Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,162

Guess it kind of is.

“Anyway,” Vera continues, her gaze still on the window. She can’t see the five boys waiting for me downstairs, but she knows they’re there. I don’t tell her that at this point, our obsession is strong enough to kill us all. She just assumes that they’re following me around for the most pertinent reason: we are still under threat from the GMP. At all times, in all places. The nerve of it is rubbing me raw, making me feel like I’m on a race to the finish line.

Somehow, someway, I can guess how it’s going to end, and my stomach does a strange somersault, turning on a sudden font of nausea. If I hadn’t just taken another pregnancy test and saw that it came up negative, I might think I was pregnant. Again. A shiver takes over me as I blow on my nails—even though they’re already dry. Force of habit, I guess.

“Anyway?” I query, sitting back in the swivel chair and turning to face Vera. She’s dressed in a fuzzy pink sweater, cropped at the navel and decorated with a BlackCraft Cult label. Very cute, very Prescott. She probably stole it. “What?”

“I just wanted to say that getting paid to work for y’all is helping a lot of the girls out.” Vera shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing, but it’s not. It’s what Stacey would’ve wanted and that’s important to me.

“You guys do good work,” I admit, and they really do. They tell us exactly where the GMP is at all times, via their sex work and through the grapevine of gossip that travels down from Portland. We have a pretty clear idea of where the bulk of the Grand Murder Party is at all times, where Ophelia is, where Maxwell is. If they remain in the state of Oregon, we have eyes on them.

Outside of it, well, that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?

“You’ve got a good thing going on,” Vera tells me, flicking her attention back to the window again. “I mean, besides having to deal with those hulking beasts on your ass all the time.”

Only, she doesn’t know that I just love the idea of those hulking beasts on my ass—like, quite literally on or in my ass. If we could just be together, eating pizza or fucking or talking at all times, I would be happy. The Havoc Boys are all that I need. Them, and Heather, Ashley and Kara. We don’t get to spend a lot of time with the girls since each interaction we have presents a risk, but I can at least see them every day—even if it’s from afar.

I leave Vera’s aunt a huge tip and we make our way downstairs, sweeping past the boys and down the sidewalk. Vera keeps hold of my elbow as we go and then leads me to her favorite lunch place, this scary ass hole-in-the-wall that serves barbecue sandwiches wrapped in newspaper.

It’s legit one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life.

I suck a bit of sauce from the tip of one finger, noticing that the boys are watching me like they’re on a hunt. Ignoring them, I turn in my seat until I’m facing Vera completely.

“I stopped by Stacey’s grave the other day,” she tells me casually, but the melancholy in her voice is impossible to miss. My heart gives a sharp and violent seize as I think about Stacey’s last moments, how she mouthed off to that GMP motherfucker right before she died. It was how she’d want to go out, I think, if she’d had to choose a way to go in that moment. “It was covered in flowers and tubes of lipstick and shoes and dresses …” Vera trails off with a sigh and then runs her hand over the top of her shaved head. There’s still a big ‘S’ shaved into the side opposite the anarchy symbol, and I can’t imagine that she’ll be getting rid of it anytime soon. Or, maybe like, ever.

“I really need to take a moment to visit my sister’s grave,” I say, shoving my fingers through my hair. Nobody ever contacted me about Pamela’s body. I’m not sure if that matters or not. Even if they had, I would’ve told the county to bury her. She doesn’t have any power over me anymore. Not a single person whose name was on that goddamn list can ever control me or hurt me or make me feel powerless again. “My little