choke an Asian palm civet cat.

I drag my phone from the pocket of my gray blazer and do a quick search. Sure enough, there it is, plastered over every local news site and several national news sites as well. Local Girl Killed While Under the Protection of the Violent Gang Task Force.

I look up. Sara’s face is sad and distant, but there’s no less steel in her expression than before. If anything, she looks even more determined than usual. When I set my coffee cup down, and it clinks against its saucer, she finally turns back to me.

“I put Ivy in danger, and I shouldn’t have asked the same of you. I’m glad you’re safe at Oak Valley.” She pauses and sits back as I scroll the article. Apparently, Ivy’s body was found on an unnamed piece of rural property near Veneta. Tom’s property.

“Neil killed her?” I say, and I phrase it as a question. I mean, thus far that was just theory on our part anyway. But Sara’s slight nod gives me a sense of … not peace, exactly, but understanding. Everything makes sense now. Every person in