Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,191

at her, my teeth as white and perfect as hers, gained through genetics and careful breeding instead of dentistry and orthodontics. “This is your last chance.”

“Did you ever love me?” I query, feeling my muscles throb and pulse with rage. “I mean, for even one, single second?”

Ophelia’s eyes flash strangely in the dark, and as I let go of all of that carefully coiled temper and rage, memory peeks in. So dark and awful that I can barely stand to look at it.

“Shh, son, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Ophelia strokes my hair back from my face as I cry, strokes it with long, white fingers tipped in perfect nails. She traces one of those nails down my nose before cupping my face and then turning my head toward hers.

The kiss she gives is inappropriate; her touches are agony. Her pain becomes my pain, forced through my body whether I like it or not.

I blink, slow and dark, and I wonder if, in this forest of shadows, she can see that I no longer have anything but malice and dark intent for her. Memories left long-buried surge to the surface as I finally, mercifully, release the last of my anger.

The sound of footsteps crashing through the forest draws my attention, and I turn just in time to see several of Maxwell Barrasso’s men heading in our direction. Likely, they’re trying to subvert the VGTF and get to their boss before the feds do.

That isn’t going to happen.

Heather screams as Ophelia turns and takes off, dragging the little girl with her while the men aim their weapons at me and take fire through the trees. Without a gun of my own—Bernie most certainly needs those rounds more than I do—I have to play the game a little differently than I would on a normal day.

But I’m not afraid.

My temper has finally come uncoiled, like a snake ready to strike. Ducking behind the large trunk of a tree, I wait for the men to get a bit closer, and then I slip out like a shadow from the right side. The attacker closest to me takes a shot, but I’m already diving into his stomach and knocking him to his back. We go rolling down the small incline together as the shouts of the other men fill the woods all around us.

I have to get to Heather.

That’s the thought that permeates most.

Heather.

Because she’s the light in Bernadette’s eyes, and I’d kill the world just to see a flicker of it. A shimmer. A glint. Heather is basically Bernie’s daughter and as such, she’s also mine.

Such a terrible word, isn’t it? Mine. So possessive, so dark and deep. One person can never truly own another person. I know that. I’m smart enough to understand. And yet, the most primal parts of me call out for Havoc; they scream for me to twist those five souls around my fingers and yank on them.

I own Havoc.

It’s with that knowledge burning inside of me, mixing with the broken dam of my rage, that I let myself go in ways that I never have before.

Once we hit the bottom of the incline, I tear the man’s gun from his grip and fire once into his face. Just like that. There’s blood everywhere, but it doesn’t matter. I could be drenched in blood, swimming in it, and it wouldn’t matter.

For weeks—no, more like months—I’ve been obsessively going over scenario after scenario in my head, trying to find some way to deal with Ophelia. Oh, and Maxwell. But he’s a secondary concern and he always has been. My mother has a way of insinuating her way into people’s lives; if we killed Maxwell and left her alive, she’d just find someone else to use, some other way to dig into me like a poisoned needle.

Rising to my feet, I swing the weapon around and fire at the other men approaching through the forest. Where just minutes ago, there were only three, now there are many. Too many.

Maxwell has called in his cavalry.

Without Mason or Russ or Will, he doesn’t have the loyalty or the skill left in his men to take us with small numbers. He needs brute force. So, it appears that he’s made a call and—even with the threat of the VGTF—his men have come.

I unload the first pistol I stole and then search through the dead man’s pockets for additional ammo. Gunfire rains down on me and I’m forced to move, hiding myself behind another tree while