rope tying and the orgies and the multiple orgasms and … oh, wait. Never mind. I’d jump my ass into this shit just for the boys.
“Fuck,” Hael blurts suddenly, and I flick my gaze up to find him staring at his phone, eyes wide, blood draining from his face. “Shit, shit, shit. I have to go.” He shoves up to his feet and, since he’s only wearing boxers, grabs the first pair of pants he can find which just so happen to be Callum’s.
Hael snatches the clean black boardshorts from a folded pile on the chair near the breakfast bar and yanks them on while Victor emerges from the hall and narrows his eyes on his friend.
“What’s going on?” he asks, and it’s only partially a question. Mostly, it’s an order: tell me. Now.
“My mom …” Hael starts, and that’s all he needs to say. We don’t waste any time in dragging on jackets and slipping feet into shoes. In less than a minute, we’re all standing in the elevator while Hael drags his fingers through his bloodred hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s murmuring as he stares down at a text on his phone screen.
Aide moi!
I don’t have to speak French to guess what that one means: help me.
Then, underneath it, just a single word.
Martin.
Hael looks like he’s about to crack as he storms up to the student valet in just such a way that I feel compelled to grab his arm. My fingers curl around his taut bicep, but I don’t dig my nails into his skin the way my mother once did to me.
“Hael.” It’s all I have to say. He stops short and grits his teeth, casting this look down on me with his beautiful brown eyes that very clearly echoes his mother’s words.
“Aide moi,” he breathes, and I reach down to curl my fingers through his as Victor deals with the valet instead, instructing him to bring the Camaro and the Bronco around. Meanwhile, I curl my body against Hael’s chest, burying my head in the crook of his neck and pressing light kisses there that have him shuddering and relaxing against me. He releases my hand and bands his arms around me, holding me close while Aaron, Oscar, and Callum wait beside us.
Once the Camaro is brought around, and Hael finally releases me, his expression is no less rife with violence, but he’s got back some semblance of control. Together, we get into the Camaro while the rest of the boys use the Bronco, Aaron at the wheel.
It’s like, after that night at Vic’s grandmother’s house—our future house, you know, if we don’t end up dead—everything’s changed. The boys behave better around one another, and my connection is stronger to them than ever.
That’s how I know I need to rest my hand on Hael’s leg as he drives, how I know I should push my fingers up beneath the edge of the shorts so I can touch his skin. He shivers, hands clenching around the wheel as we make the drive from Oak Valley Prep to the Four Corners neighborhood. It’s a stark study in classism; you can practically see the stratified layers of wealth being stripped away during the drive.
“If he’s hurt her …” Hael begins, and then he shakes his head, swiping a hand down his face.
He doesn’t have to have to say anything more. I know what he wants. I know what he’s wanted for a long, long time.
It’s the same thing Victor wants for Ophelia, that I wanted for Pamela, that Oscar dreams about with his dead father. Vengeance. Payback. Some restitution for wrongs committed.
Unfortunately, we still have a squad car on our ass. That, and Sara Young isn’t the type of person that lets things go. For now, we’ve earned her forgiveness and begrudging acceptance, but that’s only because the cards have fallen in just such a way that it looks like Havoc is almost entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
The violence at Prescott High, that was self-defense. The bodies on Tom’s land are related to Ophelia and Neil and the GMP. Pamela killed Kali along with Penelope. It all fits together just right, but if we’re not careful, if we mess up even one time, in even one, small, seemingly insignificant way, then Sara and Constantine will nail us to the cross.
So as much as Hael wants to hurt his father today, as much as I want to hurt the man myself, we can’t do anything of the sort. There