Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,159

dying since I got here to kick Trinity’s ass—Prescott style. Only, it took me a few weeks to realize it: Trinity needs her ass handed to her to in a different way (at least for now). Physically hurting her at the art gallery and at her party did nothing to faze her, but when she got caught with James in the room at the lodge? She was mortified.

She craves approval from others; image is everything.

So, since the entire school believes her to be married to Victor now—we got her grandfather to play along with the charade on the pretense of Trinity writing her senior thesis on a social experiment—this is how I best make her bleed.

I grind on Vic and shudder when I feel his cock lengthening and thickening inside his slacks. Kissing and sucking up his neck, I mark him, loving the way the other students make a sharp curve around our table, interrupting the flow of traffic just to keep away from our space.

This is our territory now. Ours. We marked it fully and completely. After that pagan-esque magic ritual we performed at Vic’s grandma’s place a few weeks ago, I’m feeling positively untouchable.

Trinity storms over to us after a moment, fuming like … well, like an uptight spoiled prep school girl. Her eyes blaze with fury, but the rest of her remains still, trapped in the harsh and ugly world of being a WASP. No emotion seeps out of her that isn’t jammed violently past that societal filter, as if through a sieve.

“You’re making a fool out of me,” she snarls, and that’s the god’s honest fucking truth right there. That’s exactly what I’m doing. “We are supposed to be married now. Married. You are to act as my husband while in a public place.”

I glance briefly back at Victor before bursting out laughing. I’m not the only one. All the boys chuckle. Because this is so classic and so fucking hilarious. What did I tell you? This bitch did not even need to get her ass handed to her with my fists. This is far more fun.

“Well, he and I are actually married, and you’re the one that told Ophelia that Victor could … what was it that you said? Oh, that’s right: you can still screw your little whore. Guess what? That whore is his wife, and we’re going to continue to do exactly as it is that we’re doing now. Hugging. Kissing. Sneaking off to fuck.” I release Victor and stand up, turning around to face Trinity Jade with an expression that’s rife with menace, one that I really hope gets across how serious I am about this. “Do you have a problem with any of that?”

I stay where I am, reaching back as Victor lights up and hands me a cigarette. Slipping it between my lips, I watch Trinity Jade struggle with a lifetime full of entitlement and getting her way. She’s so used to that, it’s hard for her to remember that she doesn’t have the upper hand here. Do it, I think at her, daring her to hit me just so I can beat her ass right back. I would love to see you swing for me.

Except, she doesn’t. Eventually she turns on the heel of one of her hideous Mary Jane-esque shoes and takes off down the stone walkway to the girls’ side of the dorms.

“That fucking woman,” I murmur, a small tickle of excitement in my belly at one day being able to ruin her. To tell Samuel Jade that his wife is a cheater, and his daughter isn’t really his daughter biologically. That’d be a big shock for anyone to handle, but a good man would just accept that Trinity was his daughter regardless of her DNA and move on. But not these blue-blooded aristocrat types. As Victor had mentioned to his mother, some of them really do think of their children like well-bred golden retrievers.

“Serious pain in the ass,” Vic agrees as I turn back around and take my seat at our table.

“I’ve been thinking about Maxwell and Ophelia,” Oscar begins, his voice distant and contemplative the way it is when he’s really digging into an idea. He even has his trusty iPad open on the tabletop, sparking just the slightest hint of jealousy in me. Fucking goddamn iPad. If I ever walk in and catch him tying that tablet up in rope patterns … “They’ve been spending nearly all of their time at Maxwell’s home in