Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,87

goes to the club. Every. Fucking. Time.”

“And your point is?” Victor asks, his massive body leaned up against the countertop, rippling with ink and bullshit and smelling like amber and musk. Even as I hate him, I crave him. Even as I desire to gouge his face with my on-pointe nails, I want to fuck him. He makes me feel in ways I haven’t since my father died. “Mason will pick a girl and take her to that room, and if he isn’t stopped, he’ll fuck and torture her. He might even kill her. You’re not taking that risk, Bernie. You might be queen, but I’m still king, and I say no.”

“Do you have a plan?” Callum croaks out, rubbing at his throat. The scab on the front is fading away, but he’s still got stitches—proper ones—in his shoulder and arm. It could’ve been a lot worse for him. If he wasn’t smart enough to know when enough is enough, he wouldn’t be here to crouch on top of the table like a spider monkey, hood pushed back, blond hair bright. “Something other than the obvious one of parading you in front of Mason under the guise of a call girl.”

“I do,” I say carefully, looking over at Hael. He nods and holds out a hand, his other arm crossed over his chest.

“I’m willing to at least listen?” he proposes, shrugging his massive shoulders. Swear to fuck, when I think about him with other women, I get stabby. But damn it if I don’t appreciate his skills. He fucks like somebody who earned a Hot Piece of Ass degree from an ivy league university. This guy knows what he’s doing, he’s got the talent and equipment, and he makes his experience work for him.

I shift where I am, feeling my thighs get slick with need. That’s kind of how it is around here, a flurry of sex and violence. It’s just what we do, okay? No need to judge. I know how fucked-up we all are.

“I’ll listen, but I’m not agreeing to anything that puts you in a precarious position,” Aaron adds as I sit down on his lap and he lets out a grunt, palming my hip and letting his fingers get just a tad too close to the fly of my jeans.

“If you’d all shut the fuck up, put your balls back in your boxers for a minute, and let me talk, you’d understand where I’m coming from.” I point at the map again. “It’s a near guarantee that Mason will choose a girl and retire to this room—alone. Stacey’s girls say he doesn’t like to be watched. Mostly, it’s because he’s into some really sick shit that he doesn’t even want his comrades in arms to know about. Everybody in the GMP is afraid of him, apparently. Killing this guy puts us so much closer to dismantling their organization. His fellow gangbangers hate him. He passes judgement too quick and plays judge, jury, and executioner on a regular basis.”

Cal pops the top on a Pepsi can with his blue-painted nails and then sits back on his heels, sipping it and alternating handfuls of chocolate covered peanuts while he watches me.

“We all agree that taking down Mason is important, but not with such significant risk to you.” Oscar slides the iPad back in his direction, pointing out several other bedrooms on the same upstairs hallway as Mason’s. “What if he decides he doesn’t want to take you back to his room? What if he decides he wants to use one of these instead? Then what? If you’re trapped with him, we might not be able to get to you in time.”

“That won’t matter because I’m not going into the room with him. Shit, I’m not even asking to play call girl.” I lean back against Aaron’s chest and he shudders, curving a muscular arm around my midsection. His rose and sandalwood smell drifts around me, bolstering my resolve. “This is what I propose,” I start, exhaling as I push back red-tinged blond hair from my face. “Vera has already agreed to help me out. She’ll go to Portland and join the girls set to work the reception at Kay’s. Once she’s in, she’ll let us in the back door.” I point it out with my new favorite fingernail, the one with the little ring pierced through the tip. “Hael, Aaron, and I will head out to the front to keep an eye on Mason. With so many people