Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,151

I can stand, choking at the fiery burn in my throat but loving the way it warms up my cold belly, stealing away just a fraction of that fear and pain. I take a second swallow before handing it over to Cal.

“You’re upset,” Victor says, and it isn’t a question. It’s just a fact and a command, one that demands I spill my feelings out to him because he’s a dark god whose presence won’t allow me to be numb for even a single second.

“Of course I’m upset,” I say, setting my food aside and then crawling forward on my hands and knees to fetch the whisky bottle again. I sit back with it in my lap and then take another chug, one that makes bubbles gurgle inside the bottle. “My mother killed my sister. My mother. The same person who birthed Penelope killed her.” I take another drink. The boys won’t let me get so drunk that I’ll have alcohol poisoning, but if I want to be plastered and stumbling, they’ll watch over me tonight. “And now I can’t even … I feel like she’s just slipped through my fingers forever.”

My face scrunches up as Oscar’s tightens in a rare show of sympathy.

“I know how you feel,” he says, surprising me. He isn’t one to offer up his emotions freely. “For years, I felt the same way about my own father. He took his life and left me with no recourse to punish him. In a way, you’re glad that person is dead and gone, because they ruined your life in ways that can never be fixed. In the same breath, you mourn. In the next breath, you rage.”

I just stare at him for a moment before setting the whisky bottle aside and crawling through the circle yet again. This time, I’m not searching for booze. This time, I’m finding the warm comfort of Oscar Montauk’s lap.

The incredible thing about it is that I’m the only person in the known universe who’s allowed to touch him like this, cuddle him and feel his long fingers tangling in my hair. He lets out a long sigh, and even though I know he would never ask for something I don’t want to give, his cock thickens beneath my cheek and I find myself rubbing against it.

“My list is done,” I say, and Oscar’s fingers pause for a moment before he strokes one down the length of my nose, traces my lips, memorizes me with the one sense he used to be most afraid of but which is the most powerful of all: touch. “It’s all done.”

“It’s done,” he agrees, stroking me as I close my eyes and I listen to the other boys pass the whisky bottle around the circle. “Sometimes, when you finish something so important, it feels both good and bad. You wish you were still working on it, but you’re relieved that it’s behind you.”

I roll onto my back and open my eyes, so that I can stare up at him. He very carefully reaches his fingers up to his loosened tie and begins to undo it. We’re going to have sex in this crumbling old house tonight. He knows it; I know it; I’m sure the rest of the Havoc Boys know it.

“Don’t let the last name on my list be so … anticlimactic,” I murmur, feeling my hands shake as I lift them to Oscar’s face. It was born in drama, right, that list? And so it has to go out with the same fashion, with a bang, with a spark that burns too bright and too hot to ignore.

“I promise,” Oscar murmurs, leaning over to kiss me, “that it will not be anticlimactic.”

His rapier of a mouth slices against mine, so sharp and so painful that I’m sure I’m bleeding, but yet, I can’t stop. I crave this pain because it matches my own, because it sings the same tunes and paints in the same colors.

Oscar’s tongue gives a hot swipe over mine before he pulls away, sitting up and undoing the buttons on his shirt as Aaron crawls over to me, moving between my legs to undo the black leather pants I’m wearing. They’re so tight that he has to peel them down the molded curves of my hips, past my pale silky thighs, and tug them from my feet.

The tattooed god above me tosses his tie aside, throws off his shirt. And then Aaron is flipping me over so that I can watch

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