Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,96

we are. Eventually, every person in this city will know. That, or they’ll remain blissfully ignorant because they walk in the light and have no need to see us creeping through the shadows.

Aaron shoves Tom to his knees and, at a subtle nod from Vic, removes a pistol from his belt. He presses it up against the side of Tom’s head. There are no cameras here, and we have—I glance at my phone—about nine minutes left before the cops catch up to us.

“Call my girl a whore again,” Aaron says, his face hard, his green-gold eyes honed-in on his prey. “I’ll wait.”

“What do you want from me?!” Tom wails, sounding frustrated and broken and sad. To be quite frank: I couldn’t give any fucks less how the bastard feels. He sells girls. He abuses his son. He was in love with Ophelia Mars, of all people.

“All we need you to do is include one of our girls in the group you’re sending to Kay’s on Friday. That’s it.” Vic leans in close, and I swear I can hear him growling under his breath. “And don’t you fucking dare ask me something asinine like and why should I? If you do, I might lose my shit and decide to shove the broken pieces of that beer bottle down your throat.”

“Send your girls to Kay’s?” Tom repeats, blinking stupidly in Vic’s direction before flicking his eyes up to Aaron’s face. He must know how close my lover is to pulling that trigger, just for the hell of it, and immediately softens his approach. “The GMP will kill me. I can’t betray them. And you shouldn’t either, not if you want to finish up high school.”

Aaron puts the gun away and then bends down beside Tom.

“I think the problem here is, you’re acting as if we asked you to send one of our girls in the group. Let me rephrase it so that you can understand: you will send one of our girls. Nobody has to know about it. Even the GMP won’t know what’s happening.”

“Mason will,” Tom chokes out as I check my phone yet again. We have six minutes left. Fuck.

“Six minutes, Aaron,” I warn, and he curses. We need Tom to get the fuck out of here before our police escort shows up. His police escort was left back at a café in town where one of our crew members shoved Tom out the restroom window and drove him here to meet us. The clock is ticking on that, too.

“Fuck Mason,” Aaron growls, yanking Tom’s head around by his hair yet again. “And fuck you. I already said I wasn’t asking. You’ll do it. Give us the details on where to send our girl.”

“Give me the money you promised,” Tom snarls, but he doesn’t resist Aaron’s grip on his greasy slicked-back hair. “I want cash right now, up-front.”

Hael snorts, and I give him a look. Shit, well, I guess he was right.

“Our crew member will give you half back at the café. The rest you’ll get after it’s done. Do we understand each other?”

Tom says nothing and Aaron gives him a little shake for emphasis, leaning in to hiss in his ear.

“If you fuck this up, we will kill you.”

“Mason will likely get me first,” Tom mumbles, but Aaron just shakes his head, releasing Tom and rising to his feet.

“We’re out of time.” Aaron grabs the pen and paper off the counter—a guest check pad he charmed out of one of the waitresses—and tosses it onto the floor next to Tom. “Details and quick.”

With another scowl, Tom scratches a number, a name, and an address on the pad and then chucks it at Aaron’s feet.

“Alright, up.” Victor grabs Tom by the back of the shirt and hauls him over to the side door, shoving him outside on the pavement where two boys in black hoodies and skeleton masks wait. They take Tom by either arm and manhandle him into the backseat of a ’75 Buick Riviera—according to Hael—and take off.

Two minutes later, our favorite police cruiser pulls into the parking lot to find us seated at the table together, sipping shakes and eating burgers. I’m sure they’re pretty pissed off by now that we keep giving them the slip, but that’s what happens when you chase a snake in its own burrow. We know exactly where we’re going and what we’re doing.

“Sara isn’t going to like this,” I say, stealing one of Cal’s fries and swiping it through a puddle