Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,69

twitch. It’s a specialty plate featuring the infamous Crater Lake. Oh, and it’s personalized. Frankly, I’ve always thought of people who get personalized license plates as big fat douchebags, but …

“HAVOC?” I choke out, disbelieving the ability of the Havoc Boys to actually get such a thing printed on a license plate. At first, I wonder if that’s such a good idea, advertising my gang affiliation to the world. But then I remember that it’s motherfucking tatted on my knuckles, that you couldn’t miss the Havoc Boys if you tried. Besides, whenever we’re about to do something illegal, we just steal a different car to use during the crime.

“HAVOC,” Hael confirms as he guides me up the walk and inside, past a shirtless and still-smoking Victor. Vic closes the door behind Callum, flicks a lock, and then scoots over to peek through the curtains.

“So goddamn predictable,” he murmurs as I try to pry myself away from the spell Hael seems to have cast over me. “They’re putting a tracker on the Eldorado.”

“Before they even finished parking, Constantine hopped out and stuck one to the Bronco and the Firebird.” Hael pauses and gives Vic a grim sort of look that very clearly says apologies in advance. “They tagged your Harley, too.”

“Motherfucker,” Vic growls as I strip off my pj shirt right there in the dining room, flashing my tits to all three boys present and startling a fourth when Aaron comes down the steps and pauses in the foyer.

Dragging a white t-shirt over my head, I shake my hair out and pretend like my nipples aren’t so hard that they hurt. Or that they’re not showing through the fabric like two fresh pink roses—complete with thorns.

Aaron’s eyes catch on my breasts before he reluctantly drags his gaze up to my face, swiping a hand over his own and shaking his head at me. I just smirk right back at him.

“A tracker, huh?” I murmur, moving over to peek out the curtain beside Vic. “What do we do about that? Borrow cars to get around?”

“No,” Oscar says, also joining us from upstairs. “We’ll use the trackers against them. Guide them where we want them to go.” His razor-sharp mouth tilts up at one corner, and his eyes sparkle with all the ways we might fuck with the cops without actually committing any crimes. “It might be advantageous to do a few experiments, see if we can’t lose them, and if we do, how long until they catch up to us.”

“Which Bernie and I are very happily going to do as soon as they get the ever-loving fuck out of here,” Hael says, and this time, he just throws the curtains nearest him open, cigarette clenched between his teeth as he waves at the detectives with a tight smile on his full lips. “Not very subtle, are they?”

Aaron huffs as he slumps into a chair and then hops right back up as it creaks and groans beneath his bulk.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, shoving chestnut hair back from his forehead with clear annoyance. He could probably use a haircut. Not sure if I’m going to allow him to get one though. I sorta like his hair longer. “What need would they have to be subtle? We know they’re after us; they know we know.” He shrugs his big shoulders. “Anyway, Bernie.” Aaron turns that piercing gaze of his over to me, the colors of his irises a mesmerizing blend that the artistic side of me is dying to recreate with a brush or a colored pencil. Except, my talent lies in poetry, right?

Spring and summer, a twisted tide, a gaze of made up of green grass and the sunshine that falls across the blades.

Eh. Maybe I shouldn’t quit my day job as a gangster’s wife? Or … gangsters’ wife? Apostrophes make all the difference, don’t they?

“Yes, Aaron?” I ask as his eyes travel my body again, sliding across my breasts in just such a way that I shift a little under the intensity of it.

“Do you mind if I tag along?”

“Ooooh,” Hael howls, tossing his head back as he laughs. The cigarette flops out of his mouth and he curses as he drops his chin and bats at the still burning embers on his shirt. “You want to join us, do you, lover boy?” Hael continues to shake his shirt out as he chuckles at Aaron. “I hear you and Vic performed like pro-wrestlers in a tag-team match: all the faux fighting, all of the