vMayhem At Prescott High - C.M. Stunich Page 0,124
it,” Oscar explains, sitting across from me on the couch where we made love. His ass is quite literally sitting atop what's left of the pinkish stain, but he makes no mention of it nor does he act like he notices or even remembers. I resist the urge to kick him under the coffee table. “You've said before that Neil prevented you and your sister from reaching out before about your abuse. But this one time, just this once, your complaints were listened to and you were placed in foster care. Why do you think that is?” Oscar taps his stylus against his lips. He's wearing a different pair of glasses. They're black and white checkered, like a racing flag. I'm surprised to see so much personality in his eyewear, to be quite honest with you.
I try not to read into that, assuming that it's the only spare pair he has around.
“Because Neil let it happen …” I start, trailing off and feeling my breathing quicken as panic takes over me. I walked myself and Pen and Heather into a fucking trap, didn't I? Why has this never occurred to me before? I mean, it's a lot to expect an eleven-year-old to make these sorts of connections, but now that I'm looking at Oscar's flow-chart, I'm fucking terrified.
What have we just stumbled onto here?
“Neil let it happen,” Victor agrees, pacing the floor in front of the fireplace and rubbing at his chin while chain smoking. It's pretty goddamn impressive, but also scary. That means he's both thoughtful and nervous, all at the same time. “He knew what was going to happen to you there. He probably worked with Coraleigh to arrange it. Based on her track record, she only sells girls and boys that have no family, that won't be missed, not the children of a motherfucking cop. Neil would've had to know about it. It's impossible to assume otherwise.”
Oscar looks up at me, taking in the expression on my face before returning his stern gaze to the screen of the iPad.
“So, we have Neil connected to Leigh, who is connected to Ophelia, who is connected to the Charter Crew.” Oscar sets the stylus down and leans back, putting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers together. “After thinking it over, I've decided your explanation about David and Kali holds some merit.”
“Oh, you've decided that, have you?” I quip back, feeling my skin prickle with irritation. Aaron sits in the chair to my left, watching me with a gaze that's so intense that I'm afraid to meet it. I can't fall into the endless black hole of my emotions, not today. “It makes sense. Mack is picking Kali up so she can meet with David who's feeding info back to Tom and Ophelia. That's the gist of it.”
“And Ophelia is getting tired of waiting for Mitch to make headway with us,” Victor continues, picking up the thread. “She's hired some real help and filtered them in through the Charter Crew to hide her own involvement.”
“She's going to have Bernadette executed,” Callum says, drawing my attention around to look at him and Hael, situated at the table together. Cal taps his blue-painted nails against the wood surface of it as he stares at me, hood up, face shadowed. “Then she's going to use the Charter Crew to pick the rest of us off until only Victor is left. At that point, it wouldn't be difficult to pin something on him and get him charged with a felony. Then that's it. Game over.”
“According to the rules of the trust my grandmother set up,” Vic begins, pausing with one hand on the mantle, the other holding his cigarette as he stares at the wall in front of him, the gears in his mind turning over Callum's theory. “If I fail to graduate, I still have until I'm twenty-five to get my GED. If something happens to my father, and I can't live with him anymore, I'm allowed to find my own place. Those aren't great avenues for her to use to get the money. Killing Bernadette … she knows me too well. A fake marriage is never going to happen; I'd rather die.”
He grits his teeth and rubs his right hand over his face.
“We made a mistake in letting you marry Bernadette,” Oscar says, but not unsympathetically. “Didn't we?”
“I think so,” Victor agrees, closing his eyes for a moment. “Fuck.” He bends down into a crouch, still holding his cigarette.