Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,18

turn and slide his hot mouth over mine, banding an arm around my waist and pulling me up against him so hard and so fast that my head spins.

My fingers dig into his bloodred hair as his tongue dives into my mouth, using sex the way he always has, as a weapon, as a shield, as a coping mechanism. I don’t mind. The only woman he’s going to be using it on from now on is yours truly. My own tongue challenges his, stealing the hot heat of his mouth and tasting the faintest sweetness of cherry cola.

I groan in pain as another horrible cramp takes over and Hael pulls back just enough to look at me. “Sorry, started my period just now,” I murmur as he stands up straight and puts a hand on the top of my head. He leaves his other arm around my waist, smelling like coconuts and hope.

“Don’t apologize for being a woman, ‘kay?” He glances over at Vic as he comes out of the kitchen, pausing to stand beside Oscar. The simple movement is also a blatant command: tell me everything. Now. “Aaron should be right behind me. He was with Constantine last I asked.”

Hael rolls his eyes and then releases me, the loss of his warmth a palpable thing that makes me feel twitchy. So I put my arms around his waist and press my cheek against the hardness of his chest. There’s no resistance in him when he shudders, exhales, and then strokes his fingers through my hair.

“Aaron,” I whisper, and the word sounds like a promise, an entire lifetime of connection and need in two syllables. Aaron is okay. He’s safe. I already know what it feels like to lose him. Once, I lost him to Havoc. Then, I very nearly lost him to Kali.

I can’t survive that again.

No, it’s Havoc or bust at this point. Nobody ever said our relationships were healthy or normal, but there’s something deliciously decadent about obsession. Even when you know you shouldn’t want it, even when you know it’s wrong. That’s part of the fun, taking a sip of a poison that, one day, could very well kill you.

Then again, we all die eventually. I’d rather go down engulfed in black flame, my head filled with the dizzying venom of true love, and my body sated and stroked by five glorious men with inked bodies and dark hearts that beat only for me.

“Good,” Vic says finally, pausing as his phone buzzes. He takes it from his pocket and checks the screen. “Pizzas are here.”

“Oh, thank god,” Hael groans, still holding me against him. If I close my eyes, I can hear his heart thundering. On the outside, he’s the same cool, cocky man-whore he always was. On the inside, he’s nervous. As he should be. Today was nothing short of a fucked-up clusterfuck of epic fucking proportions with an extra dose of fuckity fuck-fuck-fuck for good measure. “I’m starving.” He looks down at me and then back over at Vic and Oscar. “Where’s Cal?”

I pull away from Hael because with one simple question, it’s like he’s thrown a bucket of ice water over me. Cursing under my breath, I grab the loaded pistol sitting on the decorative side table nearby, keeping it hidden as I check the peephole and then open the door.

Because there are cops outside, I make sure to hold it behind my back as I search the neighborhood for threats. Fortunately, all I find is a stack of pizza boxes, a plastic bag filled with two-liters of soda, and the delivery guy halfway down the driveway as he heads back to his car. That coronavirus thing that happened all those years ago, it spurred some interesting changes. No-contact delivery being one adaptation that I’m glad the world has decided to stick with.

I take the stack and bring it inside, setting it down on the table. It all feels unbelievably … normal. Like, what the hell just happened today?

“Sara Young doesn’t seem to know where Callum is either,” is how Vic eventually replies, as careful with his words as he always is. “So, he isn’t lying dead in the morgue with James Barrasso. And he isn’t down at the station answering a bunch of stupid-ass questions. He also hasn’t called the house.” Vic gestures absently at the home phone sitting nearby, the one that Havoc keeps around in case of emergency. Like, say, if the feds were to take all our goddamn phones.