Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,95

does is slip up behind Tom like a shadow and slam his palm into the surface of the countertop where the fucker’s nursing what looks like his third drink of the night. Tom startles violently, dark eyes flicking over to Aaron before drifting back to the rest of us.

“Hello asshole,” Aaron hisses out, curling the fingers of his other hand around the back of Tom’s neck. He looks about this fucking close to slamming the older man’s head down as hard as he can, just to see if he can’t crack his skull.

“I’ve got a protective detail,” Tom blurts, gesturing with his beer and spilling a good portion of it across the pink laminate surface. We’re inside Wesley’s, our usual drive-in haunt, the one that sits across the tracks from the Fuller High drive-in. During freshman year, my boys—before they were the Havoc Boys—would come here to toss Molotov cocktails into the backseats of the Fuller football team’s cars.

Aww, nostalgia.

Too bad none of that will help Tom any.

“What’s your point?” Victor adds, sliding in on Tom’s other side. “Do you think we care? That we couldn’t kill you and make it look like an accident?”

“Besides,” Aaron adds, blending his voice into Victor’s in a way that just comes too naturally to be faked. They might disagree a lot, and they might fight over me a bit, but they love each other regardless. They’re family. They were always meant to be family. “That’s not a protective detail, you moron. They’re fucking tailing you.”

Aaron releases Tom roughly enough that the asshole splashes his drink all over his lap. Aaron takes the stool on Tom’s right while Victor occupies the one on his left.

Behind me, Hael, Oscar, and Callum grab a table, and I join them, sitting on the side closest to Tom so that I can hear and see everything. My eyes scan the room, but there aren’t a ton of people in here right now. The few patrons still milling about are either well-trained Prescott High kids who know better than to bother us, or crew members.

“Remember when I told you that you’d die choking on blood?” Aaron asks casually, ordering a strawberry milkshake and managing to look like a total asshole as he slides the metal straw between his lips. “You are this close to realizing that fate.”

“What do you want from me?” Tom snarls, looking like a kicked street dog with its teeth bared. He thought he had the upper hand with Aaron tied up in his cabin. And now? Even Ophelia has betrayed his ass.

“Bet ya twenty bucks that he asks for cash up-front,” Hael murmurs, sipping a vanilla shake and watching the exchange over the rim of his metal cup. Cal has one elbow leaned on the surface of the table, head resting in his hand as he snacks on a basket of fries. Meanwhile, Oscar is on his iPad, acting like he’s not a part of this conversation when, in reality, he’s the one who told Aaron and Vic exactly what to say in the first place. “Right now. Today. Bet he says it just like that, too.”

“You shouldn’t be making anymore bets,” I tell him, flicking my gaze in his direction. He flashes a sharp grin at me because he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Us. The Eldorado. Our oral sex bets … “Not when you’ve just finally paid yours back.”

“But I did pay you back—and it was epic,” Hael starts, leaning toward me and flashing one of his signature cocksure grins. “Bet you didn’t expect the ass play part though, huh?”

I give him a look as Cal chuckles and Oscar finally lifts his eyes from the screen of the iPad.

“Ass play?” he queries, in such a mild way that I know he’s immediately fascinated by the idea.

“Dude, you don’t get to take credit for the ass play when I was the one that shoved my finger up your ass first.” I quirk a brow to emphasize my point.

Hael roars with laughter, interrupting Aaron and Vic’s conversation with Tom. Both of my boys glance back at us, wearing similarly wry smiles.

“I didn’t come here to listen to your whore talk about anal,” Tom growls, and then Aaron is grabbing the man by his hair and wrenching him off the stool. The elderly owners of Wesley’s—those poor parents who lost their Prescott High alumnus son once upon a time—act like they don’t see any of this happening.

Even the adults in the Prescott neighborhood know who