Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,124

my story is connected, somehow, to the Grand Murder Party.

“I want you to know that everything you’ve ever told me, I’ve taken to heart,” Sara continues, exhaling sharply and glancing in Constantine’s direction, like maybe she’s about do something she shouldn’t but is planning on it anyway. She flicks her doe-eyes back to mine as I pick at the edge of my croissant with my perfect fingernails. Vera’s aunt is basically a nail goddess. Not sure if I’ll ever be this happy with another nail artist for as long as I live. “That tip about Neil’s father and brother … You’ve given me all the ammunition I need, Bernadette.”

“How so?” I ask, thinking about all the times I wished I could call the cops on Neil, report him to the authorities, all the times the Thing and Pam got in trouble and found their records wiped clean.

“I can’t talk about the details of an active investigation,” Sara begins, sipping her milky coffee carefully and giving me a look that I know I’m supposed to read into. “But the connections between those two men and the GMP are astounding.”

I just stare back at her, the clinking of cups and the dancing of silverware a comforting murmur of normality in a life that’s been anything but normal thus far, that’s likely to be anything but normal ever again. But in a good way, the best way, because if Neil’s family goes to prison, and Pam goes to prison, and the GMP is neutered and twisted by the VGTF, and they stop selling and hurting kids … what could happen to me?

Could I live a fabulous live surrounded by men that I love? Could I be a queen in so many other ways beside violent, dark, shadowed ones?

Something strange happens inside of me, this odd bubbling sensation that feels like a champagne bottle about to burst. Like fireflies dancing. Like the feel of hot fingers on your skin after you come inside from the rain. Happiness.

Pamela’s face flickers into view again, but I crush it down.

This could really be it, the end of everything I’ve ever suffered. The bodies on Tom’s land blamed on the GMP, the deaths of the Charter Crew, the atrocities of the Pence family. All of it wrapped neatly into a black silken bow.

“Anyway, what I meant to say was … I’m sorry. You and your boyfriends,”—and here her mouth twitches slightly—“should try to enjoy your time at Oak Valley. I’m leaving your police detail outside the school, just in case. But for now, at least, I’m not pursuing any charges against you.” She levels a look on me that also very clearly says, just because I’m being nice now doesn’t mean I don’t suspect y’all of mayhem and chaos elsewhere. “I would, however, like to know about Heather Pence. And Kara and Ashley Fadler.”

Motherfucker.

“We’ve hidden them from the GMP,” I say, taking another sip of my coffee. “Wouldn’t you do the same, if they were your sisters?”

Sara’s mouth pinches, and I know this goes against her clear-cut rules of what’s right and what’s wrong, but eventually, she just sighs and gives me a look.

“You used your contacts to get them into Oak River, didn’t you?”

I say nothing, but fuck this woman for being perceptive beyond belief.

“Well, after failing to track down Aaron’s mother, I’m starting to put together a picture, one where the care of two minor children are in the care of yet another minor child.” She glances across the café toward where Aaron sits, his mouth in a pretty sulk, a chestnut curl flopped onto his forehead. A minor … child. With his jacket off, and his white button-down undone at the top, showing just the faintest dusting of chest hair. Child. Hilarious. Sara looks back at me. “Besides that, CPS is aware that Heather has been living with you until recently.”

CPS. Child Protective Services. An organization I stopped trusting the day Coraleigh left Penelope and me with the Kushners. I’d rather die than give Heather or Kara or Ashley up to a system that doesn’t care.

“They’re safe,” I tell Sara, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms over the front of my stupid ass prep school uniform. It’s like, as soon as Oak Valley started using this hideous Catholic schoolgirl rip-off uniforms, I swear to fuck, every other school within three hundred miles started doing the same.

Jesus H. Christ, but I hate mimics.

Just because one prep school does it, doesn’t meant the rest